McCoy: A Bad Boy Romance

by Michelle Amy

  “Is he someone I should be careful of?”

  “He’s his own breed. Gets into trouble, sometimes. He’s definitely not Max’s favourite customer, but he spends a lot of money here so he is still welcome- for the time being at least.”

  “What has he done?”

  Claire shrugged. “The odd fight, here and there. Nothing too crazy.”

  A fight at my old bar would earn a customer a permanent ban. “Max is tolerant of fights in his bar?”

  “Not really. He’s tolerant of Jack fighting in his bar. There’s a difference.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  Claire polished off her drink and leaned in closer. I could smell her perfume and strawberry lip gloss, and the vodka on her breath. “You will, when you see it.”

  This statement was a trigger to a cacophony of questions in my mind. What did she mean when she said that? “Is he a good fighter, or something?” I asked.

  “He likes fighting. He’ll sit at the bar and you can tell he’s just waiting for something to go down, sometimes. Helps him blow off steam, I think. Anger issues, or something. The guy needs to join a sport.”

  “He likes it?”

  Claire nodded. “Yep. Loves it. As soon as a guy in here sets a toe out of line with one of the waitresses, Jack is there. At first, it’s a little flattering. You think he’s fighting for your honour. Then, after it happens a couple more times, and you see the look in his eye, you see it for what it is. Pure enjoyment.”

  “Um… That’s a little messed up.”

  Claire snickered and leaned back in her booth. “For sure. But it doesn’t change the fact that he is exceptional eye candy. Just you wait; you’ll get your chance to see him in action. Maybe it will be for your sake. Who knows?”

  I didn’t like the idea of that. I didn’t like violence. I didn’t like drama. I felt as though I had finally managed to put that part of my life far behind me. If something like that did happen, I would have to make it very clear to Jack that I could take care of myself.

  I didn’t need a stranger fighting my battles for me.

  But then again, there was something about him that stirred a curiosity in me. There was something that encouraged me to find out more about him. There was a chance that I was simply falling victim to his good looks. It had happened to me before.

  Chapter Three

  I stood at the foot of my bed and stared down at the mess I had created. When I got home from my shift at The Red Rose I counted out my tips. I had just cleared two hundred dollars. It was less than half of what I was used to making on a weekend shift. Realizing I wasn’t going to be able to afford my half of the rent for the apartment I shared with my friend Brooke had elicited panic. So I went into my closet and pulled out nearly everything I owned and started sorting through it all.

  There was a soft knock on my door and I called for Brooke to come in. I heard the door open as I pulled a rubbermaid container full of boots towards me. I heard Brooke take a deep breath and mutter under her breath.

  “I don’t need your criticism,” I snapped, “I know it’s chaos. I know it’s bad. I’m selling it. This stupid job is going to be the death of me.”

  Brooke was looking for a place to sit. When she came to the conclusion that there was no bare surface she sat on the floor and crossed her legs. “Alice, it’s four in the morning. Is it entirely necessary that you do this now?”

  I rolled my eyes at her. “There will never be perfect timing to part with my beautiful clothes. And my shoes. And my purses.” I groaned and threw my head back. “Why must they all be so pretty!”

  Brooke chuckled behind me. “They’re just things. Trust me. You won’t feel any less worthy if you don’t have them.”

  “I know,” I said, “but my butt won’t look as good as it does when I’m wearing these.” I held up my best pair of jeans and pointed at the pockets.

  “Then keep those. You can’t get rid of all your clothes. You can’t go to work naked. I mean, you’d probably rake in some crazy cash, but then you’d be fired and arrested and wearing an orange jumpsuit, and we both know that orange does horrible things to your complexion.”

  “Wow. You sure know how to boost a girl’s spirits.” My voice was as monotone as I could possibly make it.

  Brooke rubbed her hands together. “So, you want help?”

