Page 169 of June First
“You, shush. I’m charging you double for that daiquiri.”
“Brant said it was on the house,” Clem sniffs.
Sydney glares at me. “Traitor.”
My cheeks fill with air as I blow out a breath, accepting a generous tip from a middle-aged couple as I move down the bar to serve the next customer. I needed the distraction tonight. After five days of highly emotional, mind-blowing sex with June, where we skirted around the difficult logistics of our predicament, I’m feeling tapped out and run down.
Every morning this week, I’ve woken up with my arms full of June.
My heart full of June.
And two of those mornings, my body full of June when she decided to wake me up by sliding between my legs and wrapping her mouth around my cock.
It’s impossible to be strong in those moments.
Then again—I’m not sure if I even grasp the definition of that word anymore.
What is strength when it comes to us?
Is there strength in fighting for this fucked-up, taboo relationship that absolutely nobody will embrace let alone accept, and that will force us to lurk in the shadows for the rest of our lives?
Or is strength in letting June go, because I know—I know—she’s meant for so much more than a shadowed existence.
She’s meant to fly free. She’s meant to burn bright.
She’s meant to outshine every shadow.
Strength, by definition, is overcoming that hard thing…but what happens when every avenue is equally, painfully hard?
It’s a mess.
It’s a mess I’m determined to dig myself deeper into because every time she looks at me with those hopeful blue eyes, and every time she whispers words of adoration in my ear when I’m inside of her, nothing else seems to matter.
I don’t care about being strong or brave or righteous.
All I care about is loving her.
Lost in my wayward thoughts again, I don’t even notice a familiar figure gliding up to the bar and sitting right in front of me. He smacks a single penny and a five-dollar bill onto the counter. “Penny for your thoughts, and a five for whatever you’ve got on special tonight.”
Startled, I glance up.
Kip.
He’s taken a seat beside Clem, watching me with a friendly smile. I smile back. “Jägerbombs,” I inform him.
“Ouch. Pass.” He cringes, then says, “These better be some damn good thoughts, then.”
Clem does a double take as she sips delicately on her beverage, her eyes scanning the man next to her, their shoulders grazing as he resituates on the stool.
Kip glances at her, folding his hands atop the bar counter. His smile stretches. “I like your hair.”
She falters as she instinctively fiddles with a piece of bright-blue hair, then takes a generous final slurp through the thin straw. Swallowing, she pulls back from the empty glass and gives him another once-over. “I like your…face.”
Her eyes widen with mortification.
“Wow,” Sydney chimes in, eavesdropping as she sweeps a rag down the counter. “You just out-lamed me, Sis. Super impressive.”
Clem blushes, pushing away from the bar and snatching her purse. “That’s my cue,” she says, flustered, shooting me a quick smile. “Thanks for the drink, Brant.”