Page 71 of The Bartender Special

“Well, fancy tampon selection aside, we really need to nail this party,” Dixon said. “I'm glad Benny hooked us up for it. Maybe we can win back some of our patrons.”

He nodded, a flash of pride across his chest.

“I'll drink to that.”

Dixon headed to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and was asleep with his bedroom door open, lights still on, before Jack could even drink half a glass of water.

Some would think of him as a mess, but his cousin was really just a man who lived his life with tunnel-vision focus. He loved Cassidy's Place, just as his dad did, and just as their grandfather had before them. His day-to-day was spent much like Jack's. He went to the bar, worked at the bar, and then worried about the bar.

Everything else?

Well, it fell by the wayside more often than not.

It was one of the reasons Dixon moving in after Jack’s breakup with Felicity hadn't been the worst idea. It was easier to feel reassured that he'd made all the right decisions when it came to his dedication to the bar when he was splitting the rent with someone who felt the same way.

Felicity hadn't understood why Jack didn't dream bigger, but Dixon?

He knew that the bar was bigger than any dream.

It was family.

Jack smiled at his cousin now. He turned the lights off and shut the door. He emptied his glass and did his nighttime routine in the bathroom on reflex.

It wasn’t until he was lights out in his own bed that he ran the highlight reel of the day.

Or really, just the one.

Benny with a hard on.

Pressing against him.

His body warm, compact, and absolutely distracting.

If Benny had only known how fast Jack had gone from ready to return the kiss to…ready to take him to the bed.

But then, like almost all good moments, it was ruined by an interruption.

Callum.

It was a good damn thing Benny had heard him come in, because Jack had not.

As far as pains in the asses went, though, Callum rated low on the totem pole in Arbor Bay. Jack had seen him a few times at the bar, but they'd never really talked. In the kitchen, after Benny had all but fled, he'd fallen into an easy and quick conversation with the man, despite the Guy-reveal of it all. The lack of prodding had been enough to make Jack like him. Or, at least, not dislike him.

There was a relaxed quality about him, even if Jack couldn't quite grasp his and Benny's relationship. They'd yelled at each other like Jack had seen Dixon and his sister do countless times, but then something had changed.

Benny came back in with a look of such intense something that Jack and Callum's conversation had died down in an instant.

Whatever feeling was there, it reflected in his brother until, finally, Jack couldn't take it anymore.

For once, he'd disliked the silence.

Jack blamed that odd, non-conversation on why he wasn't bothered by Benny's nearly non-stop babbling while they had painted at Roger's house. And Benny had talked. A lot.

Not even Jack mentioning the kitchen kiss in the car beforehand had deterred him. He’d instead deep-dived into the story of the last time he'd painted a room.

That story had stretched the length of the car ride and then segued into another story about how he and his last boyfriend—some idiot named Lyle, of all things—had spent an entire night arguing over how to stain a dresser.

Benny babbling about one thing or the other had become the soundtrack accompanying the first coat of paint on Roger's nursery.