Once I’m up and eating breakfast, I check my phone.
I clench my stomach when I see who texted me:
My Dad.
My Dad never texts me. He wasn’t really part of my upbringing in Blackwell, although after high school—after my probation stopped—I lived with him in Las Vegas for one year to test the waters.
Let’s just say it’s my fear to end up like him.
In his fifties, single and still hitting the club scene every night.
Dad: You around today? I have something to tell you.
My heart gets a little heavy at that.
Something to tell me?
After I have my coffee and finish my breakfast I give him a call.
“Hi Charles.”
“Mason. Good to talk to ya.”
“So, what’s up?” I say, short and to the point.
“I saw that reality TV guy out last night from that show Coming to a Bar Near You. I told him about you and gave him your number. I hope that’s okay.”
“Jason McDonald. You just saw Jason McDonald out at the fucking bar and chatted him up?”
“Of course,” my Dad says like it’s no big deal. If he didn’t really help raise me, we’re still similar in terms of our ability to charm a crowd.
“Dad, I have no interest in being on that show.”
“Why not? What’s the big deal? It’ll get that place you work at some extra business. What’s it called again—The Watering Skull?”
“The Watering Hole and-“
“Watering Hole,” he repeats, cutting me off. “I always thought Skull would be a little more fun than ‘Hole,’ you know?”
“Dad it doesn’t matter. I’m starting my own place pretty soon.”
“Come again?”
“I’m striking out on my own. I’m getting my own place. The loan officer-“
“Well holy shit. Little Mason finally growing some balls and doing his thing. That’s great. I’ll mention that to Jason when I follow up with him.”
“Please don’t. I run a bar in a small town. I have no interest in being a celebrity bartender.”
“Son, what are the kids saying today? You only live once? You gotta keep that in mind. These sorts of opportunities don’t come around all the time. Just talk to him.”
“So how do you know he’ll even follow up with me?”
“Son if there’s one thing I know, it’s charm. And trust me, I sold him on that shithole town.”
I tense up. “You kidding me? You couldn’t pay me to live in Vegas over Blackwell.”
“And that’s your problem. I told you, you’re welcome back any time. Once you get on his show, you’ll be able to bartend at any place in town—and in Vegas you can actually make some serious money. I’m just looking out for you.”
“I guess I can talk to him, but there’s no fucking way I’m leaving Blackwell.”
“Whoa! Why the strong talk! I never thought you were so attached to the town.”
I don’t want to tell him that right now—the reason I don’t want to consider leaving has to do with a girl.
But wait. I’m getting ahead of myself.
Way ahead.
Clarissa and I have agreed. No actual feelings—just benefits.
Why shouldn’t I be looking out for my own career?
With that realization, I feel a little more thankful for my Dad’s goodwill that he’s sending my way.
“I appreciate you thinking of me,” I say.
“That’s the spirit.”
We make a little more small talk and then I hang up.
I take a call from the bank, and—shockingly—they’ve already run me through approvals.
I give a fuck yes fist pump in the air, then text Clarissa as soon as I’m off the phone.
Then my phone buzzes with another text. I swipe and see who it is.
Cole: DUDE WHAT THE FUCKING HELL
Cole: YOU SAID FAKE. FAKE?
Cole: NOW MY SISTER BRINGS HOME A FUCKING ROCK THE SIZE OF A WALNUT?
I stare calmly at the words, considering my response.
On one hand, it’s true that me and Clarissa have definitely crossed the line.
On the other, the rock was an outlandish, over-the-top gesture that I needed to do to make sure Mrs. Crabtree saw how serious I am.
Serious…
I repeat the word in my head.
What exactly am I serious about?
Serious about my fake relationship?
What does that even mean?
The words he said to me, not too long ago, ring in my ears.
It’s not about you, Mason. It’s just that if anyone ever broke my sister’s heart, I’d fucking kill them. And that’s not a threat. That’s just a fact.
Shivers run down my spine thinking about the look on his face when he said the words.
I decide my best move here is to assure Cole this is still a ‘fake’ situation.
Via text.
And then avoid him for the next week or so.
Because he’d know in a second—if he saw my face—that I was trying to put one over on him.
And that would be not good.
Mason: Dude, stop freaking out. You’ve got nothing to worry about, that it’s all an act and the ring is just an old thing I had to use to up the ante.Mrs. Crabtree wasn’t convinced.
Right away, I see the three dots moving.
Cole: Better be. And you just had a giant fucking ring laying around your house?
Mason: It’s a long story
Mason: How’s Rose? :P
Mason: Any more guys try and seduce you lately? :P
Cole: Nah they haven’t. Have any more MILFs tried to seduce you?
Mason: Just the one ;)
I blow out a deep breath, satisfied that I’ve diverted the conversation away from the topic I don’t want to talk about.
I get a call later that afternoon from Mrs. Crabtree. She says our loan is approved and can we please come in at our earliest convenience to sign the papers.
