by Nicky James
Sighing internally, I tried not to let my smile falter. “Sierra Nevada?”
His eyelids fluttered and his lips firmed over his teeth before answering. “Do you really think this looks like that kinda joint? Try again.”
He certainly had an edge. “A pint of whatever is on tap how about. IPA if you have it.”
He shifted the mixed drinks he’d just finished making to a tray and pulled down a glass. Without looking back, he used one hand to press the lever and hold the glass underneath while grabbing a corked coaster with another and tossing it gracelessly on the bar in front of me. When it was nearly full, he squinted and tipped the glass just right, giving it a perfect head.
“Rolling Rock, bucko. If that doesn’t appease the old taste buds then maybe you need to find somewhere else to wet your whistle.” He dropped it on top of the coaster and met my eyes again. “Tab or cash?”
“Tab.” That was the end of the conversation.
He spun, grabbed his tray and balanced it in one hand with his hip jutted out as his fingers flew over the computer again. Then, he was off.
Despite balancing a tray with more then nine drinks, he weaved smoothly through the crowded room, body gliding around obstacles with ease. His tight black jeans drew the eye. He was a skinny thing and small. But, the way his body moved, showed form on his light frame. Not hard muscles but light defining ones. His dark t-shirt was also tight and the ensemble contrasted his nearly platinum hair.
I couldn’t ignore my attraction to him. Not just his outward appearance either, but there was something about that inner flame that simmered under his surface. Whatever I’d done to cause it to flare, I had no idea, but the mystery alone just made me curious, and I was inclined to learn more.
I sipped my beer—cringing at its poor quality—and watched him work. He moved with the fluidity of water, delivering drinks to tables, replacing empty glasses with full ones. He stopped at a door at the far end of the room and unloaded the dirty dishes into a bin before making his way back to the bar.
On his return, he paused beside a table bustling with a group of younger men, and instantly, the tension I’d caused dripped away. He spent a few minutes lingering and talking with that particular group, and not only did he smile, but he laughed.
The noises in the bar drowned it out, so all my senses could absorb was his body language. My imagination did the rest. His teeth gleamed in the dim room and his milky skin glowed. Blond hair fell over his left eye. With his hip jutted out, balancing his empty tray, he brushed it aside. His cheek bones were prominent; his eyes radiant.
If I’d thought his slight indignant behaviour toward me to be endearing, it was nothing when compared to the relaxed, happy, carefree man I saw in that moment.
A short while later, after making rounds to a few more tables to take drink orders, he returned to the bar.
Although he busied himself preparing more drinks less than three feet away, he didn’t raise his head or meet my eyes. A passing glance to my still full mug had determined I wasn’t in need of attention, and he didn’t give me any.
When he spun and scanned the array of liquor behind him, I racked my brain for something to say. Anything to engage him in some form of conversation like I’d wanted to do last time. I’d been gifted a second chance run-in and I didn’t want to leave without making some kind of an impression. The least I could do was acquire his name. Hopefully, ease whatever preconceived notion he carried that made his back stiffen in my presence.
He reached to a high shelf and pulled down a handful of shot glasses with one hand and a bottle of tequila with the other.
“So, how is Samurai Sam doing? Any more incidences?”
As he skillfully poured a measured ounce into each glass, he quirked a brow. “Haven’t seen him all week. Why? Are you checking up on him? How’d you know I worked here?”
“I had no idea you worked here. Just got lucky I guess. And, I was merely initiating conversation, is that all right?”
He paused for a moment with his eyes glued to mine. The analysis behind his stare was calculated and intense. When he broke our connection, he pulled a few lemons from a small bar fridge and began slicing them up and stacking them on a small plate. “If you’re investigating him or something, I don’t know the guy. Anyway, he’s harmless, just sick in the head or something. Needs to take his meds or he gets weird. He wouldn’t harm a fly intentionally.”
