by J. Sterling
I’d been true to my word about being the best gift-giver ever. For Christmas, I had bought round-trip tickets to Colombia for Claudia, her mom, her stepdad, and myself. Her parents knew about the tickets, but Claudia had no idea. When she’d opened the envelope, she burst into tears, claiming I was the best boyfriend ever. The trip was happening later this year, and I planned to propose when we were there, surrounded by her family.
Her mother and stepdad had gladly given me permission when I’d asked if I could marry their daughter. I think they loved me as much as my parents loved Claudia, and that was saying a lot.
I knew from the moment I saw Claudia; I was certain she was my future. There was no question. There was never any question.
She was it for me.
She was the one. Forever.
And I couldn’t wait to make it official.
I supposed that meant there was only one Fisher brother left on the market. What kind of girl was going to snag Princess Ryan’s heart?
I couldn’t wait to find out.
THE END
Adios Pantalones
by
J. Sterling
Dedication
This story is for everyone who found love with someone they thought couldn’t give it. For the guys who changed our perspectives, who were better than we thought they were, who not only rose to the occasion but owned the whole mother ’effin thing. :)
Foul Mood
Ryan
Something was definitely wrong with me tonight. I was in a shitty mood, and for no good reason. At least, not one that I could pinpoint.
“Hey, Ryan,” a female voice shouted at me from across Sam’s, the bar my brothers and I owned, and I knew what was coming before I even turned to face her.
The fact that the woman shouting at me was a gorgeous brunette did nothing to improve my state of mind. Beautiful women were a dime a dozen in Los Angeles, and I got to see them every single night. Hell, most of them screamed my name and left me their phone numbers on their way out the door, each one hoping I’d call.
Part of me no longer wanted to indulge in this game of let’s get Ryan to take his shirt off, but like a good fucking sheep, I did what was expected of me.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” I forced a grin, my teeth grinding together as I fought the urge to run.
She looked around at the bar, still packed even though it was closing time, and gave me a grin of her own. “Can I get an Adios . . .” Her lips pursed and her eyebrows raised seductively as she waited.
“Pantalones,” the rest of the bar crowd sang out in unison.
So I did what I always did—took off my damn shirt and tossed it onto the register, screams and whistles filling my ears like we were at a strip club.
As I made the last drink of the night, I got lost in my own thoughts, my mind a scary place to be when I was in one of these rare moods.
I couldn’t remember how this tradition got started in the first place, but I was fairly sure that I brought it on myself. You would think it would be every man’s fantasy to have a roomful of women screaming his name each night. You would think that every guy on God’s green earth would love to have women falling at his feet the way women seemed to fall at mine.
But if you thought that about me, then you didn’t know me at all.
It wasn’t that I didn’t love the attention, because I did. I simply wanted more. I wanted to be more than the guy everyone claimed to be in love with, but no one really knew. I wanted to be the guy women brought home to their parents, not the one they brought home to their apartment for a one-night stand, or offered to suck off in the bathroom.
Some nights I felt cheap, like I was little more than a piece of meat, not worthy of having an actual conversation with.
Feelings like that weren’t exclusive to women, although you’d swear women cornered the market on the notion. Women could be just as bad as guys, if not worse, when it came to ogling, catcalling, or treating someone like they were nothing but a hot body with a pretty face. I wasn’t sure they always realized it, but sometimes they could make a guy feel about an inch big with the things that came out of their mouths.
Yeah, I know I sound like a fucking chick right now. If my older brother, Frank, knew what I was thinking, he’d make fun of me and call me a princess or some shit like that, but it doesn’t change the way I feel.
I, Ryan Fisher, want to fall in love—true love, real love, authentic love. I want to fall in love like both my brothers did. Well, not exactly the same way that they did . . . because, hello, Drama 101.
But still . . .
Maybe that was my problem tonight. Maybe I was jealous that they’d both found the loves of their lives, and here I was, taking my damn shirt off night after night and going home alone. There was something fucked up about being adored, but knowing the feelings weren’t based in anything real.
It didn’t make you feel loved. It made you feel lonely.
“What’s the matter with you tonight?” my younger brother, Nick, asked as he peered over his shoulder at me. His blue eyes matched mine in shape and color, and sometimes it really tripped me out to look at them.
When I shrugged but didn’t respond, Frank grinned at me.
“Is it that time of the month?”
I glared at him, not amused at his joke.
Frank used to be a real stick-in-the-mud, the one Nick and I picked on, but now that he was with his girlfriend, he was a changed man. Frank was actually fun again and seemed truly happy, something that had been missing from his life for years. I hadn’t realized how miserable my brother had been until I saw him come to life when he met her.
Looking across the bar, I spotted Frank and Ryan’s girlfriends, Claudia and Jess, sitting together at a table as they waited for the bar to close.
