A Guy Walks Into My Bar

by Lauren Blakely

  “But then this guy . . . He couldn’t stay. He had to go.”

  Dean’s expression shifts, more serious now. “I think I know how this story ends. It ends with them being far apart. Is that the story you want to tell me?”

  I shake my head, my eyes locked with his. “There’s this other version of the story. It has a different ending.”

  In the softest voice I’ve ever heard, he whispers, sounding almost desperate, “Tell me that story, Fitz. Tell it to me now.”

  I nod to where I’m standing. “Come out from behind the bar, and I will.”

  Without breaking my gaze, he lifts the pass-through and steps forward, standing in front of me, a foot away. We don’t touch, though, and I know why. Once we do, we will be putting on a show. I don’t know that I could hold anything back unless I hold everything back, so my hands stay clenched in fists at my sides.

  I have to say what I came to say before I can touch him.

  I start over. I start a new story. The next chapter. “So, this guy walks into a bar tonight, and he has two days off before his Thursday night game, and the other guy is coming to see him next week, but this guy—he couldn’t wait till then. He couldn’t wait another minute.” I step closer, needing to be near him, to be in his space as I take the narrative for myself. “All I could think about—literally the only thing in my head this morning after I called you my boyfriend—was that I had to get to England right away. Because the thing is, Dean . . .” I can’t hold back now. I need to touch him. I reach for his face, to hold him. “I cannot stop thinking about you. I cannot stop thinking about us. I cannot stop thinking about how we can be together.”

  I take a beat to let my chest fill with air again. “That’s why I got on a plane this morning—so I could come here tonight to ask you something.”

  46

  Dean

  Mirage was my first thought when I saw Fitz at the end of my bar.

  Then, it’s a trick of the mind.

  Seeing the face you most want to see. The one you dream of. The one you love madly.

  I never expected him to show up like this. Not when I have a plane ticket for Sunday. Not when I’m supposed to be flying to see him in five nights. When I’d planned to tell him I’d move to New York for him.

  That I’d be with him if he’d have me.

  That I’d give up all this for him.

  Because it’s not giving up, it’s getting him. And he’s what I want most in the world.

  Instead, he’s here, and he has something to ask me. I’m not one to jump to conclusions, to make assumptions.

  But even so, my heart is two steps ahead, hammering wildly, assuming desperately. I try to slow the stampede of emotions as I speak, but the words come out gravelly anyway. “What exactly are you proposing?”

  His grin is wicked and satisfied as he says one word. “That.”

  I arch a brow, barely letting myself hope. I haven’t let my mind go there. It would be too much. Too good. Too unreal. “That?”

  His expression is fierce, and his eyes never stray from mine, and his gaze never breaks as he holds my face. “Marry me.”

  For a few seconds, I’m living in a dream, or maybe in a rom-com. The entire bar goes incredibly still, library-quiet, and I am aware out of the corner of my eye that everyone is now looking at us. That the noise and the bustle has died down as my customers figure out what’s going on in this corner of the bar.

  We are in the proverbial spotlight. And I should care. But I don’t, because all I care about is him and the two words he just said. And the words he keeps saying, because he doesn’t stop talking, because Fitz is a talker, and he can’t ever stop running at the mouth, and I love it, I love everything he’s saying, every single word.

  “I don’t know how any of this works, Dean,” he says. “But I will do whatever it takes for you. I want you to come to New York with me and live with me and be with me. Now, tomorrow, always. And I will do whatever you need me to do to make that happen. Whatever I can do to make your life easier, to make our life together happen, I will do it. I will do whatever it takes to have you come to New York and be my husband.”

  The air rushes out of my lungs. I try to form words, but I can’t think. I can only feel . . . feel this intensity, this passion, this wild, wonderful love.

  And when I think I can’t possibly feel anything more, he gets down on one knee, making it all so real.

  Fitz reaches into his pocket, takes out a velvet box, and flips it open. A platinum band. It’s simple, classy.

  For me.

  I am floored.

  Utterly floored and still speechless.

  I try to say something, to say yes, to say God, I fucking love you so much, but my throat is clogged with emotion—with happiness and so much love I don’t know how to contain it, or if I even can.

  He looks up at me, his blue eyes so vulnerable and so full of hope. “I have no idea if you’ll even consider this, but I will regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t ask you, because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you so damn much. I love you more than anything. More than anyone. And I am heartsick without you.”

  My own heart is ten sizes too big. It beats outside my chest, and I can’t contain it. Because my heart starts and ends with him.

  There are a million questions, a thousand things I need to figure out, but there is only one answer in the entire world.

  The one I’ve been saying to him all along. The place I knew I would go with him. “Yes.”

  But that isn’t all I have to say. That word unlocks everything else inside me, all the things I feel every second. It frees the truest thing I’ve ever known. “You’re the love of my life, James Fitzgerald. You are absolutely the love of my life.”

  His smile spreads slow and easy, like he’s taking this in, like he’s not sure I said that. Like he just discovered fire or magic, and this love is equally as wondrous.

  It feels that way to me.

