Page 59 of Spilled Coffee

The display flickered and images began flashing onto the screen: satellite photos… mission objectives… tactical overlays…

Ethan, lost in thought, barely paid attention. A spark of defiance flickered behind his otherwise soft eyes as he smiled, making a mental note of how much fun drinks could be…

CHAPTER 30

One week later

The bar pulsed with a gritty, unpolished energy, the kind that seeped into your clothes and clung to your skin long after you left.

Neon signs advertising long-forgotten brands of whiskey buzzed faintly while the sour tang of spilled beer mingled with the faint musk of old leather stools. The sound of low laughter rippled through the crowd, punctuated by the occasional bark of someone who had had one too many, rising above the din before it got swallowed again.

In one corner, the jukebox flickered erratically, its ancient mechanisms groaning as it churned out a gravelly Tom Petty track which struggled to make itself heard against the sharp clack of pool balls colliding in quick succession.

Ethan sat at a small, wobbly table, his chair tilted back slightly as one leg teetered on an uneven floorboard. He nursed a Budweiser in his hand, absentmindedly tracing patterns in the condensation on the bottle with his index finger.

He was restless and shifted in his seat, trying to focus on anything other than the feeling threatening to overtake him. Hiseyes glanced across the room, lingering on the dartboard before flicking to a small group of people sitting close by.

Across the room, Brick let out a loud groan, throwing his arms up in exaggerated exasperation as he stepped back from the dartboard.

“Fuck. Man, I don’t believe this,” he said, shaking his head and tugging at the brim of his faded ball cap. The cap had seen better days, the fabric worn from years of use, the logo barely discernible anymore. He yanked his darts out with a swift motion, holding them up as if they were to blame for his loss. “You win again, Dev. What’s that now… three in a damn row?”

Devon leaned casually against the wall, one foot propped up behind him like he didn’t have a care in the world. His lean frame gave off an air of ease, but there was something razor-sharp about his dark eyes—a predator alert even in moments of supposed relaxation.

“Hey,” he drawled, “I told you I was good at this.” A slow grin spread across his face as he twirled one dart between his fingers like a magician performing a trick.

He pushed off from the wall and clamped both hands onto Brick’s shoulders, making him stagger slightly. “Listen, you’ve bought the last two rounds, let me get this one. Can’t have you funding my drinks all night. Hell, even I’ve got some pride.”

Brick chuckled and shook his head but didn’t protest as Devon’s grip shifted into something that could only be described as purposeful, his fingers kneading into his muscles like he was testing for weak spots in armor.

“You know,” Devon continued with a sly edge to his tone, “you should come to the spa, let me give you a proper work over sometime. You’re tense as hell, knots all up in here.” His hands pressed harder for emphasis before releasing with a dramatic flourish. “A session with me and I’ll make you feel twenty years younger.” He threw back his head and laughed—a boomingsound that seemed too big for such a small space. “What do you say? You gonna strip down and let me work on your body?”

Brick stilled before forcing a laugh that sounded just shy of natural. His thick brows knitted together as he tried to gauge if Devon was joking or not.

The guy ran his mouth, and it wasn’t unusual for him to push boundaries, but there was something about the way he said it this time that made Brick’s stomach clench.

He shrugged it off with a chuckle meant to diffuse whatever tension might have been brewing. “Seriously, man,” he said as he lined up his next throw, “if you can turn back time and make me twenty again? Hell yeah, I’d think about it.” He glanced over at Ethan and offered an easy grin. “Ethan said you helped put him right?”

“Oh yeah,” Devon’s grin widened as he shifted his attention across the room to where Ethan sat nursing his beer. “Yeah, he enjoyed that session for sure.” His tone took on an almost syrupy sound as he focused his gaze.

Ethan stiffened as if someone had poured ice water down his back. Heat crept up his neck despite himself, burning at the edges of his ears as he stared down at the beer bottle in front of him like it held all the answers he needed. His thumb picked at the peeling label, a nervous habit he didn’t even realize he was doing.

Devon’s smirk was back, a shadow hunting him through the neon haze, and Ethan couldn’t shake it off no matter how hard he tried.

“See,” Devon said casually as he leaned closer to Brick with another jagged laugh. “Ethan’s got a body that’s just a damn pleasure to work on. He’s younger than us old warhorses, muscles are less tense. ” He clapped Brick on the back before adding, “Hasn’t taken the punishment yours has.”

Brick glanced at Ethan, noticing how rigid he sat, but said nothing as he turned back to the dartboard once more.

“In my experience,” Devon pressed on, “he’s got one of those bodies you can’t resist putting your hands on. Muscles like dough under your fingers—soft and easy to mold, yet firm in all the right places.”

Ethan slammed his bottle down hard, the glass clinking against the tabletop. He looked away, jaw tight as he fought the flush burning his cheeks as Devon’s stare drilled into him.

That plastered on smile made his skin crawl and he scanned the bar looking at the bikers hunched over the pool table, a couple arguing by the jukebox, the bartender wiping down the sticky counter, looking for anything to avoid those eyes.

His gaze finally snagged on Logan, perched on a high stool at the bar, his broad shoulders hunched slightly forward, one boot hooked casually on the rung.

The glass of whiskey caught the dim light, the amber liquid rippling as it tilted lazily between his fingers. The sharp line of his jaw was clenched tight, and the faint shadow of stubble dusted his face, giving him an edge that Ethan could feel even across the room.

Logan had rolled into the bar about ten minutes ago, a storm cloud of brooding silence and sharp edges. He hadn’t acknowledged anyone, hadn’t spoken a word. He just sat there, staring into some middle distance over the rim of his glass like he was trying to drown whatever demons were clawing at him.

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