Salvage

by Elaina John

  ****

  “A Cosmo for the lady and a scotch on the rocks for me.”

  R.J. McHansen nodded at the forty-something balding man standing before him with the leggy—much younger—blonde hanging like a Christmas ornament from his arm.

  He fixed the Cosmo and scotch with mechanic precision. R.J. knew nearly every drink there was to know. For the past eight years he worked at various bars and clubs up and down the east coast. They were all the same once you stripped down the lights, furniture, names. All were places to get drunk, get laid, or just get away.

  R.J. slid the drinks to the couple. They walked away, the man leaving a hefty tip. Bolt tended to cater to the younger folks who wanted the upscale club atmosphere and sugar daddies looking for a nice piece of young candy to satisfy their sweet tooth.

  He’d worked at Bolt for about six months now. R.J. could have done more with his life. He once had goals of becoming a big shot criminal defense attorney. Ha! What a waste of time and money. Three times he took the bar exam. Three times R.J. failed.

  Failure was for chumps and he was done being a chump. R.J. put so much into that dream that there wasn’t much left for him to build a career on. He didn’t possess any notable skills worth a damn if you didn’t count his being able to mix a drink with his eyes closed.

  He fell back into the familiar. R.J. bartended when he was an undergrad and made decent money. So, he made a career out of it. Some career, right?

  “You can’t make a decent living as a bartender. You’re disappointing your family.” His mother’s squealing voice embedded itself within his brain, which was why he hadn’t talked to her in over a year now. When he took the bar exam that final time and failed, his father gave up on him. What a great family.

  R.J. pulled the towel off his shoulder and wiped down the bar. It was early yet. Things didn’t get hectic until after eleven. He was so busy scrubbing off the remnants of liquor from the marble bar top that he didn’t notice the woman until she cleared her throat.

  When he looked up, R.J. did a double take. Then hoped he hadn’t just made a fool of himself in front of one of the most attractive women he’d ever laid eyes on. Working in bars and clubs, he’d seen his fair share of women…and had taken them home.

  This woman wasn’t a quick lay. She exuded the air of a woman who held herself in high regard. Pine green eyes stared at him with contempt as she waited for him to wait on her. Still, R.J.’s brain chose to fail him, keeping his mouth shut.

  She had long dark hair that fell past her shoulders. The woman was dressed simply in a white buttoned down shirt that cut flatteringly across her generous chest. He couldn’t tell what she wore on the bottom, but he didn’t care. She could be wearing a potato sack and look hot.

  “Do you have an eye problem or are you just rude?” she asked. Even annoyed she had a voice as melodic as wind chimes and as soothing as a lullaby.

  R.J. quickly gathered his wits. He didn’t fawn over women, didn’t get poetic. “Neither.” He flashed the grin that won over plenty of ladies. “I couldn’t help staring. You’re quite beautiful.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Gee, great pickup line. I’ll take a vodka tonic. And I’d prefer it in this century.”

  A pit bull, he thought. He appreciated a woman with grit. Never taking his eyes off the woman, he reached for the vodka bottle and tonic water. R.J. knew the bar backward and forward, didn’t need to look. She didn’t marvel at his skill as he hoped, simply drummed her fingers on the bar top in impatience, giving him the notion that he was making a complete fool of himself. She definitely wasn’t the usual college co-ed that tended to wink and giggle over everything he did.

  He added a slice of lemon to the glass and placed it in front of her. She took a sip and puckered her full lips. That’s how he knew he made it right.

  “You waiting for someone?” He crossed his fingers this beautiful woman was here alone.

  She snorted. “Not anymore,” she muttered.

  R.J. spent enough time around people to know what that meant and he couldn’t fight back the giddy pleasure that rose within the pit of his stomach. This lady could be single. As it was, he was as single as a dollar bill.

  “What’s your name?”

  Either the music was too loud or she pretended not to hear him. Either way, she turned her head and didn’t respond.

  He tried again, something inside of him wanting to stay near this unknown woman. “Man troubles?”

  “I didn’t come here to talk,” she snapped. “I came to drink.”

  R.J. held up his hands in surrender. “I’m here if you want to get things off your chest.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  From her curt response, there was something deep this woman needed to release. But R.J. learned long ago not to push. Patrons talked when they were ready, usually when the liquor had coursed its way through their system. She was one patron he wouldn’t mind waiting all night for.

  He went back to work, slinging drinks and chatting up customers all the while keeping an eye on the mystery woman. Any guy that sat next to her intending to chat her up was quickly dismissed. Suckers, R.J. thought.

