Paul Persimmon sat at the bar, drinking a whiskey and Coke and listening to a Steve Grand hit on the jukebox. His left foot bounced to the sexy beat of the song, and he stirred his drink with a red straw.
Handsome came to mind as a smile surfaced on Tate’s face upon finding the bookseller. His heart bounced a number of times as he continued to take in the scene at Cerulean’s: other men in the bar who were talking, sliding against each other, kissing, and dancing. The bartender was hard at work, a young ginger, filling drinks and conversing with semi-blitzed patrons. Two men in blue collar clothes undressed in one of the corners, becoming intimate.
“Be mine,” Tate whispered to himself, crossing the room and heading towards the bar and his soul mate. Once at Persimmon’s side, he tapped the
