“You know what I’m in the mood for today?” I ask.
“What?”
“A Tequila Negroni.”
She scrunches up her face. “Tequila Negroni? I don’t even know what’s in that.”
I tap the cheat sheet in front of her face on the bar, pointing to the recipe at the bottom that says Tequila Negroni.
“Oh, right. Didn’t you go to Harvard?” I egg her on.
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but I didn’t use cheat sheets.”
“You better study up then. Negronis are pretty simple to make. Equal parts gin, Campari, and sweet vermouth, but with a Tequila Negroni-”
“You use tequila instead of gin,” she cuts me off.
“Boom. Clearly that Harvard education is paying off,” I tease.
“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes. “I cannot listen to you talk about my stupid degree anymore. I am not any smarter than anyone else. I am just lucky.”
“Well, I doubt that, but sure, I can stop bringing it up. Oh, one more thing. Make sure you use the big ice cubes.” I maneuver behind the bar and show her where we keep them.
“Oh. These are nice.” She leans across to grab the ice cubes with tongs, putting a free hand on my bicep. It’s more than a touch, but it’s not quite a grip still. Electricity courses through my body from a simple touch.
“I’m glad you’re so impressed with my arms,” I chuckle, trying to diffuse the palpable heat between us with a joke.
Her hand still gripping me, we lock eyes. Suddenly she pulls her hand away from my skin, and shivers.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. Fine. I’m totally fine. Just caught a shiver for some reason.”
“Must be the ice cubes,” I return.
“Yeah,” she swallows and pushes her glasses up again. “Definitely the ice.”
She pours equal parts tequila, Campari, and vermouth, into the shaker. While she shakes with one hand, she puts one big ice cube into each glass and then adds the shaken beverage, garnishing with an orange. She hands me one glass and takes the other for herself.
“You’re a natural behind the bar,” I say. “So what are we cheers-ing to?”
“I would like to cheers to you, to Mason for getting me this job and for being there for me.”
I cock my head, suddenly hesitating. “For being there for you? What do you mean exactly? You’re doing me a favor. We need a good hostess. A great hostess can basically do the job of the manager.”
“You know what I’m talking about,” she intones, her voice sounding serious. “You pretend like my past never happened. Our past. I’ve never officially thanked you for that. We kind of lost touch after our...day together.”
I swallow because it’s true. I don’t like thinking about the past. “That was years ago,” I say, my voice turning gruff. “We don’t have to talk about that. What’s done is done.”
“If you say so.”
We clink our glasses together and take our respective sips.
“It’s damn good,” I remark.
We sip our drinks, and an awkward silence overtakes the empty bar.
The words her brother Cole said to me in high school ring through my mind.
If I ever, ever, find out you’ve been dating my sister behind my back—or at all—our friendship is done. And also—I’ll fucking kill you. Swear to God, Worthington. So don’t you dare ever try out your charm on her.
“No sweat,” I say. “Bros first. You know the drill. I’d never do anything like that man. She’s a nice girl—that’s the extent of our friendship.”
Clarissa lowers her eyes, glancing sideways, and I can’t help but wonder what is going on in that pretty little head of hers, behind those blue eyes and the brown hair.
4
Clarissa
Stop being such a Nerd, Nerd
6th Grade
Being too smart for your age isn't all it’s cracked up to be. That might sound weird and don't get me wrong, I’m thankful I’ve got the brains to skip a grade.
But sixth grade has been rough so far. Just sayin’.
Today, for instance, the girls are outside during recess and some are playing jump rope, some of them are chatting amongst themselves on a bench. Meanwhile, I'm sitting on the curb of the parking lot reading a book.
The boys play football on the street between the orange traffic cones that stop traffic from coming down the road. They’re rowdy, yelling, shouting, running as they play. They’re just background noise as I delve into my current book, the second in the Harry Potter Series.
Jumping from fourth grade to sixth was something my parents wanted me to do, and fourth grade was very easy for me. It seemed like a good choice at the time. Middle school is rough, though. Eighth graders pick on the sixth graders and when there is someone who is even littler—like me—it’s even easier to pick on them.
One boy wanders from the football game for a moment, drifting over to the curb where I sit..
"Hey girl," he says, grinning. "What are you reading?" I push my glasses up and look up at him.
His dirty blonde hair glistens in the sun.
"Oh, it's just a Harry Potter book,” I say, lowering my eyes. Nerves run through me. I wait for the punchline, many of which I’d heard during my first month of school this September.
Nerd, Four Eyes, anything they can conjure up about me, they’ve pretty much said it.
I brace myself for the oncoming insult.
"Hmm, cool," is all he says. “I haven't read that one yet. My name is Mason. What's your name?”
My heart thumps hard because it makes no sense that this boy is actually being nice to me. What, is he playing a trick on me?
Cautiously, I proceed, raising my eyes back to the boy. He’s tall, with kind blue eyes, and a smirking grin like he’s got a secret no one else knows.
"I’m Clarissa," I say, shrugging. "I skipped a grade so now I’m here. What grade are you in?" "I’m in eighth grade," he says, grinning. “Holy crap, are you Cole’s little sister?”
