My gaze lifts to Grace’s as she hums; her warm breath creates a fog on it before she takes a sip. She moans soft and sweet, loving the taste. I know it’s an innocent move on her part, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t make my dick hard as stone.
Grace has got something about her that makes her easy to talk to. Maybe it’s because she’s not from around here, so I know nothing I say is going to be used against me later on. People in this town talk, and it drives me up the damn wall.
It takes a moment to drop the beer off and ask the other patrons if they’re doing alright or if they need anything.
“You going to fire him?” she asks when I finally get back to Grace.
Her fingers slip up and down creating a line in the dew of her glass. I don’t think she’s doing it intentionally, but that simple innocuous movement is making my already hard dick twitch with need. I’ve had plenty of nights to try to take her home, but those nights have held conversations about what she’s looking for in a man and how she’s finally wanting to settle down.
AKA exactly the reason I don’t want to take her home. It would kill me if we hooked up and she had regrets about it. We’re friends in the making. Nothing more.
My head shakes at her question; I don’t trust myself to speak. I wouldn’t fire James. His aunt was one of my teachers all throughout high school. His parents live not five houses down from my parents. Little shit knows it, too.
“Well maybe you should make him wash the dishes when he comes in then,” she answers with a shrug that makes her buttoned-up blouse slip open just slightly. “Or have him rearrange all the boxes in the back?”
I can’t help that my eyes dart down to her cleavage even as I chuckle at her suggestion. It’s a modest top, probably perfect for that office job she’s got. But right now, it’s giving me a teasing glimpse and I want to see more.
“I am-” I tell her as I see Mickey waving me down. “Soon as he gets in here, no bartending, all dishes and grunt work.” I’m half playing, half-serious. The grill in the back needs to be scrubbed down, along with all the equipment, and that’s James’ payback. That and I have to cut back his hours until I’m sure he’ll actually show up during rush hours. She laughs that sweet, soft sound I know is genuine. I tap the bar with a smile as I walk to the other end to Mickey.
“Can you get me some wings?” he says as he pats his stomach. His shirt strains as he stretches backward. The buttons on his shirt gape and are showing a bit too much but only when he stretches back.
“Ranch on the side?”
He nods, “That’ll do it.”
“Course, Mickey.” I open the double doors just a touch and call out to Mags. “An order of wings, hot.”
I look back to make sure Mickey wants his usual. This bar’s become a routine for him, just like it has for a lot of the town.
He nods his head, and I don’t even hesitate to walk right back to Grace. It’s become a natural habit of mine when she’s here.
Most of the guys in here want to get away. They want a place to watch the games, to drink, to chat with their friends they came with. Grace comes alone most of the time. She sits by herself, and I’m the only one she talks to unless someone sidles up beside her. I like it that way. It’s like she comes here just for me.
Inwardly I scoff at myself and remember a number of nights where she seemed to make best of friends with a stranger for an hour or two.
She wants company, to talk, to laugh, to forget about all her problems. I want that too.
That’s all it’s ever going to be though. She’s told me more than once about the dates she’s been on and the guys she’s meeting up with. And not a damn one of them is a country boy with a reputation like mine.
I think she knows enough about all the shit I’ve been through. The whole damn town does… although, she’s not from Vinings, so I don't think she knows the whole story. Plus, she’s asked about my dating life before. I didn’t give her much, but I told her the same thing I tell every woman. I’m not interested in settling down. Not now. Possibly not ever. I’m pretty certain I told her that on night one.
Either way, she's ready for the whole nine yards. She had no problem telling me that and making it clear she wasn’t into one-night flings. Although, I’m not sure if she told me that more to remind herself, or to make me keep my distance. If it was the latter, she failed miserably. It only made me want her more. I’m not interested in all that shit she wants though. I’ve hardly got time for myself, let alone a family. But I fucking love flirting with her. Maybe it’s because I know I can’t have her. It’s the challenge.