  Fitz slides the ring on my finger, then threads his hand through mine. I yank him up, bring him to me, clasp his face, and kiss those lips I have missed every night and every morning.

  I kiss the hell out of him.

  I kiss him like it’s the only thing I’ve wanted to do since he left.

  Like he’s the only one I ever want to kiss again.

  Like he’s the only man for me.

  Because he is, and I love him so fucking much.

  That is all.

  When we break the kiss, we’re eye to eye, face-to-face, and he looks drunk on happiness.

  “Yes? You mean it? You will?” he asks again, maybe needing to make sure. “You’ll marry me?”

  “I mean it. Every word.” I look around the bar, this little slice of my life here. The place that’s been my home. Then I run my hand along Fitz’s bearded jaw, and he moves with me, like he always has, leaning into my palm. “I’ve lived here my entire life,” I say as I touch him. “And it’s been an incredible life. One that was perfectly good until that day when you walked into it and upended everything. You changed everything. You took over my heart, mind, and body. So, the answer is yes. I’ll go anywhere with you. You are my home.”

  The bar erupts into a wild cacophony of cheers and clapping and laughter. Now I know what it feels like to live in a rom-com, and it’s so damn incredible.

  I kiss him again.

  I kiss the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.

  And this kiss now? This is the greatest kiss of my life.

  When we break apart, he’s beaming like the sun. That’s who he is. He curls his hands over my shoulders as he says, “I am so happy . . . you make me so happy. More than anything ever has. You. Just you.”

  I quirk up my lips. “The feeling is completely mutual.”

  And because we’re us, we do it again. PDA is pretty much our MO. We kiss over and over, and we’re most definitely putting on a show, and I don’t care, because he is where I want to be.

  Then Maeve
calls out, “Get a room, get a room.”

  And we finally break the kiss.

  Fitz wiggles his eyebrows at my friend, who’s now a few feet away. “It’s not a bad idea,” he says.

  I gesture to the bar. “I shouldn’t leave. It’s my shift.”

  Maeve laughs at me, puts her hands on my shoulders, and does her best to push me out the door.

  “Go. Daisy’s here to help me out,” she says, gesturing to one of our bartenders. “Just go be with your man.”

  I turn to her. “I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll sort it all out.”

  “We’ll sort it all out,” she repeats, then shoos me away.

  I leave, take Fitz’s hand, and say, “So, did you hear the one about a guy who walks out of a bar? Out of a bar and into the rest of his story with the love of his life.”

  “Sounds like a good story.”

  “It’s a great one. It’s ours.”

  47

  Dean

  When we turn on my street, I tug his hand to make him stop.

  “What is it, babe?”

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” I say, and when his eyes flash with worry, I shake my head and smile to reassure him. “It’s good. I promise.”

  Fitz threads both his hands through both of mine. “Tell me.”

  A flock of nerves takes flight inside me, but I find the guts to say what I need to say. “Next week, when I visit you—I’m still visiting you?”

  “Damn straight.”

  I swallow, then finish my confession. “I was planning on asking if you wanted me to move there. To be with you.”

  He blinks. “Shut up,” he says, jerking me closer.

  “It’s true. I was going to.”

  “You were?” His voice is stitched with wonder.

  “I was.”

  “You were going to do that for me? For us?” Fitz asks, like I’ve told him he’s won the lottery.

  “I talked to my father yesterday, and it was clear—crystal clear. I knew I had to do it. To ask you if you’d want me to join you.” I don’t know why I’m still nervous telling him this. He just asked me to marry him, so I shouldn’t be. But I am. Maybe because this is how I crack my heart open and let him see inside, like he did for me.

  It’s one thing to say yes.

  It’s another thing to ask.

  And I want him to know what I’d do for him. That I’d have asked him to be with me too.

  Fitz shakes his head in a kind of wild disbelief. He lets go of my hands and slides his palms up my chest, here on the street. “You keep doing this, Dean,” he says, his voice going to that low and smoky zone that I love.

  “Doing what?”

  “You make me fall more in love with you every single day,” he says, then he claims my lips in a kiss that leaves me woozy and lightheaded. “For the record, I love that you were going to ask to move to New York for us, and presumably move in with me, because I’m not letting you live anyplace else. But I need you to know that I want to be married to you more than I just want you in the same space as I am. I mean, I do want us to be in the same space. I want to wake up with you and go to bed with you and shower with you and shave with you. I want it all. But I don’t just want that. I want to be with you for the rest of my life, and the fact that you were willing to move for me just makes me love you harder.”

  “I love you pretty hard too.”

  “Speaking of hard things,” he says, arching an eyebrow as we resume our pace to my flat.

  “Yes, let’s. Let’s speak of very hard things.”

  When we reach the door and I unlock it, Fitz runs a hand down my back and brings his lips to my ear. “Tradesies. Tonight, I fuck you. Tomorrow morning, you fuck me.”

  I laugh. “I’m good with that. Very, very good with that.”

  So good with it that minutes later, we’re naked in my bed, and he’s on top of me, his hands wrapped around my wrists, his lips devouring mine, his cock rubbing against my shaft, driving me absolutely mad with lust.

