by Sammi Cee
“How ya doing?” I asked Billy as he came up to the bar with a drink order.
“I’m fine, but my tips are going to suck.”
I rolled my eyes. The little shit knew I’d compensate him for lost tips. I was good like that and he damn well knew it. “At least you convinced Davis to help you out, I guess.” The hard tone of my voice making it clear how I felt about him going around me.
“What?” His gaze snapped to meet mine. Holding his hands up, he said snarkily, “Hey now, Sarge. Don’t go getting pissy with me about that. Davis started doing that all on his own. He peeked out when Ralph was bitching at me for letting food sit in the pass-through getting cold. Davis asked if he could help if he kept up with the dishes. You know Ralph doesn’t like his food ruined so he took him up on it and isn’t allowing him to wash dishes right now.” With that, he grabbed the drinks I’d been making and took off with a huff.
Huh? So the kid had showed initiative. He was such a scared little duckling I didn’t expect that from him. As I made drinks, I pondered Davis. Normally, I wouldn’t have even given his application a second glance. The position was for a dishwasher, and the kid had only ever mowed lawns, but he’d held his job for nine years. He wasn’t really a kid, but when he’d walked in wearing ratty, but clean, clothes with the most innocent, scared expression I’d seen in years on a grown man; yeah, he’d reminded me of a bo—kid. I shook my head with frustration. Kid. He’d made me think of a kid.
I was starting to think we’d actually make it through the night with their little solution when a shitstorm walked in. Fuuuuuck. I wanted to yank my damn hair out. There was nothing worse than a gaggle of women coming to the wild side for a bachelorette party. It was something I’d gotten used to through the years—the draw of the big, bad motorcycle bar on some poor chick’s last night of freedom, but they were a pain in the ass.
Bull, my bouncer who usually worked right outside of the door, came in and settled on the stool we kept there for him for nights like this and gave me two thumbs up. He’d have to check IDs from inside because with a group of drunk women flirting their asses off with the crowd I had in here, it tended to get ugly. Someone always went too far with the cat and mouse game, and there were always tears—and screaming. Damn, I hated the screaming.
The ladies stumbled in, this obviously not their first bar of the night, holding onto each other and waving their arms in the air. As annoyed as I was, I chuckled when one of them yelled, “The parties here, bitches,” at a table of stone-faced, rugged men who would dwarf every one of these ladies in size by at least six inches if they stood up. I watched on as another table full of men, all leather and tattoos, politely gave up their corner booth so the women could have it. Half of those men were gay, but a couple weren’t, so I knew we were in trouble with their hospitality to the newcomers.
From my side, Billy said, “Sarge, I’m going to need help. You know groups like that always order tons of food, plus all the damn shots they’re going to get sent. Then there’s the fact they take for-fucking-ever to even order.”
He wasn’t wrong, but what options did we have? Maybe closing the kitchen would get them out of here faster, or they’d end up staying without any food to soak up that alcohol and it’d be even more of a clusterfuck. Before I could answer him, Davis darted up quickly with two plates on his forearms and two in his hands. “Here you go,” he said to Billy, so quietly I almost didn’t hear him over the music and laughter in the bar.
“Thanks. Are you ready to work?” he asked the poor kid while he took the food from him.
“Uh…” His fear-filled gaze flicked back and forth between me and Billy. “I don’t think I’m the—”
Billy cut him off. “Nonsense. See those ladies in that corner?” Davis's hand gripped the ledge of the bar as he stood on tiptoe to see where Billy was pointing. I stepped sideways so he wouldn’t have to try to look over my shoulder. Shit. Why was I helping Billy? I didn’t want Davis out here where the vultures could… I don’t know… touch him.
Davis nodded hesitantly. “Yeah?”
“All I need you to do is take care of their food order. It’ll be a straight shot across the back of the room for you.” Davis opened his mouth. “I’ll get you a pad of paper, and you just write down everything they ask for. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Ralph will figure it out. If you can do that and keep running out the other food for me, I may survive this night.”