“So how’s your day going?” I ask. “Hopefully better than mine.”
I grab the stool from behind me and pull it closer to her to take a seat. It’s dinner time now, so the evening rush won’t come till later. I’m going to need my energy then.
“Eh.” Grace makes a cute scrunched up face and takes another drink with her eyes closed tight.
“That bad, huh?” I ask her with a grin. I love how animated she is, how she wears her emotions on her sleeve. She really is a sweetheart.
“Yeah, it was rough,” she admits, looking away.
She puts her glass back down on the bar and lets her fingertips glide along the edge and my smile falls.
Leaning back on the stool, I stretch and run my hand over my hair. “Sorry your day was shit. You need me to go have a word with your boss?”
My joke makes her smile at least, but she shakes her head gently with her eyes closed.
“I don’t think that would help,” she says softly and then focuses those baby blues on me. She has the kind of eyes a man can get lost in. They're a pale blue with tiny golden flecks that lure me in. She jokes, “Least I’m not doing dishes.”
That’s my girl.
Her voice is a bit choked up at the end though, which is unusual for her. She’s quick to lift the drink to her lips, I think to try to hide it. She’s been coming in here for a while. I’m getting used to looking forward to her coming in and chatting with me, but the look on her face right now is making my chest hurt for her.
“You can tell me if you want.” My offer goes unanswered for a moment and I scan the room casually, not putting any pressure on her. Luckily, she starts talking before I meet her baby blues again.
“I went to the doctor today.” She taps the bar as she talks, staring where her fingers play along it. “My eggs decided to boycott so I can’t have kids.” She takes in a shuddering breath and then rolls her eyes, playing it off and shaking her head. “Well, not the traditional way anyway. And they’ll be expensive as fuck if I do have them.”
“You alright?” I ask her. I watch the raw vulnerability as it's replaced with a mask of lightheartedness.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just unexpected.” She finally looks me in the eyes as she adds, “I’m gonna start a bill for each one now so they can cover these fertility treatments. They can pay me back after they graduate.” She laughs at her joke, and I let out a huff of a chuckle just to make her feel more at ease. Fuck, it hurts though to see the pain in her eyes.
“Sorry,” I tell her sincerely. I’ve never even thought about kids. With the bar, I don’t have the time, even if I wanted them.
“Don’t be. I just got the news, so I’m all flustered, but I will figure it out.”
“I can imagine.” No I can’t. But I think what I’m saying is comforting.
A few more guys and a couple come in and take me from her, but I keep my eye on her glass. I'm waiting for it to empty, so I have a reason to get back to her. The beer flows easily as the orders continue to come in. UGA is playing, and most of the bar is rooting for wins, which means Mickey buys the guys in the back a round of shots.
All the while Grace spins slightly on her stool and occasionally checks her phone. Mostly she just stares directly ahead of her at nothing in particular, a vacant look in her eyes and her lips turned down slightly. It gets busier and busier, but all I want is for her to call me
over to her or finish that last bit of her drink.
I check with her a few times, but she waves me off with a small smile. Each time she’s just as welcoming and tempting as the last. But work calls, stealing me from her and leaving her alone in the bar. Every time I peek up, I see a sadness behind those big blue doe eyes that I don’t like seeing.
Time passes quickly and before I know it, she’s taking out her clutch and leaving cash on the bar. The second I see her put the money down, I stop pouring the draft beer in my hands and call out to her over the hum of loud voices.
“You need a ride?”
She smiles back at me and shakes her head no, but that happiness on her face makes it worth it.
I slide the beer down to the very end of the bar, forgetting which one of the two men sitting there ordered it, and walk over to check her out. I grab the cash and turn to go to the register, but she tells me to keep the change. She always does.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” I tell her and watch as she spins in her seat.
“I bet you call all the ladies sweetheart,” she tells me playfully, but her words are a kick to my gut.
“Just you,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice chipper and not let on.
