Guess I’m taking an Uber home.
Picking up the tumbler she rolled it around in her hand, enjoying watching the tiny bubbles of fizz popping as they rose to the top of her drink, and the ice cubes clinking together.
Eff you, Jeremy Lewis. Eff you.
She drained half the glass in one swallow.
“Wanna talk about it?”
She shook her head, silently. “Thanks, but I don’t even know you. It’s a bit…personal…and I don’t want to keep you from working.”
His chuckle seemed to start out as a low rumble in his chest but quickly turned into a laugh. “Uh huh,” he answered, gesturing around the otherwise empty bar. “Absolutely. Totally run off my feet over here. I just can’t keep up.” He shook his head and propped his forearm on the wood, leaning towards her. “You’re clearly new to this. But this is kind of my job. It’s a tale as old as time. I, bartender.” He swung a thumb towards his puffed-out chest for added emphasis. “You.” He paused, waving an open palm in her direction. “Well, you’re clearly a woman scorned.”
Her brows knitted tighter together and she clenched her teeth, flexing the muscles in her jaws.
“See?” He chuckled again. “From the days of old, bartenders have been great therapists. You don’t know me; I don’t know you. I keep your drinks flowing, your tongue loosens, you spill your soul onto the bar, lighten your emotional load, I mop up all the emotional feels from my bar with my trusty shoulder-draped cloth and give it a polish. I get rich, you get catharsis, and everyone’s happy.”
She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “If you were rich would you still be working behind that bar? Wouldn’t you want to, like… I dunno, buy an island or something, eh?” She glanced at his chest as though looking for a name badge but found herself pausing, staring for just a beat too long before meeting his gaze. A flush crept across her cheeks.
“Mitch. The name’s Mitch. Moving to a private island would be cool and all, but then I’d miss out on meeting interesting people about to commit murder, such as yourself. And where would the fun in that be?”
He flashed her a charismatic grin. She realized that if she wasn’t already stuck between a rock and a hard place with two hockey players being royal pains in her heiny, she’d probably have dialed up her flirtation to at least get this guy’s digits.
She smiled despite herself, forced her jaw to unclench, and pushed her shoulder blades down from her ears. As she sipped her second drink, she started to feel the warmth of the alcohol spreading through her, slowly easing the tension in her muscles and she sighed deeply.
“Chelsea. Chelsea Davis.” She smiled, extended her hand, and gulped as his hand dwarfed hers as he shook. “I really do want to kill him you know.”
“I believe that.” He chuckled again. “Not only do I believe that, but I’m also pretty sure you could kill him if you truly wanted to.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she quipped, sarcastically, inclining her glass towards him before taking a sip of the vanilla-flavored deliciousness.
“Actually,” he started, waving the cleaning cloth at her. “That one I reserve for the real deal. The true, cold-hard killers who sit on those stools.” He winked again.
She hated to admit it, but this sarcastic stranger was somehow managing to soften her raging mood.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“What?” He paused, glass in one hand, cloth in the other and observed her with a look of mock-shock. “You think because I’m a guy, I couldn’t possibly understand the plight of ‘man’? Well, listen here, sister. I have had more than my fair share of man trouble and believe me when I tell you that I kissed more than my fair share of frogs before I found my prince, too.” He shuddered theatrically at the memory.
She giggled, sighed, and drained the last of her drink. Offering up the empty glass for another refill and chewed the inside of her cheek as she thought of where to even start.
“That Hellcat outside yours?”
Changing tactics, I see. Touché Mr. Mitch the Bartender…giving this McGillicuddy’s a while longer to work its ‘tell-me-your-secrets’ magic.
She nodded.
“Figures.”
“And what does that mean?” she snapped back before catching herself.
He raised an eyebrow and shrugged in response.
“What?” she demanded, challenging him to say something about how a girl like her couldn’t handle a car like that. She’d heard it before and she wasn’t in the mood to hear it again today.
“Suits you,” he answered, shrugging again and chuckling to himself.
She stayed quiet for a moment, trying to peel back the layers of what had transpired to get to the cause of her frustration. Hanging her head in her hands she closed her eyes and cast her mind back to the previous evening when he’d surprised her at the office.
