6 Days To Get Lucky by LE Franks

Author:LE Franks [Franks, LE]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Tags: Gay Romance
Publisher: Wilde City Press
Published: 2016-03-09T00:00:00+00:00

* * * * *

I loved Friday nights. The end of week energy was enough to suck some of the lethargy away that was still plaguing me. The hurling team was back and so was I—spending more time behind the tap than usual. I topped off the fifth pint of stout in a row, when Corwyn’s ‘little’ teammate Rory moved into my line of sight, his older brother—Mickey? Mikey?—tagging along behind.

They’d kept a low profile with me since their altercation earlier in the week—I tried not to hold onto a grudge, but they were at the root of the last bar fight and I wasn’t interested in another battle with the potential to ruin the current peace holding between FatBoy and myself. That said, I’ve often been accused many times of being my own worst enemy and I was still severely sleep deprived. I gave a mental shrug and soldiered on.

“Hey, Rory… Mikey…” Okay, maybe I was feeling a little feisty.

The older man glowered, correcting me in an accent so thick it had the same effect as spreading peanut butter on tissue paper—a dubious enterprise at best and one destined for failure as I still couldn’t understand a word he said, so I ignored him.

Despite his size, Rory was still cute as a button and had a just brushed puppy look that made it impossible not to ogle him a little. So I did. His brother wasn’t any happier by that, and given the hissing noises now emanating from him, he’d either sprung a leak or was sporting a serpent in his pocket.

It hurt not to ask which so I gave my attention back to Little Red instead. “What can I get ya? I’ve got some fresh lemonade in the back… the kitchen makes a hell of a sweet tea, and no trip South is complete without a taste.” I cut myself short before offering my callow friend a glass of milk.

The offer must have been splashed across my face anyway since I heard, “You’re a wee bit of shite, aren’t ya, boy-o?” I let my lip curl just a bit and swung my gaze over to Rory’s fraternal sentinel. Mickey or Mikey looked ready to reach across the bar top and crush me with a fist like a plate. The man had moved on from wanting a Guinness and gone straight to blood. Mine.

This told me two things: first, I must have a terrible poker face when fatigued, which also explained the many late night offers to play for tips after closing; and second, this man had two last nerves and I’d managed to find them both in under a minute—a new, personal best.

I’d have to make a note of it if I lived through the day.

I might be crap at hiding my thoughts on two hours of sleep, but that didn’t make me stupid. As long as I kept Rory happy, the Rottweiler he rode in on would stay chained. That didn’t mean I had any more self-control than usual… less in fact.

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