  Brooke was my roommate and my closest friend. Her uncanny ability to see when I was about to unravel had saved my sanity numerous times, and this was most definitely one of those times. The stress of trying to decide what to keep and what to toss was eating away at me, and I hadn’t even started yet. All I had managed to do was make a mess and stare at it for almost forty five minutes. I looked over my shoulder at her as I lifted up a pair of beautiful knee high black stiletto boots. “Yes please.”

  She offered me a gentle smile and nodded. “Okay. We need three piles. One is a definitely selling pile. One is a definitely keeping pile.”

  “And the third?”

  “The third is the ‘not quite willing to part with it just yet’ pile. That’s where those boots should go. They’re sexy as hell. But. If you don’t wear them in the next two weeks, you have to sell them. Fair?”

  “Fair.” I handed her the boots and she tucked them neatly against my wall by my door. Then she nodded for me to keep going. I was so grateful for her. She guided me through the process effortlessly. She knew exactly which items I couldn’t part with on an emotional level- like my one pair of Jimmy Choo’s and my first designer bag that I had ever purchased for myself. She also knew which items were frivolous purchases and gave me tough love when I fought her on them. Like my Louis Vuitton bag that had been sitting in my closet for three years.

  At the end of the process I had six garbage bags full of stuff to bring to a consignment store. We had calculated out that it would earn me a pretty penny, and greatly reduce the level of anxiety that was consuming me about earning significantly less money.

  “How’s the new dentist office?” I asked as we sat ourselves down in the living room with bowls of pralines and cream ice cream.

  She shrugged one shoulder and licked her spoon. “Not too bad. A bit of an older crowd but the other hygienists all seem really nice. We are going for drinks next Tuesday night after work. Want to join?”

  “No, that’s okay. You should have some one on one time with them.” I pushed the back of my spoon into the ice cream and mixed it all around to create a soup-like texture. “I’m sorry you had to start all over. New jobs suck. Meeting new coworkers sucks. It all sucks. I’m really, really sorry.”

  Brooke put down her bowl and tapped me on the knee. “None of this was your fault, Alice. Seriously. The guy was a nut case. What was I supposed to do? Let you move out to Chicago all by yourself? What kind of friend would that make me? Besides,” she picked her bowl back up and shimmied back into her corner of the couch, “how could I pass up the chance to help you get rid of all your shit? I’ve been wanting to go through your closet for years. My OCD is so happy right now.”

  I laughed and let myself be reassured by her words. She was right; of course, none of it was directly my fault. But I knew she missed New York. I definitely did. I thought about it every day. I missed our loft apartment and my old job. I knew Brooke missed her old dentist office as well. But she never spoke a word of it. When I told her I had to leave the city to get away from my ex, she hadn’t thought twice about coming with me. We broke our lease agreement and paid the penalty with many apologies to our landlord and had arrived in Chicago less than a week later.

  But some of it was my fault. I had gotten involved with the wrong guy. I had done it several times with different men, over and over, before falling for someone who could have been the end of me. I met him at The Wallflower, where I had met most of my many suitors. He had dazzled me with his white smile and square jaw and big brown eyes. He showered me with compliments and came to sit at my bar every night for two weeks before I agreed to go out with him.


  We had only been dating for a couple months when everything unravelled. He had an angry streak that frightened me. He never hit me, but I didn’t trust him enough not to. He tried to force me to quit my job because he didn’t like other men looking at me. He tried to make me wear clothes that covered me up when I refused to quit.

  He terrified me. And when I left him, he stalked me. I tried to play it cool and keep my chin up, but his surprise appearances left me unsettled and anxious, and eventually Brooke talked me into getting a restraining order. He couldn’t come within a hundred feet of me. That eased my mind until he started going to the bar across the street from The Wallflower and watching me through the window. He sat at the same table every night and I could see him sipping on his gin and tonic, leaning back in his chair with one arm resting casually on the table. And he would just watch.

  So I left the city.

  I packed up my boots and my bags and everything that I could fit in my Audi, and my best friend hooked her arm in mine and we drove to Chicago.