My mind muddled around what he said and it took me a fraction of a second to sort him out. “Oh, you think I’m a cop. I’m not.” I laughed, remembering the quips between him and his friend over a week ago and how I hadn’t had the chance to correct them.
His lips firmed into a line and he squinted up from where he worked. He didn’t seem as amused. “So why are you here then?”
“It’s a bar. I needed a drink.” Indicating over my shoulder to the room full of customers, I continued, “Same as the rest. Long day.”
“Hmm,” he huffed. Finished with the lemons, he dropped the knife into a small sink and retrieved a cloth out of a bucket. When he brought it closer, I could smell the bleach water fumes and reacted immediately.
Lifting my drink and coaster, I nodded to the sticky bar. “Do you mind?”
Again, I received a funny look, but he obliged my request and wiped the bar top down in front of where I sat. I’d have rinsed the cloth and done it a second time with fresh solution, but I fought that inner impulse to suggest it and smiled appreciatively instead.
“Thank you.”
He continued cleaning up his own mess and placed a salt shaker on the tray alongside the shots and lemon wedges. The bar was wet where he’d wiped it, and I held my drink still, deciding what to do. Again, I pushed down the urge to request he dry it. Instead, I noticed a stack of napkins beside his work station and leaned over, helping myself to a few.
I dried the counter in front of me and then proceeded to mop up the condensation from the outside of my glass with a few more before setting it down again. Holding the stack of wet napkins in my hand, I puzzled where to put them. My brain wouldn’t allow me to simply stack them in a little pile beside me, yet there wasn’t a garbage anywhere I could access. The longer I stewed, the more aware I became that I was being watched. The blond bartender was giving me a well practiced, what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you, look. I’d seen it on many people’s faces throughout my adult life, but that man had perfected it, right down to the raised eyebrow and matching nose and lip curl.
“Garbage?” I asked, sheepishly offering him the wet napkins.
There was a pause where he continued to stare in disbelief before he shook his head and snatched the wet mass from my hand. He spun and dropped them in a can under the counter a few feet away.
Without missing a beat, he grabbed a few glasses and started filling them with beer from the tap. The same ale that sat barely touched in my own. Attempting another mouthful, forcing it down, I shuttered and pushed my glass away. That wasn’t going to happen.
He caught my movement as he continued to fill another glass and his head shook as he rolled his eyes.
“Something else instead?” he asked.
“Take care of your orders. I can wait.”
Barely acknowledging my response, he stacked the newly poured drinks on the tray beside the shots and was off. As I waited for him to return, I pulled my phone from my pocket and noticed I’d missed a text from Alessio.
Tell me you went out. If you are sitting at home, I’ll kick your ass.
I glanced over my shoulder to see where the blond beauty was at. The table he’d hung at previous was the one that had ordered the shots and he was unloading them and chatting happily with those younger men again. Who was I kidding? Why would he take a second look at me when there were younger, more attractive men around?
I swiveled back around on the stool and typed out a quick response.
I’m out. Found a little shithole bar on the other end of town. Are you proud of me? The drinks suck, but the
view is fantastic.
I hit send and pocketed my phone again. While I waited, the conditions of the bar began to surface in my mind. I pushed them away and worked to think of other things. If I allowed myself to focus too intently on the sterility of the environment—or lack thereof—I’d go insane.
It seemed to take forever for the man to return. Twice, I feigned interest in the surrounding bar, just to glimpse where he was at.
Eventually, he returned and commenced working his way through another round of orders.
“Think about what you’d like?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the drink he was mixing.
“How about a whisky and Coke?”
Ordinarily I steered clear of hard liquor, but the beer was beyond my pallet’s ability to forgive and there was no way I’d chance a glass of wine. I couldn’t sit in a bar and ogle the staff without something to sip, so my options were limited.
