“Yes, dear.” Justin took the pot and trudged around the bar. He made a mental note not to whinge in the future.
“Sam and Tara will be in at five,” Simon said, picking up a plastic jug. “I’ll be in the cold room, changing the stout line.”
“Okay.” Justin sponged the bar top clean. “I’ll hold the fort.”
He soaped down the bar as Simon disappeared through the office door. Justin kept an ear out for his phone vibrating, just in case. He hoped Yena was all right. His dad, too.
Please let everything be all right. Justin sponged harder. Please let him want to see me soon.
He worked his way around the bar. A ballad by Guns n’ Roses played quietly through the speakers. The daytime hours were relatively chilled out. There was only one patron sitting at the bar: a middle-aged man with a beard, reading a book and nursing his pint of ale. In fact, he sat directly in front of the ale pumps.
The only other customers were a group of students, occupying one of the booths on the far side. Justin reached the end of the bar and left the pot of water and the cloth there, near the stacks of clean glasses that needed putting away. Through the hole in the wall that was a window to the kitchens, Justin took a deep breath; the spicy meat scent of burgers and fries made his stomach wake up. He couldn’t fall into the trap of eating greasy food all the time, though. There was a perfectly healthy chicken Caesar wrap in his bag.
Ugh. Boring.
As he walked past the door, he slowed down, spotting Tara. She was wearing her shiny black leggings, flat boots, and a red Pineapple t-shirt, so Justin guessed she had come straight from dance class.
“Hey!” He bounded up to her. “I have good news!”
“Oh?” She smiled. “Did you see your man?”
“Yes!” Justin couldn’t help himself; he felt elated thinking about it. “I went to see him in his bar, and he seemed pleased to see me.”
“That’s good.” Tara linked her arm through his, and they walked around the bar together. “He’d be a fool to turn you down, Justin.”
“Hah.” Justin’s stomach flipped. “You’re sweet. He’s not a fool, just… I can’t help worrying about it, y’know?”
“Ah, the trials of dating.” She nodded sagely, placing her bag behind the bar. “I’ve got a date tomorrow, actually. I don’t know what to wear.”
“Ooh, who is it?”
“Some guy with a beard who comes in here often.”
“Beard?” Justin screwed his face up. “Oh, no.”
Tara laughed. “I like beards! They feel all sexy on my face when you kiss.”
“Feel like pubes, more like,” Justin said, which earned him a swat on the arm.
“No, they don’t!”
“Bloody do,” he insisted. “You can’t even see their faces with the massive beards around these days. Half of it’s hair.”
“Better hair than bald,” Tara said.
“Hm, true. I do like hair.” Justin’s eyes glazed over as he thought of Yena again, and his dark curly hair. “I like hair a lot.”
At that moment, Simon returned. He had a beard, so Justin quit the beard bashing. Simon started telling Tara about the beer lines anyway, and Justin zoned out. He couldn’t change a barrel; no one trusted him to do that yet.
“The Hells line on the left side is being temperamental,” Simon explained, as Justin checked his phone.
Tara seemed annoyed. “Those bloody barrels. I was hefting them around on my own yesterday, and Sam said it sounded like I was making sex noises.”
“Sex noises?” Justin looked up.
“Yeah, you know. Grunting and stuff.” Tara rolled her eyes. “He didn’t offer to help me or anything.”
“Hah. Such a gent,” Simon agreed.
“When’s Sam coming in again?” Justin asked.
“Soon,” Tara said. “Let’s go sort out those lines. Justin, stay on bar.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Justin chilled at the end of the bar as Tara and Simon disappeared into the back room. He checked his phone, opened and munched his way through a packet of crisps, then checked his phone again.
Nothing new yet.
When a motorbike pulled up outside the bar, engine chugging away, Justin knew that Sam had arrived. He poked his head into the back room and called, “Sam’s here!”
He thought he heard Tara swear. “Well, we’ll have to tell him one barrel of lager is useless. Someone must’ve knocked it over.”
Justin went back to the bar. Storeroom issues were nothing to do with him, and he didn’t know how to help. When Sam had parked his motorbike, he strode into the bar, still wearing his leathers and a helmet.
“Hi, Sam,” Justin said.
Sam nodded, possibly grunted a hello, but it was hard to tell. He disappeared into the back room, where the office also was, and Justin went back to his phone.
They were in there some time. Justin knew there weren’t any customers at the moment. None that needed serving, anyway.
