The Rusty Anchor was a dive bar with character, tucked on the edge of town where the streetlights barely reached. Its dimly lit interior glowed with the flicker of neon beer signs—Budweiser, Coors, some local craft nobody cared about—casting a hazy red and blue over sticky wooden tables. The air was thick with the scent of stale beer and greasy fries, and the faint hum of a jukebox churned out classic rock, currently belting a gravelly Aerosmith tune. In the corner booth, surrounded by a graveyard of empty pint glasses and a half-eaten basket of nachos, Nik Schmidt leaned back with a lazy grin, one arm slung over the cracked vinyl seat. His two best friends, Jake and Travis, flanked him, their laughter already a little too loud for a Thursday night.
“Alright, alright,” Jake said, wiping a smear of cheese from his chin with the back of his hand, “so the boss catches me napping in the break room again today. Third time this month. I swear, if looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. But hey, at least I’m still employed, right?”
Travis snorted, slamming his pint glass down with a clink. “Barely, man. You’re one snooze away from a pink slip. Meanwhile, I’m out here killing it on the sales floor. Made quota by noon today. Boss practically begged me to take the afternoon off.”
Nik rolled his eyes, twirling a coaster between his fingers. “Yeah, yeah, Travis, we get it. You’re the golden boy. Can we talk about something that ain’t gonna put me to sleep? Like, I dunno, the game last night? Those refs were blind, I swear.”
Jake grinned, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “Refs were trash, agreed. But speaking of blind, you shoulda seen the chick I hooked up with last weekend. Met her at some shitty club downtown. Couldn’t see straight after four tequila shots, but man, she was game for anything. Ended up in the bathroom stall, and let’s just say I’ve never been so thankful for a lock that actually works.”
Travis barked a laugh, shaking his head. “Bathroom stall? Dude, that’s rookie league. Last month, I had this girl over—met her on Tinder, total firecracker. She’s into some light bondage, right? Ties me up with these silk scarves, starts calling me her ‘naughty little pet.’ I’m thinking, okay, cool, I’m down. Then she pulls out a freaking feather duster. A feather duster! I’m like, what are we doing, cleaning the house or getting freaky?”
Jake doubled over, clutching his sides. “Bro, you let her dust you off? That’s the lamest kink I’ve ever heard. Did she vacuum you next?”
“Laugh it up, asshole,” Travis shot back, smirking. “At least I didn’t get caught with my pants down in a public restroom. What’s your excuse, huh? Couldn’t afford a motel?”
Nik watched the exchange with amusement, sipping his beer slow and steady. He’d been quiet for a while, letting the boys have their little pissing contest. But now, with a sly grin creeping across his face, he set his glass down with a deliberate thud. “You two done comparing your sad little stories? ‘Cause I’ve got something that’ll shut you both up real quick.”
Jake raised an eyebrow, leaning in. “Oh, this oughta be good. Lay it on us, Schmidt. What’s the great Nik got up his sleeve?”
Travis crossed his arms, smirking. “Yeah, man, spill. You’ve been sitting there all smug. What, you finally get some action after months of playing house with Amelia?”
Nik’s grin widened, a glint of mischief in his hazel eyes. “Oh, I get plenty of action, Trav. More than you two combined, I’d wager. And since you’re so desperate for details, let me paint you a picture of last Friday night. Me and Amelia, we’re not messing around with bathroom stalls or feather dusters. Nah, we’re in a whole other league.”
Jake chuckled, nudging Travis. “Here we go. Nik’s about to drop some married-guy bullshit. What, you hold hands and whisper sweet nothings?”
Nik ignored the jab, leaning forward, voice dropping low like he was sharing a state secret. “Friday night, we’re in the bedroom, lights low, music on—some dirty R&B to set the mood. Amelia, she’s not shy, alright? She’s loud. I mean, neighbors-probably-heard-us-through-the-walls loud. And the mouth on her? Filthy. Stuff I can’t even repeat without blushing, and I ain’t exactly a saint. She’s barking orders, telling me exactly what she wants, how she wants it, and I’m just along for the ride—except she’s the one steering. Loves taking charge, but here’s the kicker: she’s got this thing for being dominated too. Especially when we’re going at it doggystyle, her favorite. She’s begging for it, man, practically growling while I’ve got her pinned. It’s like she’s a goddamn sex goddess and a total freak rolled into one. I’m telling you, I’ve never had it so good.”
The table went silent for a beat, save for the faint hum of the jukebox switching to a Rolling Stones track. Jake’s jaw was practically on the floor, his beer forgotten mid-sip. Travis blinked, then let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Holy shit, man. That’s… that’s next level. Amelia’s a straight-up wildcat.”
Jake recovered, slamming a hand on the table. “Dude! You can’t just drop a bomb like that and leave us hanging. Details, bro, we need details. What’d she say? How’d she look? Gimme something!”
Nik laughed, a deep, satisfied sound, and leaned back in his seat. “Nah, nah, you don’t get the play-by-play. That’s between me and my wife. I’m just saying, you two are out here playing checkers while I’m over here playing chess with a queen who knows every damn move. And trust me, you wouldn’t last five minutes in her game.”
Travis groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Man, that’s cruel. You’re killing us here. At least throw us a bone. One more tidbit. Come on, Nik, don’t be a tease.”
Nik shook his head, his expression turning firm, though the smirk lingered. “Not a chance, Trav. Look, I’m proud as hell of Amelia—she’s a force of nature, and I’m the lucky bastard who gets to call her mine. But let’s get one thing straight: she’s off-limits. Monogamy’s the name of the game, boys. You can drool over your beers all you want, but that’s as close as you’re getting. I don’t share, and I don’t play. Got it?”
Jake held up his hands in mock surrender, grinning. “Alright, alright, message received. We won’t touch your precious queen. But damn, man, you’ve got us jealous as hell. I’m over here with bathroom girl, and you’re living in some porno fantasy land.”
Travis nodded, chuckling. “Yeah, I’m starting to think my feather duster chick needs an upgrade. Nik, you’re making us look bad. How am I supposed to go back to Tinder after hearing that?”
Nik shrugged, taking a long sip of his beer. “Not my problem, man. Step up your game or stay in the minors. Me? I’ve got the MVP waiting at home.”
As if on cue, his phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with a text. Nik glanced down, and a slow, hungry smile spread across his face. The message was from Amelia, short and to the point: *Hurry home, stud. Got something special planned. Don’t keep me waiting.*
He typed a quick reply—*On my way, babe. Keep it hot.*—then pocketed the phone, pushing his glass aside. “Alright, boys, I’m calling it. Got a better offer waiting for me than listening to you two cry about your sad sex lives.”
Jake groaned, tossing a crumpled napkin at him. “You suck, man. Can’t even stay for one more round?”
Travis smirked, shaking his head. “Nah, let him go. Dude’s got a wildcat to tame. We’ll just sit here and wallow in our misery.”
Nik stood, tossing a few bills on the table for his share. “Wallow away, losers. I’ll catch you next time. Try not to bore each other to death with your feather duster stories.”
With a final wave and a cocky grin, Nik headed for the door, the neon glow of the bar fading behind him as he stepped into the cool night air. His mind was already on Amelia, on whatever “something special” she had in store. The boys could talk all they wanted, but he knew the real game was waiting for him at home.
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