While he swigs his beer, John stands, an inch taller than Timo, and smoothly slides behind him. I’ve never seen Timo tense before. But he does, especially as John rests his hands on the counter, on either side of Timo, essentially caging him in. Damn. It’s hot. It’s even hotter when Timo turns his head, just slightly, to look at John. And John stares down like you deserve better than middle-aged, pot-belly bastards.