“What…the hell…are you doing here?”
Not exactly my finest opening line when greeted after work by an overzealous hockey player. She sighed and shook her head, recalling the confrontation the night before.
When he had flashed her his smile, she’d almost dropped her purse and launched herself at him until she had reminded herself that she was in a committed relationship with someone else. Seeing him standing there in the foyer had clutched at her heart, though, and for a moment she’d found herself thinking ‘Johnny, who?’
“You look great, Chels.”
“Jeremy Lewis, what the hell are you doing here? You can’t just…is this…are you…just…”
She remembered the look of confusion and intrigue on her friend and colleague, Christina’s face as she’d ushered her out the door.
“You’re going to have some explaining to do to your friend in the morning,” he jerked his chin towards the door that was closing slowly behind Christina.
That lopsided smile, those chocolate-brown eyes, athletic body, and kissable lips just standing in the foyer of her office, staring at her and offering her the world.
“Jeremy, what are you doing here?”
“You’re dating hockey players now,” he answered, looking at his feet and shifting his weight.
“I didn’t know he was a hockey player when I started dating him.”
Even saying it in the moment had felt disingenuous, but it was true. When she first met Johnny she had no idea he played hockey, that was something she’d found out after they’d dated a few times and by that point it didn’t really matter. He made her laugh, they had things in common, and she enjoyed his company. He seemed more like a guy who happened to play hockey, than a typical ‘it’s my whole life’ hockey player. Jeremy’s face made it clear he felt betrayed and she, too, found herself feeling as though on some level she had betrayed him. The memory stung as she replayed their conversation in her head.
“Where’s my callback, Chels?”
“Excuse me?”
“My callback.” He folded his arms across his chest to protect himself from her words. “When you decided it was ok to date jocks again…why was I not your first call?”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “It wasn’t like that.”
“No. Don’t dismiss me like that Chels.”
She remembered feeling as though she was edging too close to the line of cheating, and despite her fleeting suspicions that Johnny wasn’t the most faithful boyfriend she’d ever had, that didn’t mean she was going to stoop to his level. She had no real reason to distrust Johnny and she had been trying to set it aside as being an unfair assumption of him but it wasn’t exactly ‘fun’ to be in a relationship with a guy she almost didn’t trust. If nothing else, being in a relationship with Johnny had shown her that she wasn’t yet over the damage caused to her by her cheating ex and she was right to keep jocks at arm’s length. That was until Jeremy Lewis stood in front of her in all his delicious, cocky glory and she found herself frantically pedaling through her mind for any excuse to kiss him, and every excuse not to kiss him.
�
��I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, but I really think you should leave, Jer.”
She remembered speaking with a quiet strength she wasn’t feeling on the inside. Behind her words she was shaking, fighting every urge to step towards him and kiss him with the passion that was bubbling in her chest. They’d kissed before and as she sucked in a cleansing breath, she recalled those kisses with a warm glow and an ache in her chest. Goosebumps prickled her flesh at the thought of his lips brushing against hers.
Rubbing her arms she went back to their face-off the previous evening in her mind.
“Why can’t you see how good we are together, Chelsea? Why won’t you just let us be together? I don’t understand.”
Why won’t you just let us be together…?
He wrung his hands together and she found herself wondering if it was to stop himself from reaching out and touching her. He’d traveled across the country unannounced to profess his love for her. At any other time in her life that would have been the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her. Hell, even now it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her, but Jeremy knew she was with Johnny. He was stomping on her boundaries and that really wasn’t romantic. He knew how she felt about men ignoring her wishes.
“You felt it,” he insisted. “I know you did.” He was quiet, pleading, but while she forced her face to stay firm, there was nothing she could do about the pounding heart inside her chest.
“I’m with Johnny, Jer. I didn’t plan it. I’m sorry, but I…I’m not going to cheat on him. That’s not who I am.”
“So you’re saying I need to just wait my turn?” he demanded, bitterly.
She knew he was speaking in anger, but it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. It was wildly inappropriate and downright offensive.
“I’m not a revolving door, Jeremy, and I don’t enter into relationships believing they’re going to fail.”
