by T. Torrest
Alice was in rare form. She smirked and answered, “I guess whatever time you show up to my apartment.”
There was a collective “Ooooooh!” like we were the goddamn canned sound effects from an episode of Married with Children. We were all laughing through our jeers, until Travis finally released my employee and Guillaume complained, “This guy. He makes it look so easy.”
I was having fun with my old friends, but I found my eyes wandering involuntarily any time I’d catch a flash of red in my peripheral vision.
Avery was a sight to behold. I knew that brain of hers must have been going a mile a minute, but outwardly, she appeared calm, cool, and collected. I couldn’t look away.
The band started in with The Beatles’ “Devil in her Heart,” and I used that as a good enough excuse to get my hands on her.
I excused myself from the table and walked up behind Avery. “Dance with me.”
She turned, startled to see me there. My expression must have been both wolfish and convincing, because her eyes went a bit wider as she stammered out an “Okay.”
I slipped my arms around her and spun her out to the floor. It was the first sustained contact I’d made with her delectable body in all these weeks of being near her, and my senses became all too aware of that fact. The dress at her waist was silky but I slid my hand up a few inches to rest on the exposed skin of her back. Her flesh was warm and smooth, and her neck smelled like fresh air and… cinnamon? Jesus Christ, she smelled like fucking cookies. Was that her perfume? Do they make cookie-scented perfume? They really should.
For the record, I’ll mention that I’m also a proponent for a bacon-scented fragrance, just in case anyone out there has the power to make that happen.
“You smell like cookies.”
That made her giggle. “Thank you?”
I spun us around in a full turn before settling back into an easy two-step. “Nice party. Whoever planned this thing did one helluva job.”
She pulled back so I could see her grateful smile. “She had a lot of help.”
“Nah. I was just the grunt you ordered around all week with your little notes. That didn’t take a heck of a lot of skill. You, on the other hand, made all this happen. Not only that, but you made it look easy. Seriously, Ave. Just take a second and look around. Look what you did.”
I watched her eyes scan around the room, a shy grin eeking its way across her face. She’d been planning like crazy for this night, so I was glad that she was allowing herself the few minutes to drink it all in. Which was even better for me, getting this chance to drink her in.
Avery seemed to melt into me with every step we took. I took a shot and dipped my head next to hers, hoping she wouldn’t push me away. She didn’t. I ran my nose along her ear, could feel her shiver as I whispered, “This is nice. You and me, being nice to one another. Don’t you think?”
She let out with a shaky sigh before answering, “I do.”
Her voice was barely audible, and I could tell she must have been feeling the same pent-up agony as me. At least if her hand at my shoulder was any indication. She’d slid it closer to my neck, her thumb brushing a light caress under my ear. There was lava in my veins from her touch, and I found myself mentally warning my impending hard-on to keep itself in check. Jesus. I was getting more worked up than that time Gina Mazzolli’s C-cups were rubbing against my chest during “Sister Christian” at the eighth grade prom.
I pulled back to gauge the expression on her face, surprised when her eyes met mine. There was a similar fire brimming in their depths, a smoldering, half-lidded capitulation that told me this night was headed in a very interesting direction.
I slanted my palm across her lower back to her hip, drawing her tightly against my body, my face buried against her hair. I took a huge inhale and then just went for it. “I think maybe we should get out of here.”
“Oh shit!”
Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for, and my heart sank straight away. But it soon became apparent that Avery wasn’t responding to my insinuation, as her comment was directed toward the door.
“What the heck is he doing here?” she asked.
I turned in the direction of Avery’s wide eyes, but didn’t see anyone particularly threatening.
“Who?” I asked, drawing her attention back to the confused look on my face.
She stepped out of my arms and bit her lip.
“My husband.”
Chapter Sixteen
Avery is married.
It was the first thought that entered my mind when I woke up this morning and hadn’t stopped running through my brain since she’d uttered those words twelve hours ago.
My husband.
How was this possible? She never wore a ring, for godsakes, and she sure as hell never mentioned it. Until last night. She just blurted out the offending information then left me with half a boner in the middle of the dance floor.
I went through my Sunday routine in a daze, trying to rid my brain of the unwanted memories from the night before. I was trying so hard not to think about it that it was impossible to think about anything else. I was so distracted that I almost forgot to call in a bartender for the day. Scott had called in sick, and I barely remembered to call Alice to fill the shift. Thank fuck I did, though, because I would have been completely useless behind the bar.
Alice was the one who reminded me that it was Sopranos Sunday, a little weekly event that we’d had going on for a couple of years now. Because of the stupid writer’s strike, we didn’t have any new episodes to look forward to, but we watched Season Four all over again while we waited for Season Five.
Felix would whip up a bunch of Italian food and a lot of the guys would show up wearing a bathrobe over their clothes. We always kept a stack of Star Ledgers on the end of the bar, but this week, almost everyone had their own copy.
The Westlake made the front page of the Sports section and there was a four page story in the centerfold about the party the night before. I’d fooled myself into thinking I’d been distracted from obsessing about the Avery situation until I came across her picture. Well, not her picture. She was in the background of a shot. But she was still there in my fucking face, dammit.
