Eric frowns, head tilting slightly. “Have somewhere you gotta be?”
“No…”
He chuckles, eyes clearing. “Ah, the boyfriend wouldn’t like it.”
We’re glancing from the ground to each other in the most awkward of silences. Finally I can’t take it anymore and I start to push my cart, pausing to tell him, “It was nice running into you.”
Frowning, lips pursed in thought, he mutters, “You too, Wren. See you around.”
I go this way and he goes that. It’s now possible to clear my head. One, I’m so hungry my mind is playing tricks on me. I could swear that Eric was asking me out as a friend, not trying to get in my pants, but I know him better than that. And two…
“Well, hello again!” he waves as I turn into the next aisle and see him walking up it.
A grin flashes on my face from realizing of course this would happen. We met in the middle of the small store, after all. “We have to stop running into each other like this.”
“Yeah,” he laughs.
And we continue in the opposite directions. I slide the Panda cereal box off the shelf, place it in my cart before I steal a glance over to see Eric eyeing gourmet coffee on the far end. His eyes flick left and lock with mine. He tips his head and sends that famous grin my way before I quickly escape.
What was I thinking about? Oh yeah, reasons why this is terrible timing to see him on this of all mornings, when I feel so disconnected from my boyfriend.
In the last aisle, with the wines, cheeses and sliced meats, I glance up to see Eric strolling toward me. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
Since we’ve gone opposite directions this is inevitable but still it cracks me up.
“Yes, you look familiar. Where have I seen you before?” I ask, stroking my chin between my finger and thumb.
He adopts an introspective gaze, too, “Hmmm…another life maybe?”
“You don’t think it’s from those aisles?” I point west, face curious and maybe even convincingly innocent. “Because I was just talking to a man who looked a lot like you, right over there.”
“No,” he frowns, “I’m almost positive this is a case of reincarnation. Yes, I’m certain of it. We knew each other when we were King and Queen of Atlantis.”
Trying not to grin I frown, too. “Not Atlanta?”
“No, the lost sea. My sister went there not long ago, and when she spoke of it, I knew it was my home.”
Melting into confused laughter I wave my hands. “Okay, you’re so weird. Your sister went there? To the lost city. I was with you until you veered into crazy land.”
“No, I’m serious! They recreated it in the Bahamas. I’m not making that up. In fact, I’m not making any of it up.”
“Oh right, you and I were King and Queen of Atlantis.”
Eric smirks, “Total fact.”
“We fucked that job up pretty badly.”
“Magical storm brought our city to its knees.”
“Drowning all of our subjects.”
He nods, somber. “It was a tragic day for all of us.”
“At least we went down with them,” I smile, genuinely wishing I could stay right here. But the longer I do the more I want to, and I’m not that kind of a girlfriend. He senses the shift in me, hazel eyes losing some of their light as I reluctantly say, “I really have to go, Eric. But it was fun running into you.”
Gripping his basket with tighter knuckles he nods to the ground. “I’ll see ya around.”
“Yeah. See ya,” I smile, pushing my cart away.
“At the registers in three minutes?”
Laughter bubbles up despite my best efforts to remain detached. “I have some more shopping to do, so this will be our last run-in.”
“Too bad. Okay, see ya.”
Sneaking a peek over my shoulder I watch him disappear. A long exhale relaxes my stationary body as I pick up crumbled feta cheese and place it alongside the avocados it’s meant for. They are hard when you first buy them. Give them some time though and they soften. Not unlike me around Eric Cocker.
CHAPTER 11
WREN
“C an I get three Creature Comforts beers and one Red Brick Hoplanta?” a guy in a polo shirt and khaki shorts asks me over the rock playlist.
In the midst of hastily making two previous drink orders I nod, “You got it!” and push myself to move faster. I love Friday night shifts, because there’s nothing else I think about except this when I’m working. It’s like meditation. My mind is two steps ahead and doesn’t have time to wallow, wondering why the movie I saw with Peter yesterday wasn’t followed by dinner and sex. We just went home separately. Too fucking weird.
