by Soraya May
Or one of those phone lines where they charge you five bucks a minute just to hear her talk.
“Yeah, just arrived.”
“What can I get you?”
I shrugged, looking intently at her. “Surprise me.”
She smiled, and her eyes lingered on my hands, on the bar in front of me. “You don’t look like a farmer. Maybe a whiskey and soda?”
“I’m not. Make it a rye and dry, and you’re on.”
“Done.” She smiled at me again, but this time I was securely seated on the bar stool. I watched intently as she plucked a bottle from the rack behind her and poured a couple of fingers of whiskey.
“I admire a skilled bartender.”
“Thanks. Although a rye and dry isn’t exactly difficult. Ice?”
“Sure.” Her long fingers reached for the tongs, and I devoted my attention to the cut of her jawline, fine and sharp, with a strong chin beneath high cheekbones. Her eyes flicked to me, and this time I didn’t even bother to look away. Damn, what’s she doing here? Ice clattered into the glass, and the hiss of the soda dispenser made me blink.
“All yours. You can settle up at the end if you like.” She glanced down the bar, where a crowd of guys were standing, laughing and joking to each other. “Just call if you need anything.”
“Thanks.” I resisted the urge to say what I need is to know what you’re doing when you get off tonight, and watched her walk down the bar to pull more pints.
From this distance, I could see all of her, and the bottom half was just as impressive as the top; low-heeled ankle boots underneath a fitted pair of blue denim jeans that clung to her hips. She bent down to fetch more glasses from underneath the bar, and I got a glimpse of creamy skin between her sweater and the waist of her jeans.
I sipped my drink, and watched her work, all careful movements and easy grace. She’d obviously had a lot of experience in hospitality, probably one of those girls who supported themselves while traveling by working in bars. A fraction before she turned around again, I was studiously looking elsewhere. Wouldn’t do to be staring too obviously.
The room was filling up as the afternoon wore on, people coming through both doors in ones and twos, shaking hands and waving across the bar. As I watched, the girl on the bar greeted each entrant with a smile and a wave. In many cases, she evidently knew what they were drinking before they ordered, and it was waiting for them as they approached the bar.
In one corner, a pint mug clutched in one massive fist, sat a mountain of a man.
No, not a mountain. More of a pyramid, really. Tattoos covered what of his massive arms I could see beneath a tattered leather-and-denim jacket dotted with motorcycle club patches, and a thick beard obscured his face. At his feet, snoring slightly, lay one of the ugliest dogs I had ever seen; even more scarred than its owner, it appeared to have only one eye. Saliva dripped from its lopsided mouth onto its owner’s boot, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care if he did.
“He looks frightening, but he’s really a sweetheart.”
Damn, that voice again. I swung back to the bar. The girl was standing in front of me, arms crossed.
“Who, the dog or the owner?”
She snorted. “Both. Ross is a Buddhist, and Sultan—the dog—is constitutionally incapable of hurting a fly.” She thought for a minute. “Actually, he might hurt a fly, if he could catch one. But that’s pretty unlikely, and for anyone larger, the only kind of danger you’re facing is to your wardrobe when he drools on you.”
“I like it. To be honest, I’ve got a soft spot for ugly dogs.”
“Glad to hear it. We’re a dog-positive establishment here. Can I get you another drink? You must have been thirsty.”
I glanced down at my glass, and realized with a start it was empty.
“Sure, same again.” I watched her, engrossed in the careful precision of her movements, and the curve of her waist. This time, our hands touched briefly as she slid the glass across the bar to me. Damn, I thought. Just a little more, honey.
“So, you’re just passing through?” She was looking straight at me, blue eyes evaluating me. Like what you see?
“Yeah. I’m here for work for a little while.” I toyed with the idea of explaining my work to her, but decided against it; she wouldn’t understand.
Girl this pretty in a little town like this, she’s not going to be interested in fossils. It’s not exactly an awesome pick-up line.
