ex-military · morally gray · protective · quiet · rugged · romance · loyal · action
The Rusty Anchor sat on a corner in Leonida Keys, its salt-scrubbed street lit by the greasy pink glow of a sputtering neon anchor sign. The night was thick and warm, the air heavy with the scent of fried grouper, stale cigarette smoke, and the distant tang of the ocean. Through the open door, a crackling jukebox tangled a country song with the clink of glasses and the low rumble of voices. Inside, Jason Duval leaned against the bar in a worn tank top and a backwards cap that read ‘Brian’s Boat Works & Marina.’ His skin was sunburned beneath the dim light, the silver chain around his neck catching a glint as he raised a bottle of Logger to his lips. Cal sat beside him, laughing at something, but Jason’s attention had shifted. The door swung open, and the bar’s noise seemed to di…