A chill runs through me as he looks at me. Goosebumps form on my arms.
“Yeah,” I try to smile, but I’m sure I look like a dork. “That’s me.”
I don’t understand this feeling, exactly. But I think it’s a good thing.
“Oh, cool. I’ve been to your house a couple of times, we play basketball in your driveway.”
“Oh, that was you? I thought you looked familiar.”
"Hey Mason," my brother calls over, and Mason turns his head. "What are you doing man? We’ve got the ball, it's time to play some football. What are you doing?"
"All right, got to go," he says, "but nice to meet you."
My heart warms as I watch the boy smile over his shoulder at me. I wave goodbye like he’s not going to be playing football right in front of me.
I go back to reading, enjoying the cheering and the yelling going on between the boys. It's actually comforting background noise.
A seventh grader comes over to me, Eric, who is in one of my classes.
"Hey Four Eyes," he snorts. "Why are you such a nerd?"
I try to ignore his silly question, keeping my nose in my book.
"Hey Stupid," he says bitingly. I feel him walking up closer to me. He's big boned and a couple of his friends snicker at his side. "Why don't you answer me, Four Eyes?" he taunts.
"Leave me alone," I say softly. "I’m just trying to read in peace."
"How about you leave me alone," he jeers. "I don't like watching you read."
"What are you talking about?" I say, "That's crazy. I’m just sitting here. How am I bothering you?"
He laughs, evilly.
"Yeah well, I don't like it when you read. I don’t like your face. Give me your book."
"No," I refuse.
"I said, give me your book, Four Eyes."
My skin tingles, and I think about running away, but I don’t want to seem scared.
He leans down so close to me I can smell his stinky
breath, yanking the book out of my hand. "My name is Eric Furton." He says in a low voice. "And am going to make this the worst year of your life. I am going to be your worst nightmare. Better get used to it.”
He yanks the book out of my hand, then slams the paperback on the concrete.
He rips it in two and then rips those again until the book is in shreds. I jump up from the curb and start to walk away, tears in my eyes.
"Hey, where are you going Four Eyes?" He jeers.
My world becomes a haze as tears cloud my vision, but I hear that boy's voice, Mason.
"Hey, Clarissa,” he says, and I feel a hand on my shoulder. "What the hell is going on?"
I sniffle, trying to form a sentence. Eric laughs heartily in the background.
"Are you okay?" Mason asks. "What that hell, what happened here?"
"He ripped my book," I say, pointing over at Eric and his cackling friends, who apparently think me losing my book is the funniest thing ever. When I refocus my vision, I see Mason's eyes searing into me, intense, wild and angry. He looks over at what’s left of my torn book.
"They just ripped your book for no reason?"
"Yeah," I say, feeling pathetic and powerless.
"That ain't right," Mason says in a low voice that gives me goosebumps. He turns around and yells. "Hey Cole, come here real quick.” My brother is at the other end of the makeshift of the street, playing with the ball on his hands. He tosses it to another classmate, then jogs over.
Mason walks up to Eric and his cronies.
"What's up with this? You are just going to rip a little girl’s book?"
"Fuck, man," he screeches. "That girl’s a nerd. What do you care?"
Mason's eyes look like they are about to light on fire. He grabs Eric by the collar of his shirt. "What's your problem, man?! You like hurting people who are smaller than you, is that what you do?"
Eric tries to struggle a little, but he can’t do much with Mason’s vice grip on him.
"Now you apologize to her," Mason adds, his voice firm.
"Never," Eric croaks and shoves Mason back.
The fist of Mason’s other hand is clenched at the side, but I can see he’s trying to hold back.
"You want to fight?" Eric yells.
"I don't want to fight," Mason says. "I just want you to stop being such a little bitch. And I want you to stop going after people who can't defend themselves. And I want you to apologize to the girl. That's it.”
I want to jump in and stop the fight, but I’m frozen as Eric surges toward Mason. When Eric tries to punch him in the face, Mason ducks, then charges toward him and spears him in the stomach. Their bodies fly as Mason takes Eric down to the concrete.
"Ooph," Eric spits as he gets the wind knocked out of him. Eric’s friends go crazy, jumping onto the pile and trying to pry Mason off from Eric, but his grip is too ironclad. He’s got Eric in a headlock.
"Apologize to the girl," Mason yells. "Apologize now!"
I clench up, hand over my mouth and my eyes wide. I should do something to stop this, but I can’t even move my body.
"Not gonna,” Eric squeaks.
Mason's grip tightens on Eric's head and I see him becoming redder.I rush to Mason’s side.
“Mason. Let him go! It’s okay.”
Mason looks at me but doesn’t let go. I see him struggling with the decision to listen to me, or to continue punishing Eric.
"Am sorry!" Eric finally squeaks out.
Mason lets go of him as the recess monitor approaches. All she sees is Mason going to town on Eric.
"Alright you two, come with me. Mason, you are in big trouble," she says.
Mason saunters away with the monitor to await his punishment, probably from the principal.
I look at the pieces of my book torn to shreds and the tears roll down my face. Cole comes over and picks up the pieces.