Tara and Simon emerged, congregating in the usual “chit chat” area. Tara noticed Justin’s crisps. “Aw, I want crisps now. Put them away, Justin.”
Before he could respond, Sam appeared. He took one look at the phone in Justin’s hand and barked, “Justin, stop checking your phone, or I’ll send you into the stock cupboard.”
Contrite, Justin slipped his phone away. He couldn’t help but ask, “Send me there to do what?”
“Nothing,” Sam said. “I’ll just send you there.” He grinned smugly.
Justin believed him, so he didn’t argue.
“Now,” Sam said, addressing them all, “since no one replied to my e-mail, I’m reminding you now. Whether you’re scheduled to work or not, I need you here Wednesday at one p.m. We’re doing cocktail training, and it should last a couple of hours. If you already know how to make cocktails, it’ll still be good to refresh your memory.”
“I hope we get to drink them,” Tara teased.
Sam shrugged. “Yeah. Just don’t get drunk. The guy they’re sending us is a cocktail expert, and Pete, the area
Chapter Thirteen
THE DAY of cocktail training had arrived. Justin wasn’t too nervous, but he hoped he wouldn’t get picked on either. The bar wasn’t opening to the public until midafternoon today, to give them a chance to have their lesson without being interrupted.
Justin had arrived with Tara, and they found Simon already sitting at the bar. They pulled up stools and sat with him.
“Always feels odd sitting this side of the bar,” Tara said, as she crossed her legs and arranged her pleated dress.
The lights were all on, and daylight streamed through the windows. It was the brightest the bar ever got, before evenings. Sam pottered behind the bar, setting things up in a slow but orderly fashion. “Anyone want a soft drink?” he asked.
“Cranberry juice and water, please,” Tara said.
Sam nodded and asked, “Justin?”
Waving a hand, Justin shook his head. “I’m good, ta. Aren’t we gonna be drinking these cocktails soon?”
Simon chuckled, and Sam smiled knowingly. “Yes, but only if you make them properly, Justin. Otherwise they’re going down the sink.”
“Surely I get a few practice runs?” Justin teased.
“No,” Sam said flatly. He mixed a glass of cranberry for Tara and placed it on the bar.
Simon was already sipping from a half glass of beer, so Sam went back to setting up the liquor bottles.
George, the assistant manager, came out of the office, studying a piece of paper in his hand. He flicked his long black dreads over his shoulder, then approached Sam. “This dry stock order,” he began. “I thought you’d ordered the toilet rolls?”
Sam was frowning already. “No,” he barked, “I told you to order it.”
“Oh-kay,” George said slowly, a smirk appearing on his face. “Well, I haven’t. So we have no toilet rolls for tonight.”
Quickly, Simon offered, “Want me to nip out and get some?”
<
br /> Sam gave a dramatic sigh. “No, I’ll go. I want to get some lunch anyway.” He vacated the bar, pushing past George and stomping off to the office.
Tara smiled at George. “He should have a cup of coffee too, while he’s at it,” she said quietly.
George discarded the order sheet and came around the bar to chat with them. “Don’t worry, he’s just tired because their new puppy keeps waking them up during the night.”
Justin snorted. “Yeah, but those pictures his wife puts online are all of Sam and the puppy sleeping. Like, every picture.”
They shared a chuckle, clearing their throats and smirking quietly when Sam stomped past. “Back in five,” he muttered. “I’ll get some limes while I’m there.”
When he’d gone, George addressed the others. “So, who’s ready for cocktail training?”
“Not me.” Justin laughed.
Tara nudged him. “You’ll be fine. You’ve even been practicing.”
Both George and Simon looked surprised. “Justin? Practicing?” George exclaimed. “What magical incentive was there to make this happen?”
Before Justin could quip back, Tara answered for him. “He’s been getting private lessons from a cocktail waiter.”
Justin rolled his eyes. Now he’d never hear the end of it.
George chuckled knowingly. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?”
“No,” Justin said. “Actually, I really did practice cocktail making.”
“Sure you did.”
Simon smiled, too, and glanced at George. “See if you’re any better than George at making a margarita without injuring yourself.”
George laughed, as Tara asked, “What’s this?”
Shaking his head, George explained, “This stunning woman was in the other night, and she wanted a margarita. But we were out of lime juice, so I thought, fuck it, she wants a margarita, I’ll make her one. So I used the fresh limes, but the first one I picked up and squeezed went right in my eye.”
“Oh no!” Tara said, while Justin guffawed. “What did you do?”