I call up Clarissa and we head over to the office.
When we sign the papers for the loans, there’s a feeling of maturity and silence as I stare at Clarissa.
She just came from yoga class, so she has on pink yoga pants, a white T-Shirt and a grey, skin-tight pull over.
Even though she’s dressed casually, she looks sexy as hell.
So naturally gorgeous, without even trying.
Or maybe it’s because she’s not trying right now that she seems so gorgeous.
We walk out of the loan office, holding hands, saying nothing.
It’s for show.
Isn’t it?
It damn well doesn’t feel like this is a show.
It feels natural.
We walk to the location of the old firehouse and I open it up.
The space seems somehow different now than it did even last week when we took our tour.
The first floor is a giant open space. Ripe for an open concept type of place.
In the span of less than a week—hell, one weekend—my life feels entirely different than before Clarissa.
“Wow. It’s an amazing space,” Clarissa says. “What did you have in mind for the design?”
I dart a look back at her. “I thought that was your area of specialty.”
“Oh. You’re seriously entrusting me with the design work?”
“Like I said. We are fifty-fifty on this. I know some design, but I’m much more of a mixologist.”
“Well…” she puts her arms out as she dances through the space.
Yes, dances.
“We could do an island bar in the middle, and a dance floor over to the side...Oh and we have to make sure we have butt funnels to get on the dance floor.”
I scratch my head. “Did you just say, ‘butt funnel?’”
“I did.”
“My mind is thinking so many dirty things right now.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t think so dirty. It’s just a way
to get guys and girls to talk to each other. Basically, we wrap drink rails around the dance floor, but we’ll need openings to get in. So we put thirty inch wide opening where guys and gals can slide in.”
“But why is it called a butt funnel?”
She grins.
“Here. Pretend there is only 30 inches of space in this section, and we have to get through to the dance floor.”
She zones off an imaginary space with her hands.
I play along, and pretend I am walking into the dance area through a small space.
Inevitably, we run into each other, and our butts touch.
We look at each other's eyes.
“Oh, excuse me,” I say, using my flirty voice. “I didn’t mean to knock into you.”
“That’s okay.” She flashes a flirty look at me. “I’m Clarissa.”
“Hi Clarissa, I’m your new best friend.”
“And it’s all thanks to the butt funnel,” she winks. “See? It works.”
“Baby, you’re a goddamn genius,” I say. We don’t bother to move away from each other. “I want you to put as many butt funnels in this bar as possible.”
“You come around quick.” She pokes my chest, then sighs. “Hard to believe we are really doing this.”
“I feel fucking great, personally.”
She rests her head on my chest.
“You do?”
“Yes. How about I make us a couple of drinks? To celebrate the closing.”
She slips away and hops up on a counter top in the firehouse that’s conveniently the height for a good bar.
“This place has drinks already?”
I grin, pulling out a little flask of whisky.
She makes an exaggerated ‘O’ face.
“You’re dirty.”
“I know. I also sneaked into the bar earlier and put a couple of bottles of tequila, whisky, limes, rocks glasses and a Coke in here, suspecting we might have a moment like this. I’m like a boy scout,” I wink. “Always come prepared.”
“The essentials.” She furrows her brow. “How’d you get the keys already?”
“Charmed the real estate agent,” I wink. “Told her she gets free drink for opening month. She liked that.”
I hand her a glass with whisky and Coke.
Her eyes sparkle like the diamond on her finger. I love seeing Clarissa this happy.
We raise our glasses.
“Cheers,” I say. “Because one week ago, it was Monday. I was heading to my bar shift, and I was thinking to myself, ‘is this going to be my life forever? Just making drinks for people every Monday night?’ Now, don’t get me wrong,a huge part of me loved doing that. And I still do. But I had the feeling like something was missing. You know what I mean?”
She nods. “A week ago, I was questioning my entire existence. Why was I still in Blackwell? Why didn’t I go back to Boston, where jobs are plentiful. It feels...right now. Doesn’t it? Cheers.”
I nod in agreement. “You know, this is all thanks to you. I don’t think anyone in my life could have convinced me to do this, aside from you.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Really.”
She lets out an audibly loud breath. “I feel the same way about you.”
I recoil a little bit. “I helped you do something crazy?”
She cracks up a little bit. “No, silly. You helped me live up to my potential.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
She recounts a story from in high school, on one of the craziest days of —our life.
In the dim light, she finishes her story and my mouth drops open.
“I told you I wanted to be a PE teacher, and you said I needed to shoot higher. You probably don’t remember it, but you saying that to me meant the world at the time. It changed my entire trajectory.”
“You mean…I was the reason you went to Harvard?”
“One hundred and ten percent. I wouldn’t be the woman I am today if you hadn’t made that little, tiny, off hand remark in the car. Well okay, it wasn’t exactly “off hand.” But I still remember the way you said it. It was like you weren’t trying to win my affection or anything like that. You just said it because it was the truth and you’re a truth teller. It wasn’t a criticism, you just said what was on your mind.”