“Have you been here long yourself?”
“About six months. The people are really welcoming, even to newcomers like me.”
I guessed I was right about her being a traveler, someone who moved from place to place and never stayed long anywhere. Just like me, when you get down to it.
I looked around the room again. “This is a great place. Actually, I owe the taxi driver a beer here for getting me in from the airport.”
“Oh, Jack? He’s not usually in on Mondays, but he’ll be here in the next day or two, for sure. Where are you staying?”
“At the guest house on Kensington St.” I gestured, half-rising from the stool. “It’s about a mile that way, I think; still getting my bearings, though.” Around us, the crowd ebbed and flowed; the sound of friends meeting up after work, chatter about the day and the week to come, was easy and welcoming.
The girl smiled. “With Daisy? How’s that working out?” Her tone was amused, but kind-hearted. “She’s quite something, that lady.”
“So I’m learning. As for how it’s working out, I’ll tell you tomorrow; I just got in this afternoon, so my room’s not ready. The interior decoration is…fascinating.”
The sides of her mouth quirked up, and I tried not to stare at the shape of her lips. “I won’t tell her you said that, but I can guess what you mean. She comes in here for a pink gin once a week. Says if it was good enough for the Queen Mother, it’s good enough for her.”
I listened to the sound of her voice, low and throaty, the kind of voice I’d like to hear gasping my name. After a moment, I realized with a start she’d stopped talking and was looking directly at me again.
“You okay?”
I grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. Just…thinking.”
Real smooth, Sanders. Last of the great lady-killers, you are. “So, uh, where are you staying?”
She nodded at the staircase. “Right here; this place used to be a small hotel, or a clearing-house or something, so there’s accommodation, although it’s not used much.”
“Accommodation too, huh? Pretty good deal. What’s the boss like?”
Again the quirk of her mouth, and this time it was her turn to stop, as if she were about to say something and changed her mind. “The boss is…okay. Demanding sometimes.”
“Uh-huh. You look like you can stand up for yourself.”
She returned my gaze steadily. “Do I? What makes you say that, hmm?”
Uh-huh. “I watched you with those guys at the bar.”
“Yeah. I could tell. And? What did you see?”
I swirled the ice in my glass, and looked over the top of it at her. “I saw…a woman who was confident in her own skin. A woman who knew where she was, and what she was doing. Someone who doesn’t get taken advantage of, except—”
“Except?”
I drained my glass. Oh, what the heck. “Except maybe when she wants to.”
“Really?” Her voice was steady, but I saw her hands on the bar-top, holding it tightly. “You saw all that from just watching me serve drinks, huh?”
“Let’s say I’m an excellent judge of character.”
She moved to take my empty glass, and at the same time I leaned forward into the bar, bringing us face-to-face, inches apart. I expected her to flinch, but she didn’t move.
“Anything else you’re excellent at that I should know about?”
Just as I was about to answer, there was a crash from the other end of the bar, and her eyes flicked away. She stood back, breaking the spell. “Bob, you okay? Need a hand?” She turne
d away, and from my seat I could see broken glass strewn along the floor behind the bar. “Dammit.” Without a backward glance, she headed toward the catastrophe.
Dammit, indeed.
I slid off the stool and headed for the bathroom. I didn’t need to relieve myself, I needed to clear my head; the two drinks in quick succession had left me a little dizzy.
Sure, man. It was the booze. Not her eyes, and her lips, and the way the white skin on her wrists shows when she slides a drink across to me.
On the way back from the bathroom, I came around the corner and almost bumped into the girl. She was holding a tray of glasses and looking back over her shoulder as she walked, fast.
“Woah!” I stopped short, and twisted out of her way.
She looked up, directly at me. “Whoops, sorry.” Putting the glasses down on the counter, she stopped. “I was…distracted.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Me too.” From the look on her face, she knew exactly what I meant. “I think I can help with that.”
“Oh, you can, can you?”