He whipped down a glass, scooped ice into it and was pouring the whisky overtop so quickly, I marvelled at his efficiency. He snaked the arm of the Coke dispenser over and topped the glass up. After adding a wedge of lime to the rim, he brought it over and dropped a new coaster down before placing it on top.
“You want napkins for the drips?”
His sarcastic smirk made me smile. Anyone else taking digs at my quirky behaviors might have gotten an earful, but the knowledge that I’d successfully caught his attention enough for him to throw verbal punches thrilled me. “I’m okay. Thank you. The name is Remy by the way. We haven’t been properly introduced.”
I offered my hand out to shake—an extremely rare action for me—and waited. He didn’t move to take it. With a scrunched brow, he stopped his hurried work behind the bar and just looked at me in confusion.
“Remy?” he repeated, as though in doubt.
When it was clear he wasn’t going to accept my hand, I brought it back into my lap and shuffled on the stool.
“Yes, short for Remigio. It’s Italian.”
His confusion only intensified. His eyebrows drew together and dipped so they nearly touched in the middle.
“Hmm.” He nodded to my new drink on the coaster. “Enjoy. Are you done with your beer?”
I shuffled my gaze between my two drinks as his confusion transferred to me.
“Umm…yes. Thank you.”
He grabbed it and the wet coaster and upended it in the sink behind the bar. Without pause, he flew back into motion, preparing his next round of drinks.
Maybe I should have taken the hint that he wasn’t interested, but an unconscious pull to know more about him made me unable to help myself. If I didn’t at least try, I’d regret it when I got home and stew all night.
“I didn’t catch your name.”
He darted his eyes to mine briefly. “I didn’t give it.”
Ouch!
I sighed and sipped my new drink as he loaded his tray. Before he picked it up and walked away again, I asked, “Have I offended you somehow?”
He paused as he dried his hands on a towel and finally looked at me. Really looked at me. Tension hung so thick in the air I could almost taste it.
“Your name is Remy?”
“Yes.”
His eyes narrowed. “And you’re not a cop?”
I chuckled. “No. I’m an editor for Undefined Holiday magazine. My brother is a cop. I was with him on that call last week because he’d just picked me up from the airport and was taking me home when it came in.”
He thought about that, his lips pursed to the side. Never before had I felt so thoroughly examined and dissected than when his blue eyes tried to search my soul. He carried a lot of mistrust on his shoulders and I wasn’t sure I’d alleviated any of it. Also, it was evident he had an extreme distaste for police officers.
When I didn’t think he was going to answer, he spoke. His response held less of a razors edge, and the rejection I’d felt lessened. “It’s Soren.”
I gave him my best smile, and for a second time, offered a hand to shake. He took it that time. It was brief and he pulled back sooner than I would have liked, but it was a win nonetheless. The warmth and softness of his skin seeped into mine, increasing my pulse and sending a shot of nerves to worm its way over my skin.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
For the first time, he smiled shyly and averted his gaze to his waiting tray of drinks. “I have to deliver these. I hope you enjoy that drink more.”
When he disappeared into the crowd, I turned back around in my seat and stared at my open palm. It hovered above the table unmoving, exactly where it had been when he’d let go of it. A thousand arguments thrashed my brain over the next minute. Programmed to wash the second I was able after shaking hands with anyone, I felt inclined to jump up and head to the bathroom. However, the bar’s cleanliness was questionable at best, and I couldn’t imagine the conditions of their bathrooms, nor did I want to. Deciding to be hyper aware of that hand and not touch my face with it, I closed a fist and relaxed my elbow back on the edge of the bar, still not allowing my hands to touch its surface.
Soren.
It was an interesting name. Not one I’d heard before. Funny, my skin crawling obsession with germs didn’t extend to him but rather the dozens of glasses that had changed hands during his shift. More than I could count already, and I’d been there less than an hour.
I always found it interesting how my ingrained oddities had limits when it came to attractive men. Like my brain knew enough to shut down.
When Soren returned behind the bar, he rested against the back counter for a moment while he sipped water from a glass.