“That’s not what I…this is all coming out wrong, Chels. Please? Pick me, Chelsea! One date! Please? Let me take you out and—”
“It’s so nice of you to come all the way out here to talk to me, it is. You’re so romantic and impulsive. But you’re angry and hurt and I’m sorry about that. If you came all this way to argue with me, you’ve wasted your trip. I…I need to go, I have somewhere to be.”
“With him, you mean.”
His hurt and bitter tone shot tiny spears into her traitorous heart.
“Yes, Jeremy. I’m going to see Johnny. You should go home. I’m sorry, but real life isn’t a rom-com.”
She walked past him and out the same door Christina had walked through. As she did, Jeremy spoke, quietly, “Sometimes it should be.”
He probably thought she didn’t hear him, but she did. Those four words had ricocheted around in the darkest recesses of her heart and mind all night as she tossed and turned in a fitful sleep.
Sometimes it should be, she thought bitterly.
In the end, Johnny had stood her up. He’d fed her some line about being tied up at work, but she’d driven past on her way home and his car wasn’t outside. Her spidey-sense once again told her he was fooling around behind her back, but, her sensible head prevailed. She knew there were plenty of potential explanations as to why his car wasn’t outside, she was determined to give him the benefit of the doubt and ignore her bitter hockey-player-hating instincts of old. She felt as though she could be intentionally looking for faults in Johnny at this point. Jeremy offered her an opportunity, sure, but she’d be lying to herself if she said he hadn’t been on her mind since their amazing night together.
She hadn’t been able to concentrate at work, she’d sent three emails out to the wrong clients and called it a day. Giving up, she’d thrown her purse onto the passenger seat of Greta, her pride and joy Cadbury-purple Dodge Hellcat and set off with the intent of burning rubber.
“I think my boyfriend might be cheating on me,” she groaned into her hands.
Do you? Or do you want him to cheat on you so you can have an easy out and pursue something with Jer?
Shut up. Just. Stop thinking. You’re making everything worse.
“Quite the cliché. Sure, I can totally see how you thought I wouldn’t understand. Soooo complicated.” He threw in an exaggerated eye roll for good measure which made her laugh. “Boy cheats on girl. Girl wants to kill boy.”
“Oh. I don’t want to kill Johnny.”
“Johnny being the unfaithful asshat of a boyfriend?”
She nodded. “Potentially. I have no real proof. Just some lingering man-hate from a previously awful relationship. For all I know he’s not cheating on me at all. I really have no idea.”
“So…you…don’t want to kill Johnny?”
“No. Junk-punch, maybe. Not kill. Jeremy. He’s the one I want to kill.”
“I see,” he answered, leaning into the double ‘e’ of ‘see’ while jerking his chin at her to continue.
She sighed, heavily, dropped her head in her hands and gave a frustrated grumble.
“Men!”
“Let me see if I can put some words to that grumbling and grousing you’re doing over there. So, you don’t want to kill your boyfriend who you think is maybe-sorta-possibly-but-not-really cheating on you, but you do want to kill Jeremy who makes you sigh, and prompts dreamy, heart-shaped bubbles to come out of the side of your head?”
“What?” She snapped her head around and he laughed. “It’s not like that. I don’t date hockey players.”
“And this Jeremy guy is a hockey player?”
“Right.”
“And Johnny isn’t?”
“He is.”
“I see. But you don’t date hockey players?”
“Right.”
“But you’re dating Johnny.”
“I can see where you’re going with this.”
“Can you? Because I’m not sure you can.”
“You’re going to ask why I can date Johnny but not Jeremy.”
“Actually, I’m going to ask why you want to only junk-punch the guy you’re in a relationship with, but you want to murder the other dude. Something’s not lining up quite right here. Surely you should be more provoked by the dude you’re committed to? What did this Jeremy fella do? Actually, wait—hold that thought.”
He ducked through a door behind the bar and she heard rustling and clattering of dishes. After a few minutes, he returned, he had two baskets of bacon cheese fries piled high and what appeared to be half a bucket of ranch dressing.
“When did you…?”
