Heat Stroke (Beach Kingdom, #2)(4)

“Any song?”

“Yeah.”

“‘Hallelujah’ by Jeff Buckley.”

“Christ.” Marcus tipped his head back and laughed. “This is going to be fun,” he said. “Mine is ‘Baby One More Time.’ Tonight at the bar, we compete to see who can get more customers to play their song on the internet jukebox. No bribery allowed.”

Jamie was quiet so long, Marcus worried he’d had to go rescue someone. Or worse.

Someone was giving him a problem on the beach.

Marcus’s pulse started to tick faster and faster in his ears. There was more than one reason he liked being close to Jamie’s chair. More than one reason he bounced at the Castle Gate. Just in case someone fucked with Jamie. Marcus had heard the story about the incident. If someone bothered Jamie on the beach—or worse, harmed him—it wouldn’t be the first time.

“Jamie.”

Still nothing.

Marcus stood up and prepared to jump down to the sand.

“Sorry,” Jamie came back, laughing. “The PD arrived. The hippie is giving me the finger.”

Marcus flopped back down into the chair and let out a shaky breath. “Are you in on the bet?” he asked, after he’d composed himself.

“What are the stakes?”

Don’t do this. You shouldn’t be doing this. “If you lose, you go with me tomorrow.”

Jamie scoffed. “Go with you where?”

“You only find out if you lose.”

“Ohhhh. So this is how murders happen.”

Marcus reared back. “Right. Like I’d let something happen to you.”

Idiot. He rapped on his forehead with a fist. Too much. Guys didn’t say things like that to each other. His suspicion that he’d said the wrong thing was confirmed a moment later when Jamie spoke again. “If I win, Marcus…you have to stop this, all right?”

“Stop what? Being a natural born winner? I can’t help it.” He rolled his eyes at himself even as he chuckled weakly into the radio. “Talk to you later, Jamie Prince. I gotta go crack down on an old lady.”

He switched off the channel before he could embarrass himself further. He dropped his head into his hands. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much stress the truth caused him, though…he couldn’t help but count the hours until the sun went down.





CHAPTER TWO





Jamie rolled his eyes as “Baby One More Time” kicked off again over the Castle Gate loudspeakers. He’d been keeping a mental tally all night. Currently, the score was Jamie: five, Marcus: seven. And it was a testament to how loaded their customers were that no one seemed to notice the same two songs kept playing over and over again. Jamie caught Marcus grinning at him from his station at the door and gave him a look that said the night is young, bitch.

“Someone go fix the jukebox before I jab this cocktail stirrer in my fucking eye,” Andrew called from the other end of the teaming bar. His command received several drunken cheers from summer revelers. As usual, they were red faced, sloshed and showing no signs of going home. They were a different crowd than the one who typically patronized the Castle Gate during the rest of the year. These were Down for the Summer folks—or DFS’s as they were referred to by Long Beach locals. With no jobs to wake up for in the morning and apparently a yawning gap where their morals used to be, DFS’s typically remained in the bar until they were thrown out, and tonight would be no different.

During the summer months, after the Prince brothers ended their lifeguarding shifts at the beach, they went straight to the Castle Gate and started slinging drinks. Working the family bar their father had bought decades earlier was nothing new, but the bar’s success had become a lot more necessary because of the debt their father had left behind. Thankfully, because of Andrew’s relentless drive, the tone of the place had changed dramatically and money was coming in, long overdue bills were being paid. A seedier crowd that usually drew the attention of local law enforcement had been replaced with college kids and vacationers. So while the new wave of customers might be entitled and inexperienced, they’d started putting more money in the register and given the place a trendy reputation.

Their father would never see what it had become.

Jamie swatted away that disquieting thought and tipped a pint glass sideways under a steady amber stream, leaving it with just the right amount of foam on top before he slid it across the bar toward a customer, accepting a twenty in exchange. Sitting beside that customer was an older man in a fitted gray T-shirt, a little salt and pepper in his hair. His gaze warmed when Jamie looked over, letting Jamie know he was interested.

There. Right there was his usual type. A mature gentleman who knew what he wanted, was secure in who he was and didn’t mind everyone knowing.

In other words, the opposite of Marcus O’Shaughnessy.

Forcing himself to stop comparing Marcus to people—or thinking about him in any capacity—Jamie met up with Andrew at the register.

“Why couldn’t the jukebox have gotten stuck on Journey or something?” Andrew muttered, his fingers flying over the touch screen. “Drunk people love Journey.”

No way Jamie was telling his brother about the bet. One, Andrew didn’t like anyone fucking around on the clock and two, Jamie had no business engaging in a bet that could equal more time with Marcus. None whatsoever. “Yes. But drunk girls love Britney, and when girls are happy, so are the menfolk. It’s basic math.”