Chapter Three
Dean
“You were serious?”
Dean put the photo ID away and slid his wallet back into his back pocket, marveling at the quiet majesty of his waiter-slash-bartender-slash-hopefully ghost tour host. He was tall and trim, wiry and lean in a natural, one might say “cowboy” kind of way.
He dressed the part, too—snug blue jeans with a big old belt buckle, clingy Pappy’s Pub work t-shirt and a faded ball cap from Bubba’s Bait Shop, his already statuesque height accentuated by his well-worn cowboy boots.
“Sure, kid. Didn’t I sound it?” His accent was thick as well, but sexy and warm in a way quite unlike Jason’s, which had been thick and grating and nearly indecipherable.
“Yeah, I just...” Dean nodded at the three regulars at the bar, most of their butts overflowing the ancient barstools as they canoodled, shoulder to shoulder, muttering in muted tones that created a kind of white noise tapestry beneath the louder layer of old-timey country music playing quietly overhead.
“I thought you were just showing off for those three.”
Sully glanced over his shoulder, broad and strapping beneath the faded red t-shirt. “The day I show off for those three, kid,” Sully harumphed, sliding onto the chair across from Dean at the scarred wooden table for two. “Send me straight to the Loony Bin.”
Dean sputtered out a nervous chuckle. He couldn’t help it.
He’d been expecting Sully to be some old salt, like one of the harmless, blob-like guys at the bar, a crusty middle-aged man who, in addition to giving ghost tours and pouring happy hour rot gut, probably reenacted old Civil War battles and painted model airplanes in his spare time.
What he hadn’t been expecting was some hunky young dude with dreamy green eyes beneath the rounded brim of his Bubba’s Bait Shack cap.
“Friends of yours?” Dean asked, finally hoisting the cold, brown bottle of Lucky Suds, an off-brand if he’d ever heard one.
Sully followed Dean’s curious gaze back to the bar, where the three bar fixtures were currently devouring a wooden bowl of shelled peanuts, husks and splinters flying hither and yon.
“Those three?” Sully scoffed, rolling his eyes good-naturedly as he turned back to face Dean. “They were Dad’s friends. I inherited them, along with this bar...”
Dean nodded, taking his first sip of beer and savoring its taut, crisp coolness.
For a no-name brand Sully probably bought by the pallet full, it wasn’t half-bad.
He nodded as Sully took a sip of his own, thick, rouged lips wrapped around the bottle top as if he knew just what Dean was thinking. “That why you can drink at work?”
Sully’s eyes widened slightly before he set the bottle down, grinning, his lips moist now in addition to being kissably full. “Bet your ass, City Slicker!”
Dean started to protest, flared nostrils, little clenched fists and all. Sully held up one big, predictably calloused hand and said, “Relax, kid. I was just kidding.”
“Dean,” he blurted, sitting up straighter as if to match Sully’s towering heights. “My name is Dean.”
Sully wrinkled his nose. “You’re Dean?” he huffed, waving his beer bottle derisively, if that was even such a thing. “You’re the kid who’s been blowing up my website all week.”
“So you do check your inbox?” Dean clucked, wagging his own beer bottle back. “And all week? Try all month.”
“What for?” Sully asked after a thoughtful sip of beer.
“What for? Which part?” Dean asked, puzzled.
Sully’s soft green eyes fixed him beneath the light of a neon beer sign above their table. “Why do you want a ghost tour in the off season?”
Dean narrowed his eyes. “Are you gonna give me one if I tell you?”
Sully chuckled, low and thick, a rich sound like honey and barbecue sauce drizzling off his tongue. “Did you drive all the way down here from ... where is it again?”
“Storm River State.”
“Yeah, there,” Sully asked, waving his beer bottle before taking a swig. “Did you drive all the way down from Storm River State because you thought I wouldn’t?”
“I drove all the way down because someone isn’t responding to messages sent to his website and I thought I might make a better impression in person.”
Sully’s slow, breezy laughter did strange things to Dean’s nether regions. “This is you? Making a better impression?”
Dean glanced over at the three regulars, playfully arguing over the last peanut in the bowl, then shifted his gaze back to Sully. “What, like you guys would have even let me in here if I’d been wearing a suit?”
Sully smiled, thick dimples in his hollow cheeks, the soft grin pushing up little laugh lines around his eyes, making Dean realize he must have been older than he looked.
“You’re probably right,” he sighed, growing comfortable in his chair as it creaked beneath his long, sinewy body.
“But ... you never answered my question.”
Dean’s brow furrowed. With all those hard edges and lean angles to admire, talking to Sully was a lot harder than looking at him. “Which one now?”
Sully snorted, creaking gently from side to side as if he’d grown impatient with their current line of questioning. “About why you want to go so bad. To Gravel Gulch, I mean.”
Dean put his beer bottle down and fixed Sully with a studious grin. “Well, if you’d read any of the impassioned pleas I’d sent to your website, you’d know I’m a graduate student who—”
“Bullshit!”
Dean paused. “Which part?”
“Graduate student my ass,” Sully huffed, waving his beer bottle toward Dean’s crotch. “I checked your ID. You only just now turned 21.”
Dean blushed quietly. “Yeah, well, high school wasn’t much fun for me so I kind of, uh, accelerated my studies and graduated ahead of schedule.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Dean huffed. “To get out of high school two years early, that’s why.”
Sully softened, shaking his head so that his faded ball cap glowed a soft neon red from the Lucky Suds light overhead. Their eyes met and he paused before explaining, “No, I get that. I mean, why wasn’t high school fun for you?”
“Have you seen me?”
Sully used the opportunity to give Dean a good once over, making him squirm where he sat. “Yeah, and?”
“I mean, not exactly Big Man on Campus material, you know?”
Sully cocked his head so that his jawline on one side became more prominent. “No one tried to stop you? Friends? Girlfriend? Parents? Counselors?”
“Why would they?”
Sully shrugged. “Lots of learning happens outside of the classroom,” he said in a low, slow grumble, as if auditioning to be the next Lucky Suds spokesperson. “Lots of fun, too.”
Dean glanced down at his beer, surprised to find himself picking at the label nervously.
“Hardly anyone noticed, actually,” he said, peering at the little pile of label scrapings he’d already made, almost subconsciously.
“One of my counselors tried to warn me, about missing out on my high school experience, but...”
“But what?”
“But my experience of high school?” Dean croaked, hardly believing he was spilling his guts to some honky-tonk hunk in the middle of the day, a cheap beer in his hand and country music warbling just overhead. “Was something I couldn’t wait to miss out on.”