“When you were away inside your own mind there for a while. I did tell you I was going to put some food on, but you were too busy stabbing this Jeremy guy in your mind’s eye. So,” he continued, plucking a fry from his basket and dipping it into his own bowl of ranch. “What exactly did this Jeremy dude do to warrant murder? Did he break your heart, too?”
“No,” she answered swallowing a mouthful of cheesy, bacony goodness. “He…eh…” She swallowed hard and shook her head. “He showed up at my office to declare his love for me and to ask me out.”
“That ba—wait, what? He…”
“He travelled from Alabama and surprised me at my office…”
“To tell you he loved you…?”
“Basically. Ok, not really. He showed up to ask me out, but there was subtext. It’s always about the subtext with him.” She waved a dismissive hand before popping another fry in her mouth and groaning with pleasure at how delicious they were. “Mmmm! Not all bacon cheese fries are created equal you know.”
“Don’t change the subject.” He waved a ranch-dipped fry in her direction. “What am I not getting? I don’t see a declaration of love as something to provoke murder.”
“He stomped all over my boundaries…over my relationship with Johnny. What kind of man flies across the country to proclaim his desire to date a woman who is already dating someone?”
“Better question,” he countered, sucking the excess ranch off his fingers b
efore pointing his index finger at her. “What kind of woman stays in an unfulfilled relationship with one hockey player—who is potentially cheating on her to boot—when she’s clearly in love with another?”
“I—”
“Oh, this is gonna be good.” He crossed his arms over his chest and his face had a smug look suggesting that he wasn’t going to believe a single word she said.
I can’t love Jeremy. We barely know each other.
Yet if she cast her mind back to the time they’d spent together she felt a familiar flutter in her stomach. This wasn’t a stranger, this was Jeremy. The same Jeremy who roomed with her boyfriend in high school. The same Jeremy who’d turned to her when his parents were murdered. The same Jeremy who could make her toes curl with a flash of that stupid lop-sided grin of his and let’s not even get distracted by his kissing skills.
She suddenly felt sick at the idea that she hurt him.
He didn’t respect your boundaries, Chels.
They had history, granted. Timing had never seemed to be on their side. His reputation as a heart-breaker had kept her at arm’s length and the added complication that he was a hockey player didn’t do him any favors, either. She shuddered. She reminded herself that she didn’t date hockey players for good reason, they couldn’t be trusted and would only break her heart like her ex had done.
And yet, you’re dating Johnny.
But Johnny is safe.
And Jeremy isn’t…?
The thought startled her. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that Johnny just wasn’t Jeremy. A tiny voice that started out as a whisper at the back of her mind was progressively getting louder as time passed. Jeremy made her feel things, scary and overwhelming things, granted, things that opened her up to a potential world of hurt, also true, but she just couldn’t find it in herself to take the risk. As much as she enjoyed Johnny’s company, she found herself wondering if she was settling for something…just okay, average or ordinary, instead of taking a chance on something that could be life-altering and amazing.
But she wouldn’t dare let herself peek behind that door, she knew all too well how that story ended, heartbroken with a bottle of Moscato and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s to cry into. When things with her ex had finally escalated to the point of no return, she’d changed her hair, lost fifteen pounds, and sworn off hockey players for life. She’d come dangerously close to toilet papering his house and keying his car, however, he still lived with his parents and the car belonged to his mom. Chelsea wasn’t even popular enough to start some nasty, quick-travelling rumor around school about the size of his penis, everyone would have simply thought she was a woman scorned. She was a woman scorned, but she didn’t want the whole school talking about her any more than they were already going to. Her jock boyfriend and her cheerleader best friend, she couldn’t have written a more obvious cliché. She smirked thinking back to how she felt seeing him skate out onto the ice with a distinct pink tinge to his kit. After she’d caught them in the act, she’d stormed out of the house, pausing briefly as she walked by the laundry room. She knew he had a game that night and she knew there wasn’t much she could do to get back at him, but seeing the red socks sitting on top of the machine, she couldn’t help herself. Petty? Perhaps, but it made her feel pretty good as he stood for the anthem sticking out like a sore thumb against the rest of his teammates in their shirts.
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