“Yeah, okay,” Grace says as she tries to get off the stool. She seems a little off balance, so I make my way around to her and I’m damn glad I did. She slips off the stool and nearly stumbles. I catch her in my arms and hold her upright as she struggles to slide her small foot back into her heel. Her hands are firm on my forearms until she’s got her balance back.
“I’m not tipsy, just these heels.” That beautiful blush rises up her chest and into her cheeks as she shakes her head. She tries to play it off, backing out of my embrace. Her lush ass hits the stool behind her, and her hands grip onto it to keep from knocking it over. I can’t help the rough chuckle from vibrating up my chest.
“You sure you don’t need a ride?” I ask Grace. I know she only had one drink. I know she doesn’t. That doesn’t change the fact that I want to give her a ride.
“No, I’m fine,” she says. There’s a small smile on her face I can tell she’s trying to fight.
“I don’t know if I believe you.” I tell her just to fuck with her. I love getting under her skin. “I wouldn’t mind taking you home.”
I give her a wink as I back away. Leaving her there, steady on her feet, I walk around the counter to get to unloading the boxes that fucking James was supposed to take care of. I look over my shoulder when she doesn’t respond and catch her staring at my ass… again. It takes her a second before she notices my eyes on her.
Her eyes widen slightly, those beautiful baby blues looking like she knows she got caught. A violent shade of red floods her cheeks as she shakes her head, pulling her hair to one side and starts walking backward.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” she says playfully. But it’s that very thought that’s keeping her away from me. A woman like her, someone put together, with her life all figured out... She doesn’t date men like me.
“Have a good night, sweetheart,” I tell her one last time.
She waves shyly as she leaves me with nothing more than a “you too”.
Yeah, I’ve made some mistakes in the past. I have a reputation, and I’m sure as shit not looking for the same things she is.
But I wouldn’t mind knocking boots with my little sweetheart.
Grace
It’s 3 p.m., and I have a thousand things to do at work in only two hours. It’s not going to happen. That’s the bottom line. I push myself back from my desk in my rolling chair and sigh while looking around my cubicle. It’s littered with coffee mugs with motivational phrases, like, ‘I drink coffee and I get shit done’, notepads that have to do lists on them and pens. There are pens everywhere. In coffee cups, on top of to do lists and in the top drawer. Why? Because everyone takes my pens. Just like my mugs, they have cute things on them. My most recent set: keep your hands off my pens. I bought a six pack, I’m already down to four… I think… unless one is tucked in my purse or a drawer.
I’m in the advertising design department here at L. J. Scott & Co, which supposedly fulfills my need to create. The stack of ads, printed out on thick photography paper, at my right hand can attest to that.
I went to Rhode Island School of Design for marketing, with a minor in graphic design not realizing how much both subjects would challenge my creativity. I freaking love it. Eventually, I settled in at this graphic design job, choosing it over the other two offers because I like the work done here. It’s as simple as that. Day in and day out I get a different task and a different market to tap into.
All but one of the checkboxes on my list have been checked off, tick, tick, tick. Just the last one remains: find a hubby and make those babies.
“Hey! Drinks after work?” a chipper voice calls out from behind me. The pen in my hand lands on my desk when I jolt back to reality. The cat on my screen licking his chops is nearly just as startling. Nothing says, ‘your cat wants this kibble’ like an open mouthed cat ready to devour it.
I swivel my chair around and find Diane, leaning on the wall between our cubicles. She tilts her blonde head in a come-hither sort of way. She exudes sex appeal and often unbuttons her blouse a bit too low for client orientation which has led to more than a few rumors at the water cooler so to speak. AKA it’s how she wins a number of her jobs.
Diane started at the company at the same time as I did, and didn’t really give me much of a choice as to whether I would be her friend.