“Hey, Sarge. Can I have that beer tonight or what?” a low timber growled at me from the other end of the bar.
“Wait here,” I said to Davis and Billy before I strode angrily to get the man his draft.
I slammed the mug down in front of him, letting the icy beer slosh over the sides while giving him a steely look. Fucker was a regular and he knew we were drowning in here. You’d think he could wait one damn minute.
“Sorry, Sarge,” he said, putting his arms up in surrender.
I turned back to my conspiring waiter to find him and Davis gone. “Shit.” There wasn’t time to sulk. It was my bar and tonight there wasn’t another bartender to keep the alcohol flowing. There weren’t many bars on this side of town where an “unsavory” crowd like this was welcome, so one night of bad service wasn’t going to ruin me or anything, but I liked decency and order. My place was supposed to run like the well-oiled machines out in the parking lot belonging to my customers, and because of one shit employee, I had chaos.
A loud cheer went up from the women in the booth, and I glanced up from the shots of Crown Royale I was pouring to see Billy introducing Davis, Vanna White style, to the bachelorette party. Davis was visibly shaking next to him, but he gave the cutest, tentative wave to the table that I’d ever seen. Somehow, instead of being in the grungiest—yet still clean—jeans and too-small T-shirt I’d seen him wear yet in the week since he’d started, he had on a black Full Throttle T-shirt that fit him perfectly, with a pair of red skinny jeans that molded to a tight little ass his other clothes hadn’t showcased. His trim body was even more delectable in clothes that fit, which pissed me off. It was bad enough manning the bar alone with all these women in here on a Thursday night, but now I’d have to keep an eye out for him, too.
“Billy,” I said with a menacing growl as he appeared in front of me.
“What?” He shrugged innocently. “The ladies need a round of lemondrops to start with.”
“Where did he get those clothes?” We both knew who I was talking about, so I didn’t bother to clarify.
Billy sighed like he was put-out, another thing he did which usually endeared him to me, but was pissing me off tonight. “Since you hadn’t found it necessary to give him his own bar shirt yet, I gave him a spare I had with me, and the jeans are mine, too.”
“I ordered him his shirts, but they haven’t come in yet.” Of course, I did. It was the first damn thing I did after hiring the kid. Judging by the ill-fitting long sleeve he’d worn to the interview, the kid needed clothes. As I made the shots, I eyed him speculatively. “You just so happened to have an extra work shirt and pair of jeans with you?”
“Well, no. That was totally on purpose. I have a whole bag of clothes for him in the breakroom that I’ve been trying to figure out how to give him. I don’t want to embarrass him, but… I’ve been where he is and…” With a shrug, he set the lemondrops on the tray and practically skipped away.
It was as if someone in the heavens, if you believed in that, was smiling down on us because the rest of the night ran unbelievably smoothly. The bar only had live bands on Friday and Saturday night, and we did have a guy who came in and sang with his acoustic guitar on Sunday, but Thursday was still the old-fashioned stereo behind the bar pumping out music through the speakers. A couple of the ladies stood at the end of their booth and danced a couple of times when a song they liked came on, but for the most part, they kept to themselves. They were loud as hell, but they didn’t try to engage the beasts in the room. Billy said they’d refused the shots the guys who’d vacate
d the table wanted to buy them, insisting they were plenty lit up enough. They stuck to mixed drinks and beers they ordered on their own, along with the anticipated shit-ton of food.
Davis scurried back and forth between the kitchen and Billy with orders, while keeping up with his tables’ needs. Since the ladies weren’t inviting trouble, they didn’t get it. After Bull ushered out the last of the customers at the end of the night, he locked the door and meandered over to sit across from me, and I handed him a bag of the peanuts he preferred along with a bottle of water. As I cleaned what felt like every mug and shot glass there was in the whole bar—I’d definitely got backed up—Bull said, “Sarge, you need a barback for Thursday nights, too.”
“Rex keeps running them off. He doesn’t play well with others behind the bar while he’s working.”
“Yeah, but he had that thing tonight, and you were completely fucked.”
