Ctrl + Alt + Dalt (BxB)

Ctrl + Alt + Dalt + 7

"Physically," he says, still smirking as I rub the place on my arm that he'd just hit, even if it didn't actually hurt at all. I smile, but the last thing that I want to say is the first thing that comes to mind—a description of his physical body. I drink my Guinness to wash the thought away. "I guess you really don't know then, huh? I suppose that I'll just have to keep my eyes peeled for whoever you might see—that is—whoever just so happens to tickle your banana into peeling itself over."

"You and that dirty mind," I say, shaking my head with a slight smirk as he sips his drink, glancing around the bar. "Such vivid imagery from such a lurid imagination."

"It won't just be imaginary," he says, sipping his drink, glancing around the bar and at the new people entering through the front door behind me. He gives me a side eye as he continues, "that is, once I find out who rocks your banana boat."

I shake my head again, looking backwards to see who's come in and just as soon as an older gentleman enters to find my scanning gaze. He smiles, but I do my best to blankly and casually look past him, hoping not to pique his already unwarranted interest. Jordan pats my back with a devious smirk as he excuses himself to the bathroom. As if on cue, I can hear the gentleman join me at my side even as I try to busy myself with catching the bartender's attention in regards to my nearly-empty drink—I've been setup.

"Was the other young man your boyfriend, perhaps?" The deep, confident voice of the gentleman carries clearly over the faint background music and over all of the indistinct chatter around the bar. I think about feigning that I'm straight, if only to relieve myself of the discomfort of having to deal with him—of the discomfort of having to reject the first gay male that's worked up the courage to even approach me.

"Just a friend. I can introduce you two, when he gets back—he seemed interested," I lie, hoping to repay Jordan the favor in kind. The bartender nods, acknowledging my need for another drink as he quickly heads over.

"What will y'all have?" Mr. Bartender asks and I narrow my eyes at his implication of togetherness—clearly, not what I had intended. I just wanted my own drink, on my own tab.

"Bourbon, neat, on my tab," I reply, hoping to clear up the confusion. The gentleman and Mr. Bartender do a bit of a double take.

"Make it a double. It's on me, Pat," the gentleman says—apparently, he's on first-name basis with Mr. Bartender, or Pat, I suppose.

"You got it, Gary. Two bourbons, neat, coming right up," Pat says, making himself scarce, clearly, in the effort to give Gary time and space to talk to me—a wasted effort, I might add. I spot Jordan in the far distance as soon as he exits from the bathroom.

"You're friend's cute." Gary nudges my arm with a large, calloused hand. "I know when I'm intruding—you're being territorial, and he's, obviously, your territory."

"Hang on a minute," I say, trying to dispute the notion that I'm even into Jordan at all, because I'm not, but as I turn to face Gary, he's already walking away—leaving me to think about his parting words. If that's how it looks to him, what is it that makes it seem like I'm guarding Jordan to myself? I'm not even interested in Jordan, apart from his friendship, so how can that be?

"Who was that?" Jordan asks, coyly, smirking as he rejoins me as if he doesn't know that he got that ball rolling, and as if he didn't do it intentionally. I narrow my eyes in accusation as he tries to convert his smirk into a smile of innocence, but his attempt at feigning only serves to make him seem more guilty within my eyes. Pat returns with my new drink.

"Broke poor, old Gary's heart already, huh? Saw that one coming," Pat says as he hands me my drink and glances to Jordan before giving me a seemingly knowing smile—does seemingly everyone really think that I'm claiming Jordan, or something? Pat gestures towards Jordan's half-finished Long Island as he asks, "another one of those for you?"