I folded up the damn paper without even finishing the article and just tried to concentrate on my customers. But they had a million questions about the party, and I found myself editing the story of my evening considerably before it was suitable for public consumption.
Speaking of consumption… I kept the drink board up on the wall. I figured the guys would like a taste of the party from the night before, even if they didn’t get to attend it. It was a little early in the season to change the menu over to our football drinks anyhow. We’d be back to serving First Downs and Blindsiders soon enough.
In the meantime, there was nothing to do but wait.
* * *
I didn’t have a locked-in schedule for all the shit that needed doing around here, but Monday mornings were always slated for inventory. Denny and I were at the square bar as usual to make the weekly liquor assessment. Even with all the extra booze we’d brought in for the party, my stock was wearing pretty thin.
Damn. My old teammates really cleaned us out.
The bar was typically dead for the first hour after opening, so it was as good a time as any to take care of any behind-the-scenes stuff. We didn’t normally see too many other humans until the lunch crowd rolled in. And by crowd, I mean Richie Rum-N-Coke.
So, because there were no customers sitting at my bar, and because Denny and I had just finished up our list… there was nothing to distract me when Avery walked in.
I watched as she shot an apprehensive glance in my direction and then took a seat at the end of the long bar. “Denny. Take a lunch.”
He looked at me in confusion, probably wondering just exactly when it was that the aliens had invaded his boss’s body. “I don’t ever take a—”
“Just… Do me a favor and head next door for an hour, o
kay? I got this.”
Denny gave a shrug. “Okay, man. But any tips you make while I’m gone are mine.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, fine. Just get the fuck out of here already.”
He shot a look down the bar and then aimed a knowing smirk at me. But thankfully, he didn’t offer any commentary on the obvious reason behind my sudden benevolence. He simply threw his towel in the sink, untied his apron, and started whistling.
“One hour, Den. I mean it.”
“No problem, man.” He raised his hands in defense as he backed his way out of the bar. “See you in an hour.”
I looked across the room to Avery, who was slumped in her seat, staring out at the beach. Taking a deep breath, I headed over toward her. “Hey. What’s up?”
She wouldn’t meet my eyes as she brought her fingers to her temples. “Zac, let me just start by saying I’m so sorry.”
As casually as possible, I asked, “For what?”
She wasn’t buying it. Not that I was selling it very well.
“I know I dropped a bomb on you the other night about Mike, and you must really be thrown for a loop because of how we… how you and I were…”
“Flirting like crazy?”
“Yes. That.”
I shouldn’t have cared, but it was nice to know that at least we’d been on the same page. “Well, I can’t say that I’m happy about it. Is he… Is he good to you? I mean, he’s your husband.” It seemed insane that that would be something I could be concerned about at that moment. But for some reason, I was.
“He is.”
Well, that was that. I felt my stomach sink, but what the hell could I do about it? She was married. Happily, apparently.
I brushed a hand through my hair and fell back into default mode. “Hey. Let me get you a drink. What’ll ya have?” I hopped behind the bar, figuring it would put some much-needed distance between us.
Avery had her elbows on the bar, her head hanging in her hands. “He was.”
“What?”
“He was… I mean… Grrr!” She flipped her hands palms-side-up on the bar and raised her head. “He is very good to me, but he isn’t my husband anymore. Well, he won’t be once the papers are finally signed, that is.”
A rush of hope washed through me. “He’s your ex?”
“Yes. Well, no. But he will be soon. A couple months, in fact, if all goes according to schedule.”
My own concerns evaporated as I saw the conflict on Avery’s face. “I’m sorry. This can’t be an easy time for you.” I held up a bottle of Chardonnay, and she shook her head yes.
“It is and it isn’t,” she continued. “I never really believed it when I heard about someone going through an ‘amicable divorce.’ But that’s exactly what this is. He’s a good guy, and I’m… well… I’m just not the right girl for him.”
The guy must’ve been crazy. Avery would be the right girl for any lucky bastard fortunate enough to catch her eye. “So, he instigated the breakup, you mean?”
“Sort of.” I slid the glass of wine in front of her, but she didn’t take a sip. She just wrapped her fingers around it and peered into its contents as if the liquid inside could conjure up the right answers. I guess her attempts at clairvoyance weren’t working, because she raised her eyes to mine and sighed out, “We probably should never have gone through with it in the first place. We weren’t meant to be each other’s forever, you know?”
I watched her face as she spoke, her expression turning from frustrated to longing. The wistful way she mentioned ‘forever’ as if it were a tangible thing, a possession to behold, an object to grasp in one’s hand.
She tried to lighten the moment, and said in an upbeat tone, “At least I won’t have to change my name.”
The abrupt change of topic threw me, but I rolled with it. “You never changed it?”
“I kept Brooks for work. I never changed it to Sargento.”
Good thing. Avery Sargento didn’t exactly have a great ring to it.