It was more that she assumed I wanted to go get drinks after work that first day, and I went along with it, why wouldn’t I? I soon found out why. She doesn’t really know limits and boundaries, not with men, not with alcohol and not with personal questions. She’s downright intrusive and cringe worthy when drunk, but I prefer that to sober Diane. Although in either state, she laughs a little too loud and right now I’m just not in the mood. I’m still processing everything from my doctor’s visit. Unfortunately, I have a bad habit of always saying yes. She’s not mean spirited, she’s not a bad person. She’s just… A LOT to take in. And since Ann is on leave for three months, I’ll admit I’m a tad bit lonely.
“Sure,” I answer, trying not to look at my desk, at the red blinking light on the phone that means I have messages. “That sounds good.” I close my eyes as soon as the words come out of my mouth. I didn’t even think about saying no.
“Mac's?” she asks, as if we would go anywhere else. I’m not the only one who lusts after Charlie. Diane flirts with him big time, counting down the days till he’s in her bed.
“Sure,” I say, breathing a small sigh of relief. At least it’s Mac’s.
“'Kay! See you at five thirty, then.” Her eyes travel down my body. “I hope you brought a change of clothes. I’m planning on the two of us getting handsy with some hotties tonight,” her smile dims as she rolls her eyes and adds beneath her breath, “not going to a friggin' funeral.”
Boundaries, Diane. My inner voice is snappy with a comeback but I just smile. I will wear whatever the heck I want. Diane’s embarrassment for me will just have to deal with it.
With that, she steps back and disappears behind the wall of her cubicle.
I blow out a breath. It wouldn’t be the first time Diane has called dibs on a guy I liked, slept with one of them. Diane’s a little competitive… in everything. Work’s like that, too; she likes to have the biggest and best clients under her purview in sales, often promising customers off-the-wall things and then dropping the whole stack of work in someone else’s lap. She did it to me when I first started… I learned quick to tell her my own workload was full.
Wheeling my way back to my desk I send up yet another prayer for more women to be hired here or even men, so long as they’re actually social and then glance at my cell phone, which is face down on my desk to keep me from getting distracted. But right now, I need the distraction. The second I click it on I see a message from Jason on Tinder.
I open the app and make a face as I scan the message.
Hey there — you look beautiful. Are you free tonight?
A tingle runs down my spine as I read it and look at the guy’s pictures. Oh yeah… there is definitely a reason I liked his profile. He’s blond and handsome in the photos, and his profile says he’s looking for a serious commitment.
I hesitate for only a moment, then type a message in return.
Thank you! And I am free, actually. What were you thinking? Double checking it to make sure there are no obvious signs that I haven’t dated in practically forever, I send it.
Sitting a little straighter in my chair I think: maybe tonight won’t be a disaster after all. Back to work I go. Time to be as much of a super woman as I can be in the final hours.
I have to return a dozen calls. Only one of them gets to me. Criticism is something I can take. I don’t mind it. But when a client treats me like crap, it gets to me. I wish it didn’t, but it gets to me. Sometimes this job is stressful and it’s 100% the clients who lead me down one path, tweaking a design a million ways, and then wanting to trash it. They do it again and again, while deadlines slip by and they don’t seem to have any grasp on what they actually want. I constantly interact with customers who want four more mock-ups than the three I've initially provided, as per their contract with L. J. Scott & Co. I’ll make them a dozen if they need it. If that’s what it takes to ignite a spark, I will do it all day long. But don’t have me do a dozen, choose one to tweak a million times, then another, then another and waste weeks of work not deciding a damn thing and wanting to start from scratch.
Tapping my nails on the desk I take in steadying breaths and pretend like Anthony from Bike It isn’t going to take every single one of those tweaked designs and use them all. I know we’re expensive and he has commented such a number of times, but the package he chose isn’t for a limitless number of ads and that’s what I think he wants.
Of course, Diane has promised this client the moon, she had him first before our boss moved him to me, but at half the cost of the creative hours billed so far, which are now supposedly useless.
Love Me Like I Love You Page 3