Stalemate

by Lisa Suzanne

  I run my hand along my beard, an involuntary tic I don’t even notice anymore. When I first grew facial hair, it itched like crazy, but after a couple of weeks, the itching went away. I originally stopped shaving because I had a cut I couldn’t shave over, and when it became less patchy and grew in a little, I started getting a lot of compliments from ladies.

  My mom hates it, but I think it’s because it makes me look like a man. I have a baby face without it, and she prefers me to look younger than I am because she thinks it makes her younger, too. She is young, though. She got knocked up when she was a teenager and had me just after her sixteenth birthday. My dad was a teenager, too, and he pretty much bolted. She’s very forthcoming with information—much more so than a son would prefer his mother to be—but we’re very close. She’s not just my hilarious and crazy mother, she’s my best friend apart from Emme and my cousins.

  That reminds me, I have to call her today or tomorrow.

  Which also reminds me, I need to talk to Emme.

  She thinks I’m just going to pressure her to marry me again, so she’s been avoiding me. I just want the chance to talk, to clear the air. I need to know that we’re going somewhere. I’m twenty-eight; I’m not getting any younger, and someday I want a wife and kids. It’s fine if that’s down the road—I still have plenty of time—but I don’t want to waste my time with someone who isn’t on the same page as me, no matter how much I love her.

  CHAPTER 4

  EMME

  I have a popular local band playing The Port tonight, so I arrive at work a little earlier than normal. I spent the afternoon watching Courtney try on about ten thousand wedding dresses with her mom. Her mom is this adorable woman stuck in the eighties, and she’s thrilled her only daughter is getting married. The whole event was actually a little overwhelming for me, so I’m glad to be at work, where I can focus on something aside from the wedding for a bit.

  I basically wrote my own job description for the previous owner, and Axel and Carter like the way I do things. My biggest role includes scheduling entertainment and, of course, advertising the entertainment I schedule. I have a wide social network that I’ve built over several years, and that’s what I use to get people to The Port.

  I also occasionally make rounds to other bars, clubs, and house parties to bring in more people, though that was more under the other owner. Axel is happy with me scheduling the music and keeping musicians happy, which can be a pain in the ass—like last night with the tequila freaks.

  I work from around seven until close, which is two in the morning. I usually walk home with Axel, and after a roll in the hay, we’re both asleep by four or five. I’m up by noon, but Axel likes to sleep much later.

  As such, I need someone to explain to me how this is the life of a married couple, how this life of basically partying for a living makes sense in the context of man and wife and whatever comes beyond that. To me, it doesn’t.

  “Hey,” Axel says softly when I walk in and plant my ass in the chair across from his desk. He runs a hand over his beard, and every time he does that, I wish it were my hand.

  I haven’t spoken to him since last night. I had my lunch date with Courtney this afternoon and he was still asleep when I left, then by the time I got home, he was already gone. He tends to head to the bar earlier than he used to so he can work on the books before he starts his shift bartending. I wondered if he’d still tend bar once he became co-owner, and I think he actually really loves what he does. I’m not surprised he chose not to give it up.

  I usually just pop my head into Axel’s office to say hi and then head to my own office to get some work done, but today my feet led me into Axel’s office first.

  “Hey,” I say back, matching his quiet tone.

  He writes something in some book in front of him then sets his pencil down, closes the book, and looks up at me.

  “What’s up?” His eyes are so dark they’re nearly black, and he’s looking at me with all this genuine concern on his handsome face. Sometimes my heart wavers in my chest for him, and this is one of those times.

  “I just wanted to say hi.”

  “You okay? You look tired.”

  “Thanks, now I’ll have a complex about that all night.”

  “Stop,” he says softly. “You know you’re always beautiful.”

  I shrug. I am tired, actually. I can usually keep up with my busy schedule, but after lunch and wedding dress shopping on top of a night filled with tequila, I’m kind of spent today—and my shift is just starting.

  “MFB’s playing tonight,” I say as a reminder.

  He nods. “You told me last night.”

  “Last time they were here, things got kind of crazy.”

  “Not nearly as crazy as last night.” He raises his brows pointedly.

  “So no to Anthrax’s Revenge next time?” I shoot him a smile.

  He laughs. “You know I’ll always say you can book whoever the fuck you want, but I’d prefer to stay away from them.”

  “Yeah, it was kind of a rough night.”

  “I had to hire an extra crew to clean this morning, and I had to place a huge glassware order. I only have half the shot glasses I started the night with.”

  “I’m sorry. They were good, though.”

  “They were great, and we did better last night than we’ve done in a long time, but I can’t afford to replace everything they either stole or broke plus pay them to play.”

  “I’m sorry,” I repeat, wondering why he didn’t just take the money for the damage out of their paycheck. He’s not like that, though. He wants to keep the peace and keep everyone happy despite the contract the band signed before they played. He’s non-confrontational for the most part, and it’s one of the things I like about him—except when it comes to me. Lately he’s been more confrontational with me, and it’s sort of got my guard up.