Regardless of her marital status—even as it would be only a few short months from now—I knew I had to back off. I’d be a world class asshole if I were to press my advantage with everything Avery was going through. She seemed heartbroken about the demise of her marriage, and if she still had a chance to work things out with the guy, as bad as it sucked, I’d have to give her the space to do that.
I may have loved the ladies, but I did not move in on a girl when she was already buried under a ton of baggage. Dating me was problematic enough on its own.
“So, yeah. My marriage is falling apart and my career is in the shitter.”
That knocked me out of my personal pity party. “Your career? What do you mean? What happened?”
“Well, here I am on a Monday morning, sitting in your bar. I just quit my job.”
“Holy shit!”
“Yeah. They gave my promotion to Kendra.”
Idiots. How could those people not recognize how incredible she was? “Oh, Ave. I’m so sorry to hear that.”
She swirled the wine around in her glass. “I couldn’t believe it. I mean, I really gave that job everything I had. Then to just be dismissed after all that? After the kickass party I just threw? I didn’t even think about it. I just up and quit. I don’t normally do anything without planning it out first.” She looked up at me, a slight upturn at the corner of her mouth. “I’m a planner.”
“I’ve noticed.” I offered a warm smile which she returned easily enough.
“Maybe this will be a good thing. The Summer of Avery, you know? Maybe I can take my time to find a good job this time.” She took a sip of her drink then tipped her head back to face the ceiling. “Oh, God! What was I thinking? This is why I’m not impulsive. I hate this feeling of not knowing. Quitting my job? Probably pretty stupid of me, huh?”
I gave a wipe to the bar and offered, “You couldn’t be stupid if you tried.”
She gave me a shy smile for that, then promptly changed the subject. “Let me ask you. How cliché is it that I’m spilling my problems to a bartender?
“Not cliché at all. Because I’m not a bartender. I’m the owner.”
“Good. So then, you’re the guy I should ask about getting a job?”
I knew she was only kidding around. She was way too good for this place. But the fact that she was finally trying to lighten the mood gave me the opening to play along. “I can’t have someone as unfriendly as you waiting on my customers.”
Her mouth gaped open. “Unfriendly? Are you kidding? Nice is practically the only thing on my resume. I’ve spent my life being ‘nice.’”
“Well, you sure as hell didn’t go out of your way to be ‘nice’ to me at first.” I raised my eyebrow at her, which just made her purse her lips in a repressed smile.
“But,” I went on, “you’ve got a great ass. And since most of my customers are men, they may overlook the personality problem.”
She gave me a dirty look for that, but didn’t dwell on it. “Does that mean I’m hired?”
“Does this mean you’ll plaster a smile on your face during your shifts?”
“I can do that.”
“Then yes. You’re hired.”
The curtain closed on our performance, and she dropped her head onto her arms again, moaning, “Oh, God. Why isn’t it this easy to get a good job?”
“Hey! Don’t knock this place. With that body and your lack of a resume, it’s either this or Hooters.”
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant. It’s good that you realize you’re better than this place. I’m not offended. You have bigger things ahead of you than this dead-end dive.”
“It’s an amazing bar, Zac. Don’t sell yourself short.”
I snickered, “Oh it’s amazing all right. An amazing money pit.”
“It doesn’t have to be. Why are you holding back?”
Holding back? I lowered my brows and huffed, “I’m not.”
She shot me a skeptica
l glance at that, but didn’t elaborate. “With a little creativity, a little push, this bar can be a goldmine.”
“Goldmine might be stretching it.”
She looked at me as if I were crazy. “Zac. You own the largest commercial establishment within one of the most affluent neighborhoods in the whole town. You should use that.”
I was well aware of the moneyed citizens that made up the town of Norman, and hell, if Norman Hills was its palace, Lenape Lake was its crown jewel. But the people in this town tolerated this broken-down pub at best… and would like to see it met with a bulldozer at worst.
“Those people aren’t coming in here.”
“They’re not coming in here because they think it’s a shithole.”
“It is!”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
I saw the gears turning as she scanned her eyes around the room, the steam virtually shooting out of her ears. I leaned across the bar and asked, “What are you thinking about over there, Brooks?”
She was excited, hopping off her stool and grabbing her purse, all but bouncing toward the door. “Just give me forty-eight hours. I might have a plan.”
“Whoa, whoa. Hang on there a minute, Sparky.” I came around to her side of the bar and held out her forgotten car keys. She took the two steps back in my direction to retrieve them as I asked, “What’s this plan of yours?”
Her lips scrunched into a pretty pout as her eyes lowered into pensive slits. “I’m not sure yet, but I might have a great idea for an event for your bar.”
“I can’t pay you—”
“Just give me a small cut of the take and a fabulous letter of recommendation. That’s all I ask.”
“That doesn’t seem very fair to you.”
“Fair schmair. I’m unemployed for godsakes. I’ve got all the time in the world to work on this stuff. It will give me some good material to pad my resume. So, no worries, okay?”
She was the one who was out of a job, yet she was telling me not to worry? This girl was something else. “I’m not the one risking anything here.”