by Hazel Kelly
“And if you don’t,” he continues. “You can get the hell out.”
I look at the wet rag and tremble my lower lip to lend some dramatic effect.
“Well?” Angelo asks. “What’ll it be?”
Tyler leans over. “I thought you were a psychologist?”
“Technically I’m still training,” I say, hanging my head. “But I will be when I gradua—”
“Psychologist, my ass,” Angelo says. “She can barely read a drink order, much less a person.”
“Do you mind?” I say, shooting him a look.
Angelo raises his hands and takes a step back. “If you’re not behind the bar in the next two minutes, you’re fired.”
I sigh. “I’m sorry, Tyler, but I can’t afford to lose this job.”
“I understand,” he says. “I just don’t get why you lied.”
“I didn’t think I started for another hour, and I wanted to impress you, but you deserve better.” I stand up, lift my beer, and drag the rag underneath it.
“Can I call you or—?”
I shake my head. “I’m too embarrassed. I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Right, well, it was nice meeting you, Ruby.”
“You too,” I say, grabbing his empty bottle off the table. “I wish you all the best.”
“Thanks,” he says, lifting one hand in goodbye. “Hope I didn’t get you in too much trouble.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say, stepping backwards towards the bar. “But I gotta go.” I turn and don’t look back, but I’m not exactly sure how to play it next. Am I really supposed to walk behind the bar?
Angelo appears ahead of me on the other side of the bar, the yellow recessed lights over him shining off his hair in a way that almost gives the appearance of a halo.
I set the empty bottles and the rag on the bar between us. “That was…unexpected.”
“You handled yourself brilliantly,” he says, his mouth curling up on one side.
“And you were a bit harsh but surprisingly convincing.”
“I try.”
I scrunch my face. “Is he gone?”
Angelo nods. “He is, yeah, and I can guarantee he won’t be back.”
My shoulders fall as I exhale. “Well, you were pretty mean.”
“Mean?” he asks. “Your shift started an hour ago.”
I laugh. “I suppose you did what you had to do.”
“Got the job done, anyway.”
“I think the tossing of the rag really clinched it.”
“Thanks,” he says. “I do that because I know it’s offensive, and the more offensive I am, the more likely guys are to leave without asking too many questions.”
“It certainly worked on this occasion.”
He turns to grab a bottle of beer from the short cooler behind him and sets it in front of me. “This one’s on the house.”
“Thanks,” I say, crossing my ankles and hanging my purse on the hook under the counter.
“You’re welcome,” he says, his eyes scanning the place.
“Is the lap dance line always part of the routine, too, or—?”
“No,” he says. “That was pure improv.”
I furrow my brow. “What? You just took one look at me and the phrase lap dance popped into your head?”
“Hey,” he says, raising his palms. “You’re the one that went all Pussycat Dolls on me earlier.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I saw you loosen up your buttons, babe,” he says, his eyes heating the bare skin of my décolletage.
“You don’t know I did that for you.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t I?”
I press my knees together as hard as I can. “Anyway…”
He raises his thick eyebrows.
“Thanks for your help, Angelo.”
“Geo,” he says. “Call me Geo.”
T H R E E
It’s way past my bedtime, and I’m not even home yet.
Because Geo is still talking to me at the bar, and I haven’t enjoyed a man’s attention this much since…never.
And he is a man, which is more than I can say for my last fling, who was young enough to know all the Teletubbies by name. I can tell by the way he carries himself and by the rough scars on his hands. Not to mention his tattoos, the edges of which barely peek out of his tight shirt.
I assume he really owns the place, too, because as soon as the rest of the staff arrived, he started managing them instead of taking drink orders. Though I must say he was pretty hands on when a blacked-out frat boy started bothering a group of girls. From where I’m sitting, it looked like he carried the guy out with one hand on his belt and the other on the back of his collar.
Bet he’d be handy to have around when I feel like rearranging my furniture, anyway.
“I’m happy to pay for this,” I say, reaching for my purse when Geo sets another beer in front of me.
“It’s fine,” he says, laying his hand over mine.
I look up at him, startled by the tingles his touch sends through my body.
“It’s my pleasure,” he says.
I scrunch my face. “Are you sure?”
“I’m always sure.”
“Any idea how many I’ve had now?”
He smiles. “That, I’m not sure about, but I’d say it’s at least two.”
I scoff. “More like two an hour.”
“Well, I appreciate you keeping me company,” he says. “It’s making my work more enjoyable than usual.”
“You know, if you don’t let me chip in for these drinks, I’ll be too ashamed to ever come back here.”
“In that case,” he says. “We’ll draft a payment plan for you so you have no choice but to return.”
“A payment plan?”
He nods.
“What do you take?” I ask, coveting his gorgeous lashes, which I bet look positively delicious against his olive cheeks when he’s sleeping. “Cash? Credit?”
