Page 14 of Southernmost Murder
“But you saw a skeleton,” Jun stated. “I believe you.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Why?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Uh, no one else has, that’s all.”
Jun picked up his drink and took a sip. “You’d prefer I doubted you?”
“God no.”
“Then let’s figure out why it was in the closet,” Jun concluded.
I waved my hands in protest, knocking over my beer in the act. “Oh shit! Fuck!” I picked up the glass and jumped out of my chair as the Sapporo spilled out across the bar top, my lap, and the floor. “This is sacrilegious!”
Jun stood, grabbed a wad of napkins, and soaked up the spill as the bartender joined us. She took the soiled mess and tossed it out before cleaning the rest up with a rag. I grabbed some of the cheap, tissue-thin napkins and scrubbed at my pants, but the paper just dissolved and shredded into a white mess on my clothes.
Ugh.
“Want a new drink?” Jun asked.
“I’d better not,” I said lamely. My cheeks were burning, and I couldn’t face him. I was so fucking embarrassed.
Our bartender returned and slapped down baskets of shrimp and a glass of water. “You know you shouldn’t drink, Aubs,” she said in a chastising tone before walking away.
Jun patted my seat. “Sit down.”
I started to, but then one of the dude-bros on Jun’s side of the bar called out, “Hey, twink, can I order you a Shirley Temple?”
Now, I wasn’t one to take that shit sitting down—so to speak. I’d always stood up for myself, just ask the clown I punched. But I didn’t even have a chance to say something snarky and sufficiently pride-bruising before Jun was on his feet and heading over to the testosterone corner.
Whatever he said made the entire group stand with their drinks and take the drunken commotion to another area. Jun sat back down and motioned to my seat again.
I awkwardly sat. “Wow. What did you say to them?”
Jun shook his head and picked up one of the shrimp from the basket.
“Seriously.”
He looked at me. “I don’t mean to fight your battles. But that behavior is unacceptable.”
I shrugged. “It’s cool. You know I’d have said something, though, right?”
“Of course.” He popped the shrimp in his mouth and murmured, “But sometimes I can’t help being the asshole with a badge—these arereallygood.”
THE ONEthing I wanted to do after taking Jun out for lunch was bring him home, get naked, do something naughty, and hope like hell that my cataplexy didn’t get triggered. I mean, I was all about taking it slow, if that’s what Jun wanted, and talking about where we stood as a potential couple, because frankly that was still a gray area for both of us. But after being stood up at the airport and then dealing with my flighty, messy self at the bar, Jun deserved a freaking blowjob.
So where did we end up instead? The Smith Home.
“Jun,” I said, trying not to sound like a whiny brat. “My cottage is a lot more inviting. Let’s go home. You can unpack and relax…. I can massage your feet.”
Jun looked down at me with one raised eyebrow that spoke volumes more than he typically did.
“I’ll massage something else,” I tried, giving my best suggestive look.
That made him smile, which really wasn’t the response I was going for. Jun reached out and petted the back of my head briefly. “You’re very cute, Mr. Grant.”
Ah, okay, at least he was in a playful mood. Jun always called me Mr. Grant when he flirted. “So? You, me, my place, and maybe let’s lose a pair of pants or two along the way?”