  When he breaks the kiss, I look up at his hands. “I see you still like to be in control,” I tease.

  “No. I just really want to fuck my man.”

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  Fitz reaches for the lube on the bedside table and works his magic in me with his fingers, making me moan and groan and practically beg.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  “You know I’m fucking ready. Just get inside me,” I grit out, and he smiles at me, too sexy for words.

  I’m so used to this part of sex—the prep, the condoms, the process—that it takes me a few seconds to register what he’s doing.

  And what he’s not doing too.

  He’s pouring the lube in his hand, slicking up his cock.

  And it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen because it’s brand-new. Because of what it means.

  Because it’s part of this promise between us.

  Only us.

  Him and me.

  There are no barriers—only trust.

  And when he’s ready, he moves that slick hand to my dick, strokes up, and notches the head of his cock against me. He gives my cock a tight squeeze as he pushes inside my body.

  And it’s like fireworks.

  It’s fucking extraordinary.

  “Holy fuck,” I groan.

  Fitz grunts as he fills me, sliding deeper, bottoming out, then just going deliciously, torturously still inside me.

  “That is . . .” He’s just poised above me on his forearms, frozen for a few seconds. “Dean,” he rasps.

  “Yeah?”

  “This feels soooo fucking good.”

  I rock my hips up against him and bend my knees, sliding them up my body, giving him more room to fuck hard. “Better than good.”

  He shudders as I move beneath him, just trembles all over, and then swears for days.

  “Babe. You’re killing me. I think I’m going to come in, like, two seconds.”

  I arch a brow. “I bet you can make it last. I bet you want to.”

  And that’s all he needs. A little challenge. A little bossing around.

  It does the trick. It stokes all the competitive fire in him, and he grits his teeth, fights off the prospect of a too-soon climax, then thrusts into me, his hand on my cock the whole time.

  “Missed you, babe,” he says as he strokes deep.

  “Missed you so much,” I murmur.

  And then we’re done talking. We’re doing. We’re fucking and sweating and groaning and grabbing.

  And it’s intense and powerful and electric.

  It’s everything it’s ever been with us, and it’s so much more.

  Because now it’s this—the start of a whole new life together.

  48

  Fitz

  Turns out sex without condoms is pretty messy. Pretty sticky. But that’s what showers are for.

  I take a shower with my fiancé, and I go to bed with my fiancé, and I wake up with him too.

  Well, I wake up with his hard dick pressed against one ass cheek, since Dean is wrapped around me, playing the big spoon.

  But that’s a damn good way to wake, in my book. “Mmm. How about a few inches lower?” I suggest, since I’m helpful like that.

  “Good morning to me,” he says in a husky voice that gets me even more turned on.

  “Told you I could do it every night and every morning,” I say, pushing my ass against his hard-on. He reaches for the lube.

  “I never doubted you, Fitz. But it’s always good for you to show me the evidence.”

  I grab his hand and jerk it around to my cock. “Here’s your hard evidence.”

  Dean laughs loudly, and I do too, then my laughter ceases when his finger slides inside me.

  I close my eyes and groan.

  He groans too. The sounds he makes go straight to my dick, and I swear I’m steel right now, and he doesn’t let go of me.

  And soon, he has me ready, and with his hand on my favorite body part, he
pushes inside.

  He takes his time, letting me adjust, letting me take him. “You are so hot and tight,” he murmurs, as he goes deeper in me.

  I breathe out hard, getting used to the new sensations. The absolutely fucking amazing sensations. I honestly never thought I’d be into this back and forth of roles, into taking turns. But then, I never thought I’d be in bed with a man I was going to marry.

  Dean adjusts my leg, giving himself all the access to where he wants to be, where I want him to be too.

  Deep inside me.

  His hand tightens on my cock, and wild lust rockets through my body.

  “You are mine,” he whispers hotly in my ear as I thrust into his fist, and he drives into my body, his other arm wrapping tight around my chest, pulling me against him.

  I heat up like the sun, as he fucks me like this, our bodies tangled together. Doesn’t take me long. I’m close, so damn close, and even closer when his lips roam across the back of my neck. My entire body, my mind, my fucking soul is bathed in bliss, in lust, in desire.

  “Nothing is as good as this,” Dean murmurs, biting my ear.

  “Nothing,” I repeat, and I sound just as lost as he is in the pleasure.

  But I’m found too.

  I’m where I want to be.

  And after we come in another hot, sticky, perfectly sexy mess, we clean up and return to bed, where he takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine.

  I look down at the ring on his finger, admiring it. “Looks hella hot, Dean.”

  “Yes, and I think you need one too.” He holds up my hand, showing me our fingers twined together. “I can’t have you walking around like this. All these bare fingers. I need everyone to know you’re taken.”

  And I smile.

  Yeah, I’m definitely taken.

  “Feel free to put a ring on me, babe. Let the world know I’m going to marry the love of my life.”

  He squeezes my hand. “I fucking love you. That is all.”

  And that is everything.