  We made sacrifices. Our incomes were cut in half. We didn’t have a dishwasher, balcony, loft, or pool in our building. We couldn’t afford to eat out at swanky restaurants on a weekly basis. I was losing half my wardrobe. Brooke had to facetime her sister back in New York because she couldn’t hop on the bus and meet her at a coffee shop anymore. I traded my Audi for an older silver Civic that didn’t have air conditioning.

  But I felt safe. And I was willing to give up anything to feel safe.

  Chapter Four

  He showed up again at The Red Rose two weeks after the first time I met him. He was wearing a suit that set him apart from every other man in the room. It was navy, and underneath he wore a white shirt tucked into his pants. His dark brown belt matched his shoes and the brown leather watch around his left wrist. His hair was slicked back off his face, and as he floated through the bodies in the bar he shrugged out of his suit jacket. Even from a distance I could see the tightness of the white shirt on his muscular shoulders. I spotted him as soon as he walked in, and his eyes went directly to me after he handed his jacket over to the girl working the coat check booth. I held his gaze and smiled before returning my attention to the girl before me who had ordered twelve lemon drop shots. By the time I had placed them on a tray and handed them to her, he was standing at my bar, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to expose strong forearms. On the right arm, just beneath the rolled up sleeve, I could see about half an inch of dark ink from a tattoo.

  I really liked when he stood at my bar. I could smell his pine and rain water scented cologne, and the view, of course, was exceptional.

  “Hi,” I chimed, plucking a bottle of rum from the top shelf behind me. I held it out and wiggled it a bit.

  He nodded and slid on to a stool slightly to my left and out of the way of the line up. “How’ve you been?” He asked, watching me pour his drink.

  “Good, I’m finally falling into the swing of things here. And I think I remember all my coworkers names now, which is a bonus. I don’t have to refer to them just based on their hair colour anymore.”

  That comment made him smile and I set out on a mission to see how many times I could make his dimples show like that during the evening. I handed him his drink and he took a mouthful, nodding his approval. “So, should I call you Brown Hair then, or are you going to tell me your name?”

  “Alice,” I said. “And you are?”

  “Jack.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jack,” I said.

  “Likewise. You said you just moved out here last time I saw you. Where from?”

  “New York.”

  “Wow. Now it all makes sense. You definitely have the city look about you.”

  I laughed as I crammed a lime wedge down the neck of a corona bottle and passed it off. “Oh? What makes you say that?”

  “The jeans you’re wearing. The jewellery. The hairstyle. It all makes a lot more sense now.”

  “You calling me shallow?” I asked, skepticism coloring my voice.

  “No, no,” he held up his hands as if to show that he was innocent. “None of it is bad, it’s just not… common in these parts.” He cast a look around the room as if to say, ‘isn’t it obvious?’. Then he crossed his arms on the bar. “Anyways. What brought you to Chicago? Family here or something?”

  “No, just wanted a fresh start. My best friend and I moved here together. And I mean, once I saw this place I knew this is where I was meant to be.”

  He laughed again and his dimples sprang to life on his cheeks. I felt my stomach swirl and I had to look away from him. “So you don’t really know anyone in the city?”

  “Nope,” I said, “everything here is new to me.”

  “Well, if you’re up to it, I would love to show you around the city. Maybe take you to some good places to eat?”

  I leaned on the counter and pushed one of my hips out. I gave him my best coy smile and shrugged. “My roommate says I’m not allowed to date anyone.”

  “Is your roommate also your mother?”

  “Nope, worse, best friend.”

  “So… tell her you have to work? Or tell her I’m a co-worker. Unless you really don’t want to be seen in public with me. Then by all means, just say so. No need to string a guy along like this.” His tone was playful and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “You free tomorrow?” I asked.

  “I’ll pick you up at six.”

  “It’s not a date,” I clarified, raising a finger to him.

