Page 47 of The Bartender Special

“And what kind of favor exactly do you need from me?”

Ms. Peggy grinned.

Two hours later and Benny was finishing off his second glass of sweet tea, vibrating from all the sugar in it, and completely satisfied with the collection of plastic bins he'd organized in the middle of Ms. Peggy's living room.

“I can't thank you enough,” he told the older woman, meaning every word. “I can pay you back as soon as⁠—”

Ms. Peggy interrupted him with a hush.

She waved one hand at him while the other held a half-eaten sugar cookie.

She’d been taking a while to finish it, distracted by what was happening in her front yard. The sound of a lawnmower had become a white noise machine while Benny had worked.

“You know your money is no good with me,” she added, still not glancing his way.

It made Benny curious, especially since not too long ago she’d been in active conversation with him. He left his treasures on the floor and walked over to her side.

“It can’t be that interesting out there,” he started. “I mean he’s just…”

Benny quieted himself.

The lawnmower continued to hum.

He understood what had changed in the last few minutes.

Jack wasn’t simply fulfilling her favor of yardwork anymore.

He was doing it sans shirt.

“When did that happen?” he asked before his brain could make him sound less curious.

Ms. Peggy was treating her cookie like popcorn at the movies.

“He threw it off a few minutes ago,” she said around a bite of her treat. “I was kind of hoping we’d lose the pants too, but that would be too much, right?”

“Ms. Peggy,” Benny chided on reflex.

She shrugged and took another bite of her cookie.

“Hey, I don’t have to like the man to appreciate the man’s body.” She tilted her head a little to the side. “You have to work out to get that kind of a chest right? It’s not just good genes and diet?”

Jack Knox, grump and anti-craft fan, wasn’t built like some chiseled, magical superhero that flexed and fought in the movies. But he sure was blessed.

Lines and curves and definition.

They directed the eye from his chest to his stomach to his arms to his stomach again and…to the beginning of the holy grail of what the media said was the pinnacle promise of good, good sex.

A V-shape that went from above the brim of his pants and disappeared into the world of wonder beneath them.

It wasn’t ridiculously pronounced.

But it could be seen.

Just like the trailing of hair that went from his navel to his⁠—

Benny fluttered his eyes open and closed before shooing himself and Ms. Peggy away from the window.

“We’re more civil than this, Ms. Peggy,” he tried, face as hot as it must have been outside, judging by the sweat gleaming off of Jack’s skin.