Page 59 of The Bartender Special

Jack had a handful of Benny’s ass, a mouthful of wood, and was questioning a lot of his choices.

The wood was from the handle of the paintbrush they had just found in Callum De Carlo’s garage. Jack slightly regretted not just dropping the thing when Benny asked for a boost, so into his mouth it went, just like the flashlight usually did when he was working under the hood of his truck. But this wasn’t him working on a truck. This was him now grunting around the old, weird-tasting wood, in someone else’s home. A product of his own making.

The ass was less of a bad decision and more of a consequence of one.

It belonged to Benny. Because of course the shorter man needed a box tucked to the back of a high shelf. And the only way to reach the box was to get a boost from Jack.

A boost that required two full hands of compact-cute cheeks for the best stability.

Could he have done that by interlocking his fingers and letting Benny step into them instead? Maybe. But using his hands as a chair was a lot easier to control.

At least physically.

Mentally?

Well, Benny might have been compact, but his ass definitely had some curve.

The word juicy came to mind.

And juicy was rarely a bad thing.

Though that didn’t mean Jack wasn’t frustrated as hell at the reason why that juicy ass was in his hands in the first place.

Why was he standing in Callum's garage trying to get a box of painter's tape, a pan, and a roller?

Because the favor they'd been asked to do by Roger Norman was to paint his future kid's nursery.

Manual labor outside for the craft hoarder, manual labor inside for the boat holder.

“I—I got it!”

The guy wiggled like a drunk on the dance floor. Jack lowered him and the box he was holding. Benny wasn’t a heavy guy, but Jack felt some pride in being able to maintain his hold. He wondered what other positions he could hold when the smell of something citrusy caught his nose.

“Wha—Wha ith at?”

Benny turned, steady on the ground, and reached directly for the paintbrush.

His finger grazed the skin of Jack’s cheek as he took the brush out of his mouth.

It was a very interesting feeling.

One he didn’t have the time to linger on.

“Repeat that, please.”

Jack motioned to Benny’s hair.

“That’s the second time I’ve smelled you and I want to know what it is.”

Benny’s eyes widened.

“The second time you’ve smelled me?” he repeated, clearly alarmed. “I smell?”

Jack reached for the box, worried it would go overboard with the captain.

“No, I mean yeah, but you smell good. Like fruit? Oranges or something.”

Relief flooded Benny’s face and spilled out into a light laugh.