I wanted that. I wanted my girl to be sitting there with them, talking, laughing, and waiting for me. The problem was, I had no idea where the hell my girl was, when I’d find her, or how. I spent the majority of my time here at Sam’s, so if she never walked through those bar doors, how would I ever meet her? And how would I know that she was worth taking the risk for, when I’d all but decided to not date our customers anymore?
Speaking of, dating a customer had worked out for Frank, but I considered that a rarity, something you would expect to happen all the time in this business but usually never did. I honestly had no fucking idea where my girl was, but I definitely knew I wasn’t currently looking at her.
“I’d love to go home with you tonight,” the brunette purred as I handed her the drink she’d ordered.
“Sorry. Can’t.” Without further explanation, I turned my back and hurried away from her, couldn’t get the fuck away quick enough.
Yeah, something was definitely wrong with me tonight.
In my defense, I’d quickly learned that dating the women who came into the bar wasn’t necessarily the best idea. At first, I didn’t see the harm in dating anyone who caught my eye, and before I knew it, I was going out with a different girl almost every night. Okay, going out probably wasn’t the right term. But those women had all been wrong for me, and I knew it the second we left the party atmosphere of the bar.
Eventually, all the women I’d taken out started congregating at Sam’s . . . on the same nights. They argued, fought for my attention, and tried to outdo one another in every way possible. It was only then that I realized I’d created a bit of a problem.
The thing was, these women all knew they could find me here at Sam’s nearly every night, and as a bartender, I had to be friendly and accessible. I hadn’t even considered that reality before it was too late. Frank had warned me that dating customers was a bad idea, but as usual, I hadn’t listened.
None of the women seemed to take into account that the bar was my place of business. They saw it as a fun place where they could find me anytime they wanted, no strings attached. But the truth was that these women waltzed into my office and did whatever they wanted, without a second thought, and I had
nowhere to hide when someone I once took out came in and refused to leave. To say that things got uncomfortable there for a while would be a serious understatement.
Looking back, I consider myself lucky that Frank hadn’t murdered me.
Running
Ryan
I loved to run. Aside from bartending and creating new drinks, running was the only thing that made me feel alive. I loved the feel of my feet pounding against the pavement, my chest heaving as I sucked in each jagged breath. Nothing beat waking up to run along the beach path in Santa Monica just as most people were headed into the office.
I ran at the same time every morning, and the handful of faces that passed me on the path had become all too familiar. There was the man who always wore a neon-pink shirt, no matter what. And it wasn’t the same shirt, so “pink guy” had a freaking collection of T-shirts in that color. A few weeks ago, he started waving at me each morning, so I guessed we were jogging friends now.
There was a group of guys who ran together, each of them trying to outrun the other. They were intensely competitive, always racing, and they knew me by name, shouting it one by one as they raced past. It never failed to make me laugh, hearing my name fly out of their mouths as they bolted past me.
The attractive brunette who ran with her twins should have been competing in an Olympic game the way she pushed that giant stroller without toppling it over. She smiled at me too as she maneuvered the beast past me.
And then there was Grant. He was an elderly man I slowed down for whenever I saw him, just so I could jog alongside him. He had the best stories, always talking to me about how romance used to be when he was a kid, and how times had changed. Then he usually called me some insulting name. He had told me on more than one occasion that I was born in the wrong era, and I agreed. We sometimes stopped and had coffee together after our run, him asking me about the bar, and me asking him about the love of his life. His whole face lit up whenever he talked about his wife, even though she was no longer here.
“Help! Someone help!” A woman’s voice tore through the otherwise calm morning, her panicked tone making goose bumps rise on my skin.
I stopped and whirled around, searching for where the shouting was coming from. Swiveling my head, I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“Help me!”
I zoned in and dashed toward the distressed cry, having no idea what exactly I was looking for. Spotting two people on the ground in the distance, I picked up the pace and pulled my cell phone from my pocket as I ran.
When I reached the woman, I recognized the man she held in her arms. My heart nearly stopped as I took in Grant’s face, his expression pained and his eyes closed.
“What happened?”
The woman looked up at me. “I’m not sure. Heart attack, maybe? He clutched his chest before he fell to the ground. I don’t think anyone else saw him because no one stopped.” Her voice was shaking, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Sunlight caught her hair, making her look angelic, not that she needed the help. She was fucking beautiful.
Without another word, I dropped to the ground on the other side of Grant and dialed 911.
“We need an ambulance at the running path near lifeguard station number twenty-three.” I didn’t need to look around to know exactly where I was. I had this stretch of beach memorized. “Male, I think he’s about seventy. Good shape, jogs every morning.” At the dispatcher’s question, I leaned forward to bring my ear toward Grant’s mouth and nose. “Yes, he’s breathing, but it’s shallow and sounds labored . . . Okay. Please hurry.”
My eyes locked on the scared woman sitting in front of me, Grant’s head cradled in her lap. I didn’t recognize her, had never seen her running the path before. And trust me, I would have noticed her, with or without the halo that still framed her face.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
Her hazel eyes met mine, and she took me in for a beat before responding. “You know him?” she asked, not answering my question.