  “Don’t be, babe. It’s bound to happen once in a while. They were just fucked up, and the more fucked up they got, the more fucked up the rest of this place got.”

  “Except you.”

  He chuckles. “Except me,” he concedes.

  Even when he’s not partaking in a drink with his customers, he’s still somehow part of the party. He tends to be the center of most parties, actually. People love to talk to him, love to spill their secrets and ask him for advice. People are drawn to him. He’s got this super tough and intimidating exterior with all these muscles and that beard, yet he’s caring and supportive, and he would do anything for the people he loves.

  I should know since I’m one of them.

  “You have plans on Tuesday?” he asks.

  I nod. “I told Courtney I’d help with wedding plans. They picked a date.”

  “I know. Carter told me.”

  “Courtney has to plan this shotgun wedding now, and I think she’s freaking out that it’s not going to all get done.”

  “You do know what a shotgun wedding is, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, it’s like planning it really fast.”

  Axel starts laughing.

  “What?” Is he laughing at my expense?

  “That’s not what a shotgun wedding is.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No.” He laughs some more, and I feel like the joke’s on me.

  “Then what is it?”

  “Well, it is planning a wedding fast, but it’s because the bride is pregnant. Is Courtney pregnant?”

  I giggle. “No, I asked.”

  He laughs again, and I love how the corners of his eyes crinkle with merriment when he does. It feels good to laugh with him. So many of our conversations have been serious lately.

  “Do you think it’s too soon for them?” he asks once he calms down.

  “For me, obviously, yes. But for them? I think it’s perfect. What did you have in mind for Tuesday?”

  “Nothing specific, just wanted to spend some time with my girl.”

  I want to feel something aside from anxiety when he calls me his g
irl. Unfortunately, though, I don’t.

  “Maybe next week.”

  “What if I took off Monday?”

  “Can you do that?”

  “I own this place,” he reminds me. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

  “Big words from a tough guy. I’m sure Court will need me Monday, too.”

  “Then tell her you need to work.”

  “I can’t lie to her.”

  “Why don’t you want to spend time with me?”

  Because I’m afraid you’re going to ask me to marry you again. I don’t say that, obviously. “What would make you think that?”

  “You’re being evasive now. You’re always gone by the time I get up.”

  I try to lighten things with a joke. “Then get up earlier, lazy.”

  “I’m serious, Emme.”

  “Fine,” I concede. “Monday, you and me.”

  He nods and gives me a small smile. “Thanks.”

  *

  MFB, or My Favorite Band, kills it. They’ve got new material and the lead singer, Dax, who Courtney actually slept with once upon a time, told me a huge record label loved their demo and they’re currently working out a deal. It looks like they won’t be playing local places like The Port for too much longer, which is unfortunate for me since they’re one of my favorite bands and they always bring in huge crowds.

  Part of my paycheck includes splitting tips with the bartenders, so the more people I can get into the bar ordering drinks, the more money I go home with. It tends to help when I drink with the patrons. They like to feel like we’re old friends rather than remembering I’m making money off them, so I let them think we’re friends. Sometimes that gets me into trouble, but it helps that the guy I’m dating is typically just a few feet away.

  After the band leaves, we have more than two hours until we close. The crowd is still thick, but I’m exhausted. I can’t remember the last time I felt this tired; it’s as if this lethargy has seeped into my bones and only actual sleep will obliterate it.

  “Ax?” I yell across the bar as he turns to cash out a customer. He looks over at me. “I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

  He furrows his brows. “You okay?”

  I nod. “Just really tired.”

  “Go home and get some sleep.”

  “You sure?”

  He nods, and then he stops what he’s doing and steps toward me. He leans over the bar and kisses me, and no matter what’s happening or how I’m feeling, his kiss sends butterflies through my belly every single time.

  “Feel better,” he says softly, just for me, and then he gives me one of his signature smoldering looks.

  “Be good,” I say, and he winks at me.

  I take a cab to Axel’s place because even though the neighborhood is perfectly safe, it’s never a good idea for a young, leggy blonde who’s had a few drinks to walk home alone after midnight. I briefly think about going home to my own apartment, but I quickly dismiss that thought. If I’ve made Axel feel uncertain about the future of us because I’m not ready for the things he wants, going home to my own place will only exacerbate that issue. So, instead, I unlock his door with the key he gave me, head straight to his bedroom, and collapse into a deep sleep without even washing off my makeup.

  CHAPTER 5

  EMME

  I wish I could say things look better in the morning, but they don’t. I sort of feel like I have a horrible hangover, but I only had one drink last night. I went to bed before one o’clock and slept until eleven. That should be plenty of rest, but I still feel tired. Maybe I got too much sleep. Axel is breathing evenly beside me, and it’s a comforting sound. I listen to his deep breaths in and out, giving myself a few minutes to really think about what’s going on between us.

  I’m obviously being stubborn here, but how is being forced into a commitment the right thing? If I’m not ready, I’m not ready. It doesn’t mean I want to end things with Axel; it just means I’m not ready to settle down with him—or with anyone, for that matter.