While I slam empty mugs on the drip tray I’m planning ahead how I’ll scoop ice into two bucket glasses, reach behind me to the bottom shelf for the rum. As soon as I’m done, I’m already grabbing the simple syrup, pouring the perfect amount so the cocktail is balanced, then flashing to flip the colorful faucet handles the craft beer companies provided to advertise what we have on tap, so that the mugs don’t overflow. Handing them off, I garnish the cocktails and flip around to the fridge where I grab bottles, fish the opener from the chain in my pocket, and pop their tops off, caps flying to be picked out of the holes in the rubber floor-mats later.
All of this happens in mere seconds. Most patrons are impressed, but some will never be. I don’t do it for them. I do it for me. If I’m going to be a bartender for a living, I’m going to be the best damn bartender you have ever seen.
Mike is the same way.
That’s why we’re a good team.
Glancing over when I hear my name I see him jerking his chin up. “Toss me the blue curaçao!”
Flashing to grab it off the bottom shelf behind me, I hook my index finger around the top of the bottle and fling it to him. He snatches it from the air and I tell the guys who order the beer. “Need a card to keep the tab open.” To the girls who wanted a second round of mojitos I confirm, “And you I’ve got under Bennett, right?”
The sultry brunette nods, “Wow you’re so quick!”
On a proud grin I say, “Thanks! Enjoy your drinks,” snatching up their empty glasses to give the new ones room.
But she doesn’t budge. “Aren’t you the girl who had sex with Eric Cocker in the bathroom?”
The glasses go crashing to the floor. Every time you break something, heads turn. Our bar-back comes running and Mike locks eyes with me because we don’t have time to clean up shards right now.
“It get in the ice?” he shouts over the noise.
“No, I just picked them up. Hadn’t gotten there yet.”
“Thank God.”
To Bitch Bennett I grumble, “Wow, you really said that out loud didn’t you? That takes some balls.” There’s a snotty challenge in her eyes, so I retrieve their drinks. “Get the hell out of here.”
Furious and entitled she barks, “You can’t kick me out!”
“Hell I can’t!” Pointing to the sign I read it aloud. “We reserve the right to not serve idiots.” I tilt my head. “See that?” I slam her credit card on the counter. “That’s you. Now leave.”
Her eyes flash and she announces to her two girlfriends and anyone else who’s listening, “She’s kicking us out because she had sex here with Eric Cocker in a public restroom, and I called her on it!”
Oh.
My.
Fuck.
No.
Way.
In.
Hell.
Am.
I.
Letting.
This.
Bitch.
Ruin.
My.
Reputation.
Scooping a fistful of ice in my hand I climb up and over the bar, grab her shirt, pull it open and drop every cube down in there. She yelps, long fingernails snapping to attention before she claws the tucked part out, dropping the ice to the gooey floor.
But I’m not done yet.
I stand on the bar, cl
apping my hands as loud and slow as I can, demanding attention. “EVERYONE LISTEN UP.” Mike turns off the music. The place goes quiet. “Alright, who here thinks I had sex with Eric Cocker in the woman’s bathroom?”
Almost everyone raises their hands
I should be surprised but I’m not.
Atlanta is the biggest small town around.
I’m pissed. “Just so we’re clear I never touched the man. I have a boyfriend. It may have looked like something went down and I’m sure y’all would love to believe it did since he’s got one hell of a reputation! But mine is solid. We clear? No, don’t start mumbling. I’m telling the truth. You know what, he’s not even that attractive!”
Oof.
Didn’t mean to say that.
I was reaching for straws.
The crowd instantly boos and shouts that I’m crazy.
Eric steps onto a bar stool by the heavily used dart board, landing his other foot on a table thick with glasses. “Okay, I would like to defend myself here!”
“Oh no,” I mumble to myself, horrified. I’ve never seen him here at night, and on a Friday when he has a game this weekend.