“Can’t argue with that, man.” I hunched into my chest, stretching my back. Tonight had kicked my ass.
“We aren’t getting any younger.” He smirked, then popped a nut into his mouth.
“Speak for yourself,” I grumbled. Although, he had a point. Ten years ago, we’d have played a couple of games of pool after a night like tonight before heading home. Right now, I craved a shower and my large, warm bed.
Bull had been working for me since I opened the bar, and except for my best friend Lawson, gaged my moods better than anyone. He let me work in silence. Something was gnawing at me, and I couldn’t figure out what. Despite all odds, the night had gone pretty smoothly once Billy had Davis's help. Davis had disappeared into the back when the party left. We’d stayed decently busy until close, but Ralph stopped serving hot food an hour before closing time, so Billy had been able to handle it. I hadn’t heard any complaining from Ralph about how the back had run, and he was always the first of my employees to vent his frustrations. Bull had only had to break up two fights, which was typical for your average Thursday night, and run off some dumb ass smoking a crack pipe around the side of the building. Yeah, I was exhausted, but still moving, so what the hell had me so on edge?
Billy was finishing putting the chairs on the tables so he could sweep and mop when Ralph emerged with Davis trailing after him. “Sarge, what are we going to do about that dumbass Ernie? I think you’ve given him enough chances, and he always gets the orders for the kitchen wrong. How the hell hard can it be? We’re a fucking bar. We’re not serving filet mignon up in here, and he still brings plates back to me all night long to fix. How do they want it? That’s all he has to ask when he takes their order.”
Billy snorted as he strolled over with the broom in hand, leaning on it once he was next to Davis. He’d lost most of his bounce from earlier after running his ass off all night, but there was a mischievous smirk on his face I knew better than to trust. “I think Davis should take his place.”
Davis's eyes widened. “Oh… um… I don’t think—” His eyes begged me for help as he faced me.
Ralph jumped in. “Yeah, I think that would work. Davis here”—he laid a hand heavily on the kid’s shoulder, causing him to wince—“is a tad on the quiet side, but he’ll get used to it. At least he understands what the hell we serve here. He made sure a couple of the orders went out right when I missed something. Plus, his shyness might benefit us.” He side-eyed Billy. “That one spends so much time flirting he gets behind.”
Billy shook his hips from side-to-side while turning his head to look over his shoulder. “I can’t help it if my luscious ass brings all the boys out to play.”
Davis whirled toward Billy. “These guys in here know you’re gay? And they don’t… I don’t know, give you a hard time?”
Billy threw his head back laughing. “Sugar, it’s not like I could hide it—if I even wanted to.”
I said, “We’re known for being an LGBT+ friendly bar.” He’d spent the last week in the kitchen, but had he really not noticed that there were mostly men in here?
“B-b-but, they’re bikers.”
Bull chuckled. “They’re still men, and a man wants what he wants. Am I right, Sarge?”
Bull knew I didn’t discriminate; attraction was attraction, and both of us were known for our variety in bedpartners. I shrugged. “Yep. And I don’t deal with homophobic bullshit in this bar.” I snorted. “Have you seen some of these guys? You’d be a fool to tell them where or with whom they can stick their dick.”
“I know that’s right,” Billy said saucily. “So, Davis?” He raised an eyebrow at me.
Bull, sensing my indecision, said, “It’s a good idea, Sarge. I was watching the ladies tonight and he did good with them. Real good, actually. He had them laughing and kept them happy.”
He had. I’d discretely kept an eye on him all night as well, and he’d handled his table well. On one hand, I knew he’d be reliable based on his application, but if it got to be too much out here for him, I didn’t want him to run off scared when he really needed a job. Trying to salvage this one last time, I said, “But then Ralph won’t have help in the back.”
“The back is covered. Lawson ducked into the kitchen earlier to grab a burger.”
“I didn’t see him.” Lawson was my slightly grumpy, often antisocial, best friend.
“He said the lot was too full for him to want to deal with a crowd for a beer. Guess he had to work late, but he wanted a good burger before going home. Anyway, when he saw Davis here, double-doing it, he said his nephew was needing some work.”