I nodded, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her. Golden-brown hair had fallen around her cheeks, and I wanted to tuck the strands behind her ear.
“Do you think he’ll be okay?” she asked, her attention focused on Grant.
I forced a smile and looked down at the man I had come to respect and considered a friend. “He’s tough. He’ll pull through. Won’t you, Grant?” I waited for him to nod, or move, or blink, but he did none of those things. He hadn’t moved at all since I got there. He was as still as the woman holding him.
“I’ve never seen you before.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, my tone far more flirtatious than I’d intended.
“I usually run earlier,” she said before stopping short, like she was uncomfortable divulging that bit of information to a perfect stranger.
I extended my hand. “I’m Ryan.”
Her lips tightened as she stared at my hand, making no move to reach for it. “I know who you are.”
That shocked me. It probably shouldn’t have, but it still took me by surprise. “You do?”
“I’ve been to your bar,” she said, then added, “Once.” She leveled me with her steady gaze before focusing back on the old man.
I sat there, confused for a second at her attempt to blow me off.
Had I been rude to her at the bar? I couldn’t imagine that could be true, but her pretending I didn’t exist when I was sitting right across from her made me uncomfortable. Women didn’t usually hate me without provocation, and I had no idea what I could have possibly done to her and not remember it.
“Are you going to tell me your name?” I decided to push her a little more, see what she might give me. It was a foolish move, so call me a damn fool if you want. I found myself staring at her and the halo around her head that made her look like a real-life angel.
“I told you my name the last time you asked. I’m sorry you don’t remember it,” she said, her tone anything but sorry.
For once in my life, I found myself unable to read a woman’s eyes. She looked right at me, her expression shuttered, and I had no idea what she was thinking or feeling.
Based on her reaction, I was almost convinced she hated me. No, hate was too strong a word, but she definitely wasn’t impressed with me, neither now nor the first time we met. The time I didn’t remember.
The piercing shriek of a siren filled the air, and I looked up to see an ambulance headed in our direction. I jumped to my feet, waving my arms to draw their attention as they navigated off the road and toward the path where Grant still lay unresponsive. A small crowd had formed around us as the paramedics hopped out and ran forward, carrying a stabilizing board.
Two EMTs crouched down next to Grant. “Did you see what happened?” one of them asked.
The angel shook her head. “I only saw him clutch his chest before he fell.”
“Has he said anything? Talked at all?”
“No,” she said as they moved him carefully from her care. Her breathing quickened, her worry for Grant etched all over her face. She couldn’t have hidden her concern if she tried, that much I could tell. I could practically see her heart on her sleeve, bleeding for a man she didn’t even know.
I wrenched my gaze away from her and watched as the paramedics took Grant’s vitals, spouting off directions and information to each other in a shorthand I didn’t understand but desperately wanted to. They hooked him up to contraptions I couldn’t name and strapped him onto the board. I’d never felt as helpless as I did in those moments when I wasn’t sure if he was going to live or die. His face was so pale.
The paramedics wheeled him away and I followed behind.
“Can I go with him?” I shouted.
“Are you family?”
“A friend,” I said, my racing heart pounding like a two-hundred-pound gorilla at the possibility of his refusal.
The paramedics loaded Grant into the back of the waiting ambulance, moving fluidly in concert as I stood there helplessly
waiting for a response.
“Come on.” He waved me inside, granting me access to the back of the vehicle, and I hopped in. “Sit there.” He pointed, and I did as I was told.
“What hospital are you taking him to?” the angel called out, and I realized I’d almost forgotten all about her.
Almost.
“Saint Johns,” the EMT said before the doors slammed shut, locking us in, and the ambulance took off without a chance for another word to be spoken.
This time, however, my angel’s eyes didn’t stray from mine as the vehicle pulled away. Her focus stayed locked on me, her eyes saying things I still couldn’t understand.
It pissed me off, but I’d concentrate on finding her later, and would figure out what I’d done to make her dislike me so much. For now, I needed to make sure Grant was going to survive and live to see another day.
• • •
Unable to sit still, I paced back and forth in the hospital’s waiting room while they did whatever they were doing to Grant, hoping like hell he’d pull through.
Bits of our conversations over the past few months played in my mind as I remembered the things he’d told me about life and love, always doling out advice like he was an expert on the subject. I considered him one, to be honest.
For me, he was a confidant of sorts, always giving me shit but encouraging me in the same breath. Grant claimed to understand my fairy-tale heart, telling me that I was born in the wrong time, surrounded by the wrong kind of women.
My lips twitched into a smile as I remembered the first time I met him.
After an extra-long run one morning, I found myself sitting alone at a small beachside café. Mumbling to himself, Grant sat at the table next to mine and pulled out a newspaper. He continued talking to himself under his breath, and when I glanced over my shoulder at him, he caught me.
“Was I talking out loud again?” he’d asked, looking sheepish.