His eyes spring into little crescents as he puts his elbows on the bar and leans down to meet me at eye level. “Did you have another method in mind?”
My pulse skips a beat before speeding into double time.
“A lap dance perhaps?”
I roll my eyes. “What’s with you and lap dances?”
“Nothing,” he says. “It’s just the only thing I want from you that’s polite enough to say out loud.”
My eyes grow wide.
“Not that I want you to think I’m all take, take, take,” he says, looking across the room towards a particularly rowdy table before turning back to me. “There’s plenty I’d like to do to you, too.”
“Like what?” I ask, grateful for the counter between us for reminding me this is a public place.
“I couldn’t say,” he says. “Wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
I laugh.
“What?”
“All I do all day is listen to people telling me uncomfortable things,” I say. “It takes a lot to get me rattled.”
“Oh right,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me. “What did you say you were? A psychologist, was it?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I’d love to hear your analysis of the dreams I’m going to have about you tonight.”
“Are you always this big a flirt?”
“Do you always undo your buttons when you meet someone for the first time?”
I feel the blood rush to my cheeks. “No.”
“Same,” he says. “And I admit I’m not a professional like yourself, but it seems to me that we have an unusual chemistry.”
“I wouldn’t say I disagree.” I press my lips together and hold my breath, hoping he asks me out even though it would be totally inappropriate and probably nothing more than a fleeting distraction from the other dates I’ve already lined up and should probably be focusing on. Plus, he’s totally not my type.
I have a list of all the qualities I’m looking for in the perfect ma
n, and between this guy’s serious relationship with hair gel, his tattoos, and the fact that he probably works nights every day of the week, I already know it could never work… Even if I would totally let him bend me over a barstool after closing if he so much as suggested it.
“So answer me this, Ruby, what the heck is a woman like you doing messing around with boys like that hippie you came in here with earlier?”
My memory of Tyler is already fuzzy at the edges. Or maybe that’s just the state of my vision right now. How many beers did Geo say I had? God, I can’t think when his dark eyes are on me like this.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean for that to be a trick question.”
I wave his concern away. “It’s not. I don’t know. I mean, he seemed pretty clean-cut in his Tinder photos.”
“Is that your thing?” he asks. “Clean-cut guys?”
It was before I met you. “Not necessarily.”
“So you’ll go out with anyone?”
“I didn’t say that.” I wish he’d twist my body instead of my words. “I think people deserve a chance, and I’m not really looking to settle down anyway so—”
“You’re a heartbreaker.”
I crane my neck back. “Can’t say I’ve ever been called that before.”
He shrugs. “If the shoe fits.”
“What about you?” I ask. “Why are you single?”
“What makes you think I’m single?” he asks.
“Because you’ve been flirting with me all night and you’re not wearing a ring or anything.”
“Good.”
I squint at him. “What do you mean good?”
“I was worried I’d been too subtle for you to notice.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
“And you’re right,” he says. “I am single. Probably a lot more single than most of the guys you meet on Tinder.”
“I take it you don’t think much of the app?”
“I’m Italian.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“My parents are literally off the boat,” he says. “So my values are pretty traditional. And Tinder is anything but traditional.”
“So what’s your deal? You love food and you’re saving yourself for marriage?”
His mouth curls into a smile. “I wouldn’t go quite that far.”
“How far would you go then? ’Cause I’ve met my fair share of Vinnys and Joes through the app, and none of them ever seemed to think modern dating clashed with their values.”
“I was raised to savor things,” he says, leaning a hip against the counter. “Food, wine, women. Speed dating that can be done entirely with your thumb isn’t what I’m about.”
“Got it.”
“Not that I judge you for objectifying men in your free time.”
“Who says I objectify men?”
“It’s not personal,” he says. “But that’s the whole point of the app, isn’t it? To find people you can love and leave?”
“That’s very cynical.”
“Perhaps you’re the exception,” he says. “The one woman in this city who is genuinely open to finding true love on Tinder.”
“Stranger things have happened,” I say. “Have you tried it at least? Since you’re so keen to judge?”
“Not interested.”
“How do you expect to meet anybody?”
He furrows his brow. “Is that a serious question?” he asks, raising his arms out to his sides. “I work in a bar.”
“Right.”
“Though you’d be surprised how inadequate that strategy seems at times, at least in terms of finding a connection that lasts more than a few hours.”
I study his muscular jaw, and it crosses my mind that I’d be pretty stoked to get a few hours with him right about now. “So is that what the Angela thing is about? You’re on a one-man mission to save people from themselves?”
“Not exactly.”
I raise my eyebrows.
He exhales, his built chest falling in front of me. “I started that after my little sister had a few bad experiences with the app.”