Everyone stares at him, some glancing to me for my reaction.
Eric holds up his arms and announces, “I am hot as fuck!”
The crowd goes nuts, laughing and applauding.
With an announcer voice like he’s at a circus, he flexes his biceps in a tight, solid navy blue t-shirt. “Are these not the sexiest biceps you have ever seen promoted without any modesty what-so-ever?”
More laughter, the cheers riotous.
“The left one’s better!” some guy calls through cupped hands.
Acting shocked Eric throws his forefinger in the air. “I better get to work on that!”
“You’re gorgeous!” a girl yells at him.
“Thank you, Melanie, you should know. You cut my hair.”
“That’s right, and I do a damn good job!”
I have two choices.
Hide.
Or fight back.
Stamping my foot on the bar I command his attention, and wipe my hands like I’m ready for the battle. Mimicking his circus announcer style I say, “Atlanta, I stand corrected. I had not noticed before but now I can see that his muscles have been carved to perfection, have they not?”
The girls go nuts, all for his benefit.
Eric raises an eyebrow, eyes dancing as he waits to see my angle.
“And admired they have been by as many as half the females in this room, I’d wager to guess. Ladies who here has seen this man’s muscle….naked?”
I left the ’s’ out on purpose and Eric cracks up as about twenty girls hoot, some doing wolf whistles.
He spreads his arms wide. “Lucky ladies all!”
Fighting back a grin of my own I shoot my finger high in the air. “So sayeth the man himself. But let us ask the women how they feel?”
They go so crazy, cheering and hooting, so much so that more than a few boyfriends glance down, eyeballing them with shut-the-fuck-up looks.
Bowing slightly I say, “So I concede, Sir Cocky, that you are indeed as attractive as you think you are.”
A cacophony of appreciation from the males in the crowd for my slamming him with my wit.
Breathing on his knuckles Eric wipes them on his chest in a dramatic fashion. “Thank God that’s settled.” People laugh. He ramps it up a notch, “I mean as long as we’re clear that I’m hot as fuck, I can now sleep at night and take our team to the fucking Super Bowl!”
Oh shit.
The bastard got the men back on his side.
Everyone cheers for him and just him.
He laughs, and motions for quiet. “Seriously though guys, let’s drop the rumors. Wren and I did not fuck. She’s faithful, and she shot me down. That’s the truth, and if I hear any gossip otherwise, you’ll answer to me. I’m not joking around now. It’s done. It’s bullshit. Bury it and move on.”
A bar filled with people hungering for drama, and a good time, don’t know what to do with a raw-honesty moment like this. There’s lots of shuffling and muttering.
Eric cocks an eyebrow, his voice deepening. “We done with the shaming? The bullying? We done?”
That gets them.
Everyone nods.
Taken aback, and feeling vulnerable now, I start to climb down, motioning to Mike to turn the music back on in a hurry.
But Eric calls out with a fresh smile, “And one more thing—if she wanted to fuck, I’d be totally open to it.”
Everyone goes nuts again, relieved with his levity, laughing and releasing all that unwanted tension.
I jump onto the rubber mat and wipe my hands on my jeans, knowing the rumor has been sufficiently slaughtered, and I’m safe. Not only that, but Eric went out of his way to help me, and that feels damn good. Like I’ve been vindicated.
The Bennett girl says, “Wren?”
I look over, stilled by the genuineness shining from guilty eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I was jealous.”
Her friends are dumbfounded, staring at her, eyes flitting to me.
I offer my hand and she shakes it.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to leave. Thank you for apologizing.”
She nods, accepts my cocktails that I retrieve and extend to her. They head away as a group, mood completely altered.
The guy who ordered the Creature Comforts and Red Brick, mutters, “Two most powerful words you can ever say.”
His friend asks, “What’s that?”
“I’m sorry.”
CHAPTER 12
ERIC
M aking my way through the nighttime crowd I’m greeted like a hero only this time it’s not for playing football. It’s for the show Wren and I just put on.
