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Description
Evans
Evans had always been too big for the office.
Not just in build, though the tailored shirts had never quite managed to button over his broad chest and powerful shoulders, but in spirit. He was restless behind a desk, bored of boardrooms and fake smiles. So one summer, without warning, he left it all. No resignation letter. Just a wink to his boss and the heavy thud of his hooves down the hallway.
Now, Evans runs Coconut Drift, a beach bar nestled between sun-bleached dunes and endless surf. He built it with his own hands, muscles flexing in the sun as the locals watched with more than curiosity. The bar’s a magnet now, for tourists, thrill-seekers, and anyone craving a little escape. And Evans? He serves them all with a smirk and a shake of his mane, shirt half-unbuttoned, fur kissed golden by the sun.
He’s got a reputation: charming, daring, and just suggestive enough to make even the shyest guests blush behind their drinks. He leans in close when he talks, voice low, breath warm, always teasing. You never quite know if he’s just being nice or if the heat in his gaze means something more.
But everyone who’s been to Coconut Drift remembers him.
Some say it’s the cocktails.
Others say it’s the way Evans looks at you, like he’s already imagined what you taste like with salt on your skin.
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