“Definitely.” I didn’t really know where this conversation was going, but the ride was definitely enjoyable.
“Definitely? You look like the kind of guy who would jet into town, kiss a girl, and then jet back out again, leaving her heartbroken.” Her eyes fixed me, slightly amused, slightly mocking, as if daring me to respond.
Well, I, uh…I mean, why not?
“You do me a grave disservice. I’m really not that kind of guy.” I pretended to look hurt, and then smiled in what I hoped was a conspiratorial way. “But I could be convinced. Given the right incentive. Yeah.”
“Incentive, huh?” She was standing close to me now, and in the darkened corner at the edge of the bar, no-one could see us. “You get incentivized by girls a lot?”
“Sometimes. I’ve always said it’s better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission. Maybe it’s the jacket.”
She stood her ground, looking at me, hands on hips. “It’s more likely that than your charming conversation.”
I mimed being shot in the heart, and pretended to stagger. “Ouch! Harsh words from such a beautiful woman. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you didn’t like me at all.”
“Like you? I hardly even know you.” Her hand reached out to poke my chest. “But I’m pretty sure I know your type.”
“And what—” I put one hand over hers, trapping it against my chest, “—type is that?”
She didn’t move her hand, and I felt the smooth skin of her wrist between my fingers. Damn, that’s good. “A flirt. A guy who’s just interested in what he can get from women.”
“So.” I looked straight at her. “If that’s what you think of me, what can I get from you?”
Her eyes flashed. “Look, you—” She tried to step around me, but in the confined, dark space, we were closer than either of us had realized, and before I knew it, her thigh was pressing into me, and her lips were inches away.
There was a moment’s pause, a searching look in her eyes, and then, quite unexpectedly, she kissed me. Hard.
I felt like an electric shock had hit me right in the chest, and I’d hardly even touched her.
Yet.
Her lips were tart and sweet, and I kissed her back like it was the last kiss I’d ever have.
Damn, this went better than I’d expected. Maybe I’m bartender catnip, and I never knew. I’d better investigate further.
My arms went around her waist, and I pushed her back against the wall, almost lifting her off her feet. In the darkness of the alcove, no-one would see us, unless they happened to come right around the corner on the way to the the bathroom, but right now I didn’t much care what the hell anyone saw.
“Mmmmph…” She made a muffled sound of pure desire. In my mind, I saw her slipping out of her jeans, writhing naked on a bed, gasping my name as I slid inside her. For a second, she ground against me hard, and I could tell she wanted exactly what I was thinking.
Then she broke off the kiss, and when my vision cleared, the blue eyes staring back at me were filled with shock.
“I—I—” She twisted in my grip, not quite trying to get away, but clearly horrified at what she’d done in such a public place. Yeah, kissing customers on the job is probably frowned upon. Your boss isn’t going to be happy about this.
Reluctantly, I released my grip on her waist and stood back, really enjoying the sight of the flush on her cheeks. Her mouth opened and shut again.
“I—I—have to go and get something. From. From the back room.”
I didn’t say anything, just hooked my thumbs in my belt, and looked at her, grinning.
“Y—you-you have a good evening.” Backing away, eyes fixed on me, she fled for the stairs.
“Thank you, miss.” I called as I heard her clatter up the old stairs. “I had a wonderful evening. I’ll see you again tomorrow.”
Turning for the door, I straightened the collar of my jacket, feeling approximately one thousand percent more Indiana Jones than usual. I could still taste her mouth, and smell her perfume, feel the sensation of her waist under my hands.
Huh. This town might be more enjoyable than I thought.
6
Cat
The office door slammed shut and ‘Summer of 69’ dwindled to a dull murmur. I leaned back on the door, resisting the urge to gently bang my head against it.
What the hell had I been thinking?
The guy at the bar had been hot, sure. Really hot. And he was clearly into me. Fine. But when I’d made this agreement with Farrah, one of my main stipulations was that it wasn’t going to be somewhere in public where there were going to be consequences. Nice going, Cat.