Everyone is dressed casually, like me. When I left the apartment I gave no thought to this t-shirt Ethan gave me last Christmas, or the ripped jeans I’m filling out pretty damn well. But after all that talk about my appeal I’m feeling more self-conscious than usual. And a little bit like an asshole.
Those laughing eyes catch my approach, and her conversation with a customer, a guy named Taylor, pauses for a hot second. I went to high school with him. He glances over his shoulder and lights up upon sight of me. “Cocker! Been a long time, man. Season started off with a win last weekend! Feelin’ good or feelin’ the heat?”
“Both,” I grin, slapping his drunk back. “You know my friend Wren here, Taylor?”
She rolls her eyes, a smile sneaking out as she heads to the Orpheus tap. I can tell I shocked her by telling everyone to back off like I did. She’s not sure what to make of me, how to act—if she should thank me or behave like it never happened and move on.
Taylor grins, “Everyone here knows Wren! She’s been working nights for a couple years now.”
I know by the way she’s holding herself that she’s listening to our conversation, even though her hands are busy. Taking advantage of it I ask in as loud a voice as his. “Oh yeah, you know her boyfriend?”
“Met him once but this isn’t his hang.”
“No? What is?”
“Probably a coffee shop. Who the fuck knows man. But he sure as shit doesn’t know sports.”
Wren calls over, “He does so! He’s a huge fan,” as she drops the pints in front of two guys, interrupting their conversation to ask, “On your tab?” One nods, the other absently waves and they get back to it.
Since everyone’s been taken care of, drinks are filled and nobody’s leaving, she turns it to me, gnawing on her bottom lip with a thank you shining behind copper eyes. “Can I get you a beer or something? On me?”
“Nah, I just came here for the view.”
Her eyebrows lift the tiniest bit. “Had your fill?”
“Not quite.”
Shaking her head and hiding her smile, she glances to the right as her bar-back brings a fresh bucket of ice. She relieves him of it. “I got it, Ray, thanks. I’m almost out of Sweet
water IPAs.”
He runs off to replenish the cooler, and she turns the bucket upside down, ice crashing.
I jut my chin, watching it, “That’s what a fountain in winter looks like.”
Her head is tipped, eyes flicking up to meet mine. “What happens to the fish?”
The fountain my brother made Wyntech buy for his office pops into my mind. I bite my lip before coming up with, “Unfortunately they become Koicicles.”
Wren leans closer, a slow grin spreading, “Koi-cicles? Did you really just say that?”
Taylor laughs, “Yeah, and their poops are like ice-chocolates.”
She and I both eyeball him and say at the same time, “No, just no.”
“What? Too far?”
“Taylor, that dart board is pretty cool, huh?” I suggest with meaning.
He gets the message and mutters, “I’ll go check it out.”
With a funny look Wren flat out asks me, “Why are you here? Don’t you have a game this weekend? Shouldn’t you be resting, practicing, lifting weights, something?”
“I’m meeting my cousin Ben. And I’ll take a cranberry juice.”
Scooping ice into a glass she pours the juice from the gun, eyes darting behind me. I glance back, her expression telling me there’s something to see. A head taller than everyone around him is my cousin Ben, six-six, sandy brown hair and emerald green eyes, wearing a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans more faded than mine. They got that way from sun exposure, just like his tanned skin. We don’t share the same dad, but you can tell we’re related. Only he’s wearing a wedding ring and I most definitely am not.
“Hey Eric, glad you called,” he nods with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
We hug, pulling away after a dueling back-slap, me agreeing, “Yeah, haven’t seen you in for-fucking-ever, Ben.”
He glances around, appraising the crowd, “People still go out on weekends, huh? Haven’t been here since I met Shelby.”
“Still the same?”
“Hasn’t changed. What’re you drinking?” I tell him and he glances to Wren. “I need something stiffer. Can I get a Makers Mark?”
“This is my cousin. He runs an organic farm. Lives an hour north of here.”
Eric Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 12) Page 5