  R.J. shook his head and focused on the wasted trio of girls stumbling up to the bar. They’d waltzed in just minutes before and he smelled trouble. Their party started long before entering Bolt. Being the upstanding bartender he was, there was no way they’d get drinks from his bar. If they drank anything else, it was going to be champagne they bummed off some desperate guy. R.J. put on his no-nonsense face as they saddled up.

  “What can I do for you ladies?”

  “We all want margaritas,” the tallest one slurred.

  “Make my frozen. I’m feeling hot,” her friend giggled and nearly knocked over a stool. She gazed at him with unfocused eyes. “You’re hot.”

  “Uh huh. Sure is,” the other two agreed.

  R.J. was used to the compliments, especially from drunk girls. He inherited ocean blue eyes from his mom and nearly black hair from his dad. He was six foot two with a lean, athletic build from playing recreational sports most of his life. R.J. would be a liar if he said he didn’t use it to his advantage from time to time.

  “Sorry, ladies. Can’t serve you any alcohol.”

  “What?” the third and smallest friend shouted. “Why?”

  “You are visibly intoxicated. Your eyes can’t stay straight worth a damn, you’re falling all over yourselves, and you all are slurring. It would be irresponsible to serve you knowing those facts.”

  “That’s not legal,” the tallest smeared. She tried to stare him down but only managed to look cross-eyed. “My dad is a lawyer. I can sue you for discrimination.”

  R.J. barely contained his laughter. He might not have been a lawyer but he knew a thing or two about the law. “You don’t have a case. What do I have to discriminate against?”

  “Because we’re hot,” the one who seemed to use hot in every sentence replied.

  This time R.J. laughed, but it was with pity at how foolish the young women were. “Yeah, no. Sloppy and drunk is not hot. You’re more than free to stay at Bolt and dance, but I won’t be serving you liquor and neither will my staff.”

  The tallest stuck her finger in his face. R.J. took a deep breath. He never put his hands on a woman before and he wouldn’t start now. No matter how disrespected he felt.

  “We. Want. Drinks. Now.”

  “And I said no. Please leave before I call security.”

  “No. Just give us our margaritas.”

  “Yeah, you’re screwing up our buzz,” the short one whined.

  R.J. flicked his eyes toward the bouncer hanging at the door. All it would take was a head nod to get Big Curly to escort these women out of Bolt.

  “I believe he asked you to leave.”

  That voice. R.J. turned. The mysterious brunette was shooting daggers at the trio, her drink abandoned. Everything about her screamed authority and control. If he hadn’t served her himself, there was no way R.J
. would have known the woman had liquor in her system from the clear, commanding way she carried herself.

  “Who do you think you are?” one of them asked.

  The unknown lady reached into her back pocket and flipped identification before putting it back. “I am a federal agent with the I.R.A and I’m telling you to leave right now.”

  “I bet that was fake.”

  “Just like the gun I’m carrying is fake too?” The brunette stared them down. The drunks were no match for that level of intensity.

  “Come on,” the tall one finally said. “Let’s just go. This place is lame anyway.” The trio turned around and left. But not before tripping over their feet to get to the door.

  The mystery woman returned to her seat. She drained the rest of her glass then gestured for another one. R.J. didn’t know what to think of her. She could have been lying about being a government agent. He doubted it. She didn’t strike him as a liar, not that he knew anything about her.

  R.J. shoved his musing to the side and got her another vodka tonic. He sat it in front of her and took the empty glass.

  “You didn’t have to help me,” he said. “The bouncer would have taken care of them.” She probably thought even less of him now, coming to his rescue. He didn’t need her. He was a man, damn it. And she was a woman. An extremely sexy woman who was getting under his skin after only a couple of words.

  She shrugged, eyes on her drink. “Whatever. They were annoying me and screwing up my buzz,” she mimicked with an impression that was dead-on.

  R.J. laughed. “Oh, you have a sense of humor.”

  “I’m not always a queen bee.” She tossed her heavy brown hair over her shoulder. “Just recently,” she said so low R.J. strained his ears to hear it.

  “You want to talk now?” he asked, not so much because she needed the therapy, but he wanted to continue to hear her speak, wanted her to talk to him.

  “Nope, just want to forget.” She turned hard forest green eyes on him. “Alone.”

  As much as he wanted to stay, R.J. had a job to do and she made it pretty clear she wasn’t interested in him. He couldn’t blame her. He embarrassed himself the whole night.

  Didn’t matter. She was just a woman. Not the first and definitely not the last. R.J. set his sights on the blonde whose breasts were practically spilling out of her top. She’d been giving him the eye all night. He winked, beckoned her over. Nothing like a nightcap to get his ego back on track.