George shrugged. “I carried on making it, but I was squinting like a pirate or something, and she didn’t even comment on it. Like, I’ve just blinded myself trying to make you a drink, love, the least she could’ve done is ask if I was all right.”
“He didn’t get her phone number,” Simon summarized.
“No,” George said. “I just got a red eye instead.”
“Aw, poor George,” Justin trilled.
The door to the bar opened, and a figure clomped through the entrance in heavy cowboy boots. At first glance, one could’ve mistaken the long hair, skin-tight jeans, and red leather jacket for a woman, but it was Tracy, their heavy metal-loving supervisor.
“A’right,” Tracy called out in his cheerful Northern baritone. “Everyone up bright and early.”
One o’clock in the afternoon was considered early for most bartenders.
“Hey, Trace,” Tara greeted, as Tracy approached. “You’re all dolled up today?”
Tracy’s hair was back-combed, and he’d smudged eyeliner around his eyes. “Yep,” he said with a grin. “Goin’ to see a band later. Tara, you should come with me. I need a pair of tits to get me backstage.”
Tara threw back her head and laughed. George and Simon looked dubious.
“What’re you going to do backstage?” Simon asked. “Are there any women in the band?”
“No, all male,” Tracy said. “I want to meet the guitarist.”
“What for?”
George nodded, like he understood. “To fan him about his guitar technique?”
“Pretty much,” Tracy said. He nudged Tara. “Go on, come with me. I’ve asked Nina and Lauren as well. I wanna walk in with a girl on each arm.”
“Tracy, you’ve only got two arms,” George pointed out.
“One holding something else, then,” Tracy said with a cheeky grin.
“Your butt?” Simon suggested, reaching out with his hands to grip imaginary buttocks. “Tara can walk behind you, cupping your arse.”
Tara laughed. “Thanks.”
They chatted and joked among themselves as they waited for Sam to get back and everyone else to arrive. All the staff lined up along the bar on stools, catching up on gossip. Justin hadn’t seen some of his colleagues for one, or even two weeks. Shifts sometimes meant he ended up working with the same people and totally missing others.
When Sam returned, loaded down with bags from the supermarket and munching on a meat minikebab, he seemed in a better mood. Clearly he’d been hungry, as he demolished the entire bag of meat snacks within minutes.
At half past one, there was a knock on the bar door, only just heard over the cacophony of chatter among the staff. George hurried to the door, his long dreads flying behind him.
“That’ll be Pete with the trainer,” Sam announced. He wagged a warning finger in Tracy and Justin’s directions. “Everyone behave themselves. Make us look good.”
“I always look good,” Tracy quipped back.
Justin grinned at him. “My sentiments exactly.”
When George approached the bar with two men in tow, he set about introducing the area manager, Pete, to the staff. The stranger with them was tall and blond, wearing a fashionable dark jacket, and—
The smile dissolved from Justin’s face as he recognized Eric.
Oh no.
As the managers all gravitated toward each other and welcomed Eric, Justin felt panic rise in his chest. Eric? Of all people was Eric the one to teach them cocktails? Was he still working at Foxy’s, or had he left already?
An elbow nudged into Justin’s arm, as Tara widened her eyes at him. “Is that…?” she whispered.
Justin nodded, but motioned for her to keep schtum. The last thing he wanted was for their colleagues to know that Justin was already acquainted. Things could get awkward fast.
The others were still chatting among themselves anyway, as Sam walked Eric around the bar. Butterflies fluttered in Justin’s stomach as he shrank lower in his seat and willed Eric not to recognize him.
“Right,” Sam declared, waiting for his staff to quiet down. “Most of you have met Pete before.” He nodded at their area manager, who’d sat down at the bar and raised a hand in salute. “And this is Eric, who’ll be going through the cocktail menu with us. Then you’ll all get a turn.”
Justin blanched. This was getting worse. And yet, he wasn’t entirely sure why he felt so worried. It wasn’t like he’d known Eric was coming today or planned to see Eric. He was being paranoid.
“Thanks, Sam.” Eric smiled warmly and shrugged out of his jacket. Underneath he wore a smart, chocolate brown shirt, slightly open at the collar and looking very sexy. As Eric put his jacket aside, and looked at the staff with a devastating smile, Justin swore he heard all the girls sigh audibly.
“Shall we start with names?” Eric said. “I’ll do my best to remember, but feel free to scold me if I get them wrong.” He busied himself charming