I sighed, unclenching my fists. Maybe he wasn’t going to come back. Maybe I wouldn’t see him again, or he’d come in on nights when I was busy running the bar, and I wouldn’t have to talk to him. In an infinite universe, there were a whole raft of possible futures which didn’t end up with me having to admit to what I’d just done.
What made me abandon all common sense, and just kiss him right there, in the middle of my own damn bar? It wasn’t even like he was Mr. Thoughtful; he was a jerk who clearly assumed that I wasn’t the owner—because the owner was obviously going to be a man—and I was just a bartender.
Okay, he was a surprised jerk when I suddenly kissed him, but he warmed to the idea pretty darn quick; I could feel his stubble against my cheek, and after a moment’s hesitation, feel the demanding way in which he pulled me into him. …the taste of his lips, the feeling of his hands on my waist, the idea that he wanted me so much he’d just push me back against the wall like that…
I shook my head to try and clear it.
Sure, it had been a thrill; maybe Farrah had had a point. But it wasn’t like I was going to make a habit of kissing every guy—every extremely hot guy—who came into the bar.
A rapping on the door made me jump. “Just a minute.” What if he was still there when I went back down? Looking around for something to take downstairs so it looked like I hadn’t just run away, I grabbed a paperweight off my desk.
“You in there, babe?” Farrah’s voice came through the door.
“Yep, hold on. What’s up?” I looked at the paperweight. No, this is completely stupid. Why would I go upstairs for a paperweight?
Farrah coughed. “Uh, you want to open the door, or are we going to keep talking through it?” A giggle. “Or, are you naked in there?”
I jumped. “No, I’m not naked. Of course I’m not. Why would I be—” Quit now, before you give her ideas. Taking a deep breath, I grasped the handle and opened the door.
Farrah walked in, dressed in a stunning blue dress that fit very, very, closely, and silver heels that must have nearly killed her getting up the creaky Wunderbar stairs. “Are you okay? You had me worried for a minute there. It’s pretty busy down there, and I think Bob kinda needs your help.”
I nodded vigorously, anxious not to give Farrah any ideas. Once my fri
end got it into her head that something was going on, she would dig and dig, and no amount of stonewalling would stop her from uncovering the truth, or at least unearthing something juicy. “S—sure. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“You sure you’re okay? You look flushed.”
Damn right I’m flushed, I thought. I’ve never kissed a guy like that before, without even thinking about it, and wanted him to—I stopped myself, noticing the expression on Farrah’s face. “Yep, I’m fine, honest. Just came upstairs to get something, but it’s, uh, it’s not here. C’mon, let’s head back down.”
Farrah’s eyes lit up. “Hey, guess what? You know we were talking about your extinct love life last week? Weeelllll, you’ll never know your luck; Just as I was coming in, I saw a super-hot guy leaving. He opened the door for me on his way out. Did you see him?”
Oh, yeah, I saw him. In a manner of speaking. “Uh, maybe. I don’t know.”
Farrah crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. “You don’t know if you saw this guy? Believe me, you’d know. He looked like some kind of construction worker, or maybe a pro athlete.” She smacked her lips. “Pretty delicious.”
“Delicious.” I repeated the words. “Yeah, okay.”
I will tell Farrah about this, I told myself. Just not right now. My emotions swirled in my head, and—if I were being completely honest with myself—further south too. It had been a long time since a guy had made me feel quite that breathless all over.
Farrah looked at me suspiciously. “You must have seen him. He was in the bar, so unless you’ve suddenly developed a blind spot as far as hot customers are concerned, you wouldn’t miss him. Mind you,” she put one hand to her head in a woe-is-me gesture, “maybe you have developed a blind spot for hot customers.”
“Haha! Aha! Ha! Maybe I have!” I seized on the opportunity to change the subject. “Come on, I’m needed back downstairs. What the hell are you doing here anyway?”