"He did this to your book, huh?" Cole asks.
"Yeah," I say.
“What a...poop face," he shakes his head.
“Poop face?” I laugh. Cole nods.
"You know, your friend’s kind of nice," I say.
“He’s okay,” Cole says. “Don’t get any ideas, though.”
“Ideas? What do you mean?
Mason glances over his shoulder at me and waves.
I smile, but I don’t wave back.
Cole can’t ever know I have a crush on his best friend.
The next day when I get to school, Mason waves me over to his locker.
"Hey," he says calmly.
"Hey," I say back, a little surprised as I walk up to him. I push up my glasses, then twirl my hair. “Sorry about getting you in trouble yesterday.”
"Oh, don’t worry about that. I got you something," he says. "It's a book."
He pulls out a brand new copy of Harry Potter.
"How did you get this?" I say. "Do you have a job?"
"Don't worry about it," he winks. "I don't think Eric will give you any more trouble reading during recess.."
"How can I pay you back?"
"You’ll find a way," he says, "someday."
He turns to go, but I grab his arm to stop him.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask him. He shrugs.
"You’re just the kind of person a guy wants to do nice things for. I don’t know, really.”
“Okay. Later,” I croak, and he slides out of my grasp.
5
Mason
She brings out the best in him.
Present Day
"Can I ask you something?" Clarissa waves her drink around in front of me as we wrap up her ‘training’ that lasted all of five minutes. She’s a quick learner.
And if this Negroni she made me is any indication of her bartending skills, I might have some competition for head bartender soon.
"Anything," I say, content with the fact that I’m alone in my bar with Clarissa.
Even if we can’t cross that line, what’s wrong with a little innocent flirting?
Health specialists have determined that one hour of innocuous flirting per week is part of a healthy diet.
Okay fine, I made that up.
Anything to rationalize the fact that I enjoy flirting with my buddy’s little sister.
But I’ve got more fake facts where that came from, especially if it means getting to spend more time with her.
She cocks her head and twirls a lock of her brown hair. "You’ve been working here for a while, right?"
I nod. "After I got back from Las Vegas when I was twenty I started working here.”
"Oh right, Vegas. I remember my brother mentioning something about that.” She pauses and stares at her drink for a moment before looking back up at me. “So how long are you going to work here?" she asks.
I shrug and take a sip of my drink. "I haven't really thought about it to be honest. I just live life one day at a time, take it as it comes.”
She nods thoughtfully. "Living life one day at time. Well, how old are you now?"
"Twenty-eight," I say.
"Okay."
"So you're going to be a bartender here forever?"
I feel my muscles tighten and I clench up.
"Oops," she says. "Sorry, that didn’t come out right.” She reaches across the bar and slides her hand over my arm. “I didn’t mean it like it’s a bad thing.”
"No, it's fine," I take a deep breath and scrub a thumb across my beard. "You're right, in a way. It’s been fun, but is this lifestyle sustainable in the long run? Doubtful.”
She nods silently, then slips her hand away from my forearm.
I want her to keep it there. I want her to keep touching me, but it’s for the best we leave our interactions here at ‘innocuous flirting’ and don’t progress further.
“I've thought about opening my own place. I've been saving a little bit of money," I add.
"You thought about opening your own bar?"
"Yeah," I shrug. "It's always in the back of my mind. It’ll probably never hap
pen. Actually though, I had a dream last night that I opened a place.”
She gasps. “You had a literal dream?!”
I nod and take another sip of my delicious Negroni.
"That’s your subconscious trying to speak to you!” She exclaims. “What's stopping you?"
I shrug. "I have some money. But not enough. I’d have to save for a few more years to get the down payment on a place. Plus, I would need cash flow for inventory, distribution, and the carpentry. It’s just not plausible.”
She leans back, smiling. “Sounds like you’ve done a fair amount of research for something that’ll probably never happen.”
I shrug. “I’ve run The Watering Hole basically by myself for years. I know what it would take to open a successful place.”
“ What’s stopping you?”
“They don't typically give loans to people like me."
"People like you? What does that even mean? People...with beards?"
“People with no college education, who haven’t owned anything before.”
"Oh. I was going to say that maybe you are a little bit intimidating," she says with a smirk, rubbing her hand on my arm again.
Damn. Why does she keep doing that? My cock hardens when she touches me. It's like the woman has a direct line to my arousal. It's completely unfair.
"I mean I don’t have a lot of collateral,” I add, trying to keep my mind off my arousal.
"Well, why don't you just try? You could apply for a small business loan." I shake my head. "Like I said, they don't give loans to guys like me."
"You're too intimidating. Maybe you should trim the beard and stop working out so much."
I laugh. “Never. And it sounds like you know a lot about getting a loan.”
She shakes her head. “I saw a few of my entrepreneur friends getting their MBAs go through the process.”
I sigh. If it were anyone else telling me I needed to clean up my act and try to take my life to the next level, I’d have a knee-jerk reaction and take it as a personal attack on my pride of being the best bartender in this town. But the way Clarissa puts it—she makes me think it’s easy. That I can do it in no time.
Bartender with Benefits Page 3