“Do you always work alone? It seems busy for one guy.”
He shrugged and downed another large mouthful before returning his glass under the counter. “This is nothing. It’s only Wednesday. Early week is quiet.”
Using the small straw in my drink, I stirred it, clinking the ice chips against the side. “You are quick on your feet. Have you been doing this a while?”
I immediately regretted asking when his face turned weary. “Long enough.”
“Do you get days off?”
“Not many.” He set to work preparing another tray of drinks.
Knowing I was about to lose him back to the other customers soon, I pressed on, asking a question I knew the answer to already, but I was determined to at least try.
“Do you eat dinner?”
His movements slowed, but he didn’t look up. “Everyone eats dinner.”
I spun the ice in my glass and chuckled silently at his sass before taking a sip. “Fair enough, in that case, since you eat dinner, can I take you to dinner? Maybe this weekend or the next time you have a day off?”
He stilled and his jaw tensed and shifted slightly. He didn’t seem upset by the invitation, but extremely uncomfortable. It wasn’t something I expected to see in someone so bold and sure of himself. Maybe I’d been wrong and he wasn’t gay, or perhaps that young man he’d been with was his boyfriend and I was intruding unknowingly.
“I work every weekend, but thank you.”
“Another time perhaps?”
His gaze darted the bar before falling on me. He smiled softly—genuinely—before responding, “Probably not.” Then his eyes fell to his work, and he moved faster than before to get his tray loaded and delivered.
I wasn’t surprised, but his answer still stung.
Deciding I’d tried my luck long enough, I pulled a few bills from my wallet and dropped them on the bar, ensuring I left a generous tip. My drink was barely touched again, but I didn’t want it anymore.
As I moved through the dimly lit bar and passed a few groups of people at tables, whose volume had increased since I’d arrived, I caught Soren’s eye as he placed his last drink in front of a woman.
He dashed a look to where I’d sat and back. Did he really think I’d rip him off?
I turned and left, hurt that he carried so much mistrust toward me without even knowing me. As I moved down the dark str
eet toward where I’d parked my car, I dug my keys out of my pocket.
“Hey.”
I snapped around at his voice, stunned and a little unsure why he’d come after me. He stood holding the door to the bar open with a foot, tray rested under his arm. The look on his face brought a hundred questions to my mind.
I jumped in before he could speak. “Listen, I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable or perhaps assumed something that wasn’t true. I was simply—”
“I just don’t date.” His words ground my own to a halt. “It’s not a shot at you. It doesn’t work for me. I’ve tried it and it’s always a disaster.” He reached out a hand filled with the bills I’d just left on the bar. “You shouldn’t have left this kind of tip. I was a dick to you. I’m sorry, but I can’t accept this.”
I approached him cautiously but didn’t take the money back. “Does it offend you?”
He shrugged. “Little bit, yeah. I mean if I’d at least been nice to you, I’d pocket it and shut up, but—”
“Then pocket it and shut up.” He gaped, unsure how to take that response. “I wasn’t offended. Disappointed maybe, but I didn’t expect you to say yes. Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Lines of confusion pressed into his forehead and he dropped his gaze to the money. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you I guess.”
“You’re welcome. Maybe I’ll pop in again and try to change your mind.”
He peeked up and nodded. There was a distant sadness in his blue eyes and it made me pause. Unable to hold my gaze, he looked away, back into the noisy bar. “I should go,” he said. Without giving me time to respond, he flew back in the door and was gone before it could latch closed.
Something about the exchange we’d just shared gave me hope. Even though his words said different. I stood for a minute longer before heading back down the road to my car and home.
I needed another shower.
Chapter Five
SOREN
I woke to a hand purposefully grazing over my dick through my underwear. My mind snapped to attention, and I swatted it away. The wet mouth, latched onto my neck—which I was only just becoming aware of—lifted, and Ash moved to nibble on my chin.