A groan slipped past my lips. Lawson’s nephew was a twenty-one-year-old punk who’d given his sister plenty of heartache and hadn’t been able to hold a job longer than two weeks. “He told you because he knows there’s no way I’m hiring that kid. Not even for Cynthia, who I adore. Her son is less reliable than Ernie. Give it two weeks and he’ll be sneaking out mid-shift.”
Billy stood up off of his broom and strode across the room to start sweeping, saying over his shoulder, “Perfect. Davis can wait a few tables tomorrow night to get used to it. Then he’ll be good for Saturday to cover Ernie’s shift. This will give us two weeks to decide if Davis likes being a waiter. If it’s not a good fit, his kitchen job will be available again. If it is, you can hire someone for Ralph. Either way, you’ll have to run another ad, Sarge.”
He wasn’t wrong. Davis's eyes still pled with me to fix this, but if he was hurting for money as bad as his clothes and too-thin frame suggested, the tips he’d get working out here with Billy would really help him out. Billy’s tips alone were well over the wage I paid for a dishwasher.
Davis must have read the resolve on my face to give it a shot because the poor kid shrank under my gaze. “Come on, it won’t hurt to try. Plus, I bet you made decent tips tonight from that bachelorette party, right?”
Those pale blue orbs grew larger in his face. “Oh my gosh. I forgot about the money.” He pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket. “Do I give this to Billy? Or you made the drinks, I don’t want to steal someone’s money.”
His earnest sincerity yanked hard on my heart. Dammit. This kid was under my skin. Nights of being at the bar, even when I was off, loomed before me. Until I was sure he could handle it, I didn’t trust anyone, not even Bull, to watch him as close as I would.
Billy yelled, “You were doing me a favor, so you keep it. And we don’t tip out Sarge. Only the other bartender, so you’re good.”
“Really?” Davis gasped, his head turning anxiously back and forth between me and Billy.
“Yep. Really.” Ralph squeezed his shoulder, where his hand still rested much to my irritation, before dropping it and heading toward the door for Bull to let him out.
Bull asked me a question while he walked back to the bar, and as I answered him, I watched out of my peripheral as Davis surreptitiously counted the wad of cash. The smile tugging at his lips, that he tried to hide, was the final nail in the coffin. Even if it took weeks to get him trained and comfortable, Davis was my new waiter. He was desperate for the money
, and for whatever reason, I needed to help him.
Chapter Three
Davis
What a whirlwind the week had been, and I felt like I’d been caught in the eye of the tornado without a chance of my feet touching the ground any time soon. I had hoped to work quietly in the back while washing the dishes and staying low-key, but Billy refused to let that happen. He was like a popcorn kernel that got stuck in your teeth—you knew it was there, but unless you worked really hard on it, it wouldn’t go away. That was Billy. Even though I tried to ignore him so I could concentrate on my job, he refused to go away. And for once, I was glad he was so stubborn and found a way to infiltrate my invisible force field.
I’d listened while the guys discussed me becoming a waiter, then pocketed the wad of cash, and mentally calculated what I could purchase at the little store on the corner in terms of food. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about waitering, but this bump from the money in my pocket was urging me to give it a try. And since it seemed like the decision had been made—and Sarge did need the help—there really was no point in making a fuss about it. Plus, that money… how could I turn that away? Putting something besides instant noodles in my stomach seemed like a dream I could finally turn into a reality.
While they continued to chat, I took the opportunity to scoot away. It was going to be a semi-long walk home, and I was already wiped from how busy work was. But I had just stepped out into the parking lot when I heard a voice behind me.
“My car is to the left,” Billy said.
My shoulders tensed a little and my cheeks burned as I turned around to face him. “I just, uh…” I trailed off as I hooked my thumb awkwardly over my shoulder.
“Sneaking away?” He finished for me. “We’ve gone through this the entire week. How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t mind dropping you off at home? It’s on my way. You’re not a burden. And no, you’re not giving me gas money. Does that cover all your arguments?”