  I force myself out of bed and into the bathroom, hoping I’ll feel better after a hot and steamy shower. I turn the water as hot as it’ll go and allow it to pour down over my body. I close my eyes and breathe in the steam. Maybe I’m coming down with something.

  “Babe, you’re all red.”

  I nearly jump out of my skin when Axel’s voice breaks into my private moment in the shower.

  “Jesus! You scared me.” My eyes fly open as I take in a very naked—and clearly very horny—Axel. I hadn’t expected him to be awake for at least another two or three hours.

  “Sorry. Scoot over.”

  I do, and he comes in and turns the water cooler.

  “Turning the water colder isn’t the way to get into my pants.”

  “You’re not wearing pants, so score one for Axel.” He waggles his eyebrows.

  I roll my eyes, and he laughs.

  “I’ll keep you warm, Ems.” His voice is all warm and husky.

  I love when he calls me Ems. It makes me feel like his princess, and when you don’t feel good, sometimes you just want to feel like someone’s princess. Other people call me that, too—like Courtney, for example—but when he says it with his deep timbre, I feel all warm and gooey inside.

  He turns me toward the stream of water, and I fiddle with the faucet to make it warmer. I feel his nose against my skin as he nuzzles my neck, and normally I’m on fire for him by this point. Today, though, I’m just not feeling it.

  He presses tiny kisses to my neck, and this is when I’m supposed to stretch my neck back to allow him more room. This is when I’m supposed to let out a little moan of pleasure as he starts the foreplay that will inevitably lead to a crushing orgasm.

  Instead, I stand stiffly and awkwardly, trying to figure out how to give a gentle denial when I never deny him. Sex is the one area where we communicate best.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks with his lips still against my skin.

  “I’m just tired.”

  “You slept like a thousand hours.”

  “Or ten.”

  “Fine. Ten. What else is wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I mutter.

  He sighs, and my back feels cold as he moves away from me. I turn to see what he’s doing, and he’s on the opposite side of his expansive shower, turning on the water on his side. Dual showerheads have come in handy on many, many occasions, but usually not for reasons that have nothing to do with sex.

  His shoulders are rigid as he faces his side. He leans up against the wall with both arms, and I can tell just from his stance that he’s frustrated.

  “I’m sorry,” I say in a small voice.

  He turns toward me and looks at me for a long moment, and then he closes his eyes tight and pinches the bridge of his nose.

  “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  It’s not unusual for him to care about my needs first, and it’s times like these when I realize he’s too good for me. He deserves better. He deserves a girl who wants the same future he wants.

  But, selfishly, I don’t want to give him up. When I think about a future without him in it, my heart squeezes and my stomach hurts.

  “I’ll be okay. It’s just the flu or something.”

  He studies me for another few beats, and I finally look away and grab my shampoo bottle.

  *

  Axel sets a bottle of water down on the table in front of me. I’m burrowed under a couple blankets on his couch as I text Courtney about wedding plans. Apparently she’s found the perfect bridesmaid dress and can’t wait for me to try it on, but I don’t plan to get up from this couch until I have to go to work.

  “Can I get you anything else?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  “Are you coming into work tonight?”

  I think through my schedule—I’ve got a band tonight and I still need to arrange a ride for them, plus I need to make sure they’re happy once they arrive. “Yeah. Digital Shade is playing.”r />
  He nods. “They’re newish, aren’t they?”

  I nod.

  “I can take care of them, or I can put Kasey on them. Stay home and get some rest.”

  “It’s my job. I’ll be there.”

  “Babe, if you’re not feeling well—”

  “Stop. I’m fine. I’ll be there,” I snap.

  He looks wounded, and a momentary pang of regret darts through me. I hate feeling like I’m easily replaced. This is my job we’re talking about, and I plan on being there to do it. A little fatigue isn’t going to stop me from doing what I love.

  “I’m heading over to the bar early. Carter and I have a meeting.”

  “About what?”

  “Menu with Lance.”

  Lance is the new kitchen manager Axel hired. They’re working on creating a menu that’s less stereotypical bar food and more variety.

  “Get some fish tacos on the menu.”

  He chuckles. “She feels like shit, but she still wants fish tacos.”

  “She always wants fish tacos.”

  He shoots me a wicked smile. “Me too.”

  I roll my eyes at his euphemism for my vagina, and he winks before he walks out the door.

  I glance down at the six text messages Courtney sent during my brief conversation-slash-argument with Axel.

  Courtney: How do you feel about navy?

  Courtney: Do you think yellow instead? I think I like yellow better.

  Courtney: No, navy.

  Courtney: I don’t need to decide right now.

  Courtney: Wait! What about a print instead of a solid?

  Courtney: Are prints kind of out for bridesmaid dresses? Is that too nineties? Forget it. Solid. Navy. Done. Decided.

  I roll my eyes.

  Me: Sorry, chatting with Axel.

  Courtney: Carter hates it when I text while we’re talking. I get it.

  Me: To be fair, it is kind of rude.

  Courtney: Not as rude as the time he answered a work text during sex.

  Me: During?

  Courtney: That’s the kind of thing that only happens once. He learned a valuable lesson that day.