  “God no. I wouldn’t date a city girl anyways. They’re too shallow.” I laughed and he winked at me. It was a playful sort of wink and his eyes crinkled in the corners from his smile, and for some reason he just made me feel at ease.

  As I continued making drinks for customers we continued to talk.

  “I’m in sales,” he said, when I asked him what he did for a living.

  Hence the suit and the significant amount of swagger in his walk. “Oh? What kind of sales are you in?”

  “Real Estate,” he said, taking a mouthful of his drink. “Mostly the sales of commercial and industrial properties.”

  I imagined he probably made a decent living. I would have bought a broken down golf cart off of him if he told me it was a good idea.

  “What made you get into bartending?” His question threw me off. From anyone else it would have sounded condescending, but I could see the genuine curiosity in his eyes and they held no judgement of me.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I like busy work. I like people, most of the time. And sometimes I make really good cash. Overall it’s not a bad gig. But I realize it’s not really a long term career. I guess I’m still clinging desperately to my youth.”

  “You don’t look like you need to cling to it.” He didn’t try to hide the obvious up down his eyes made of me. The corner of his mouth curled upwards and his eyes lingered for a moment on my chest.

  “Thank you,” I said, resisting the urge to twirl my hair like a high school girl. I turned my back to him to grab a bottle of Curacao for another customer. I could feel his eyes on me and I didn’t mind. The shirt I wore exposed some of my midriff. My pants hugged my hips like they were painted on me. He could stare all he wanted.

  “Is there something you’ve always wanted to do instead of bartend?” He asked when I turned my attention back to him.

  “Lots of things, actually. That’s my problem. Too many ideas, not enough self discipline to make any of it happen.”

  He shrugged. “Then it’s not the right thing. The right thing will just happen some time and you won’t even realize it until it’s too late. Just watch. I have a sixth sense for these kind of things, and you are made for greatness.” He checked me out again.

  “Oh yeah? Is that your classic damsel in distress advice?” I laughed.

  He rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, sometimes I have a hard time turning it off.”

  “Don’t turn it off,” I said, “sometimes it’s nice to have a man say things
like that.”

  “Oh yeah?” One of his eyebrows crept up towards his hairline.

  “Yeah, sometimes.” It had been a while since a man made me feel attractive. I felt my cheeks turning red.

  “Well, in that case,” he said, “I feel compelled to tell you that you are far too beautiful to be working here.”

  The butterflies that were swirling to life in my belly reminded me that I was doing exactly what I had told Brooke I wouldn’t do. She had seen this coming a mile away. I thought of my walk in closet and ensuite and window bench. I loved that room. But Jack’s dimples and his smile and his eyes made me forget about the luxuries of the master bedroom and come to terms with the fact that it may not be so bad to move into the smaller room. I could paint over the periwinkle blue that Brooke had chosen. I could add some wallpaper to one of the walls. I could make it mine.

  As Brooke had said, if I wanted it, I would get it.

  “Listen,” Jack said, pulling me from my thoughts of the lecture Brooke was bound to give me. “I’m having a good time. Do we really need to wait for tomorrow to have our ‘it’s not a date’ date?”

  “I’m still on shift for another two hours.”

  “This stool is pretty comfortable, the drinks are good, and the company is even better. The view… I could stare at all night. I’m willing to wait.”

  So he waited. We continued to talk as I worked. My tip jar definitely didn’t see as much action as it usually did. I couldn’t blame people for that. They didn’t get my full attention, as they should have. I probably made fifty percent of the drinks wrong. My mind was so wrapped up in Jack and I was consumed by our conversations that I barely paid attention to what I was doing. I tried to put an orange wedge on someone’s bloody mary and I salted the rim of someone else’s bellini. I called it a Saltini, which Jack thought was funny. The customer just frowned at me and I was forced to make them a new one.

  When the house lights came on at the end of the night Jack was just polishing off the Saltini. “The salt actually isn’t that bad with it. I swear. It could be the new girl’s drink. I bet Max would go for it.”