“Oh? Can I ask what happened?”
“Nothing too serious,” he says. “Mostly just guys getting fresh and not having the good sense to take no for an answer.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” he says. “But I’m conscious of the fact that not every woman in this city has a big brother that can show up and save the day.”
“So you’re sort of a vigilante big brother.”
“I am here, anyway.”
“And do a lot of women ask for Angela?” I ask.
“You’d be shocked,” he says.
“Really?”
“It happens at least a few times a week.”
I nod. “Wow.”
“And it goes up around four hundred percent at the holidays.”
“All holidays?”
“No. Just between Thanksgiving and Valentine’s Day.”
“That’s really nice of you.”
“I do it for me, too,” he says. “Unlike your previous date, I’m not a mind reader, and I’d go crazy trying to guess who needs rescuing all the time.”
“So you offer a lifeline, and if a woman needs—”
“Hey gorgeous.” A chubby guy with sparkly eyes leans on the bar next to me. “Can I buy you a drink?”
My lips fall apart.
“You can buy yourself a drink,” Geo says, smacking the counter in front of him. “What can I get you?”
“I’m fine,” the guy says, raising his hands. “I was just wondering if I could buy her a drink.”
“Well you can’t,” Geo says. “So why don’t you make your way back to your seat before you forget where it is.”
The guy scrunches his face and stumbles back like he’s not sure whether he’s been rejected or not.
I cock my head. “I could’ve handled that, you know.”
“You’re welcome,” he says. “I’ll put it on your tab.”
F O U R
I can’t stop thinking about him.
Fantasies of “repaying” him in sexual favors play in my mind like carols at Christmastime. I wonder what it would be like to have him grab my long hair in his fist and force me to my knees, what it would be like to have his tattooed muscles flexing above me as he drives his Italian stallion into me over and over agai—
“Ruby!”
“What?”
“Do you want dessert or not?”
I blink at my friend Cassie across the table and then up at the waitress. “Sorry,” I say, realizing I have no idea how long they’ve been trying to get my attention.
“I’m getting a slice of chocolate dream cake,” she says. “Do you want anything?”
“Sure. I’ll have the same.” I offer the waitress a smile and wonder whether her annoyed expression is my fault or just part of her uniform. “Thanks.”
“What’s going on with you?” Cassie asks. “I’ve never seen you so distracted.”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. You’re usually such a good listener,” she says. “And today it’s like you…left your brain at home or something.”
“I don’t mean to be spacey. I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Like what?”
“Okay, one thing.”
She raises her eyebrows.
“One person, rather.”
She cranes her neck forward. “Go on.”
“I met this Italian bartender.”
“Uh huh.”
“And he’s so far from my type it’s not even funny, but—”
She furrows her brow. “Meaning what? That he’s a decent human being?”
“Ha ha.”
She smiles, pleased with herself.
“Anyway, I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“Because…?”
I shrug. “If I knew, maybe I could stop.”
“Did you actually talk to him, o
r is this one of those times where you see someone handsome from afar and imagine their entire personality and sexual history?”
“God, you’re really on a roll today.”
“Thanks.”
“But to answer your question, I did have an actual conversation with the guy.”
“When?” she asks.
“After he helped me escape a dead-end Tinder date.”
“Sounds like a real knight in shining armor.”
I laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“The thought of him in shining armor,” I say, imagining how his tattoos would peek out between the metal and how he’d probably refuse to wear a helmet for fear of wrecking his perfect coif.
“You’d rather picture him naked, would you?” she asks, a smug look on her face.
I shudder.
“Wow,” she says, dragging out the word. “Is he really that hot?”
“Too hot,” I say. “But it’s not just that, it’s how I felt when he was flirting with me.”
“Which was?”
“Like a twelve year old girl in the front row at a One Direction concert.”
She laughs. “Where does he bartend? Maybe I should go check him out.”
“Maybe you should not be greedy and just appreciate the sickeningly adorable relationship you already have.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Whoa. Way to be possessive. I wasn’t suggesting I leave Owen for your crush.”
I exhale and drop my shoulders. “Okay, I acted a bit nuts there for a second.”
“Yeah you did.”
“I’m just touchy because I wanted him to ask me out after we got to talking, and the fact that he didn’t makes me wonder if I misread the whole situation.”
“Why didn’t you ask him out?” she asks.
“I was worried I would seem crazy.”
She presses her lips together, but her smile still breaks through.
I glare at her. “I didn’t want him to think that I fell for him like some kind of needy freak just because he did me a favor.”
“Good point,” she says. “Guys absolutely hate it when women do anything to fuel their ego.”
“You think I should’ve asked him out?”
“I think it would be more fun for me if this were a story about you banging a bartender instead of one about a missed opportunity.”
I lean against the back of my chair. “Me too.”