Her gaze drifts toward her drink, and she smiles slightly. I want to read her mind.
She leans forward and puts a hand over mine.
“This is going to sound incredibly silly. But what you said to me that night…I wrote it down and never forgot it. ‘There are risks you can take, and risks you can’t not take.’ ”
“It’s a solid quote,” I nod. “Up there with Shakespeare and the greats.
She rolls her eyes. “I’m being serious, Mason.”
“I am, too. I’m honored to have impacted your life so much. After that night at the baseball game…we kind of drifted away.”
“And it was my fault.”
“Clarissa.” Her name comes out throaty, a sudden seriousness in my voice. “Nothing was ever your fault. It was me. We had that whole amazing day together and then I got scared. And...you know I don’t like talking a lot about the past. I’m all about thinking forward.”
She looks so beautiful right now, I would walk across scorching hot coals just to graze her cheek.
“Why, Mason?” She speaks with gravity, snapping me out of my hazy day dream.
I look her in the eye and I tell her what I remember thinking to myself later that night.
“Because I don’t deserve you. I’m not destined for anything great. You are. I’m not…”
“Stop it,” she spits. She grabs my arm, shakes her head and looks me in the eye from inches away.
“Fucking don’t ever say that again.”
My eyes widen. “It’s true though,” I respond.
Her jaw drops, and she does the craziest thing I’ve ever seen her do in all the years I’ve known her.
She slaps me.
Across the cheek.
Not too hard.
But hard enough so I wonder if there’s going to be a mark there tomorrow.
We stare down each other, our faces inches away.
We’re both shocked at what she just did.
“Oh my gosh, I didn’t mean to….”
My heart pounds out of my chest. I’m angry.
I grab her by the back of the neck, bring her to me and I kiss her full lips.
The kiss lasts for what seems like forever. A minute. Two. I don’t know.
When we come up for air, her eyes are glossed over.
“Mason I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that…I just get so angry at the thought of you thinking of yourself like that. If that’s really what you think…”
“Clarissa, stop talking,” I growl, and cover her mouth with mine. I’m revved up.
I’m angry, and I want her so fucking bad.
We’re leaning awkwardly toward each other. Her skirt rides up on her hips.
“Fuck it,” I growl.
“Fuck it?”
I wrap my hands around her legs, lift her up and hoist her onto the bar.
“Yeah. Fuck it.”
She lets out a little moan. I wrap kisses in a U shape all around her neck.
“And what, exactly, is the ‘it’ we are saying ‘fuck’ to?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It was more of a figure of speech.” I struggle out the words between breaths and kisses. “But now, I’m going to do something I’ve fantasized about since I was a teenager and barback.
“Which is?”
I pull back for a moment. The bar light is dim, and I feel like I’m in a damn movie, this moment is so beautiful. Clarissa leans back on her hands, her chest heaving as she stares at me.
“Say something,” she purrs. “What are you doing?”
I grin and bite my lower lip. “I’m drinking you in.”
The way she looks at me, I can tell she understands.
“What are you indulging in, exactly?”
“Take off your skirt and lay flat on the bar,” I tell her.
She pulls her skirt off so she’s only in a thong and her bra.
“Holy shit,” I say as I navigate behind the bar. “You look so goddamn hot right now. I want to do a body shot.”
“I’ve never done one.”
“Me neither.”
She giggles. “You’ve been a bartender for how long and you’ve never done a body shot?”
I pour two shots of tequila.
“I don’t know what kind of guy you think I am. I don’t do body shots with just anyone, though,” I wink. “Like I said, it’s been a fantasy for a long time. To do this with you.”
She holds my gaze and runs her hand through her hair. She’s a sexy goddamn vixen right now. And I’ve never wanted her more.
“Who says you’re the only one that’s fantasized about this?” she purrs.
My eyes widen at the thought that this might be a reciprocal fantasy.
I get more turned on than ever, thinking about the fact that Clarissa might have thought about this.
It’s meta, but it’s true.
“Take this off,” she says, tugging at my shirt, and sitting up on the bar. “I want to do you first.”
I smile a little as I take off my shirt and let her see the myriad of tattoos covering my chest in the dim bar light.
“I like it when you take charge.”
She runs her hand over each one.
“And I like it when you take off your shirt. So we’re both happy. How is it that you had none of these when I knew you?”
I shrug and dart my glance away from her. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
She takes off her glasses and, legs still dangling above the bar, draws my body in between her so she’s straddling my chest.
As I stare at her, a million different feelings pull my mind and body in different directions.
I want to be up front with her—and just tell her the truth. I want to tell her that after I decided I wasn’t good enough for her—after I told her I wanted to just be friends and she agreed—my life took a spiral of twists and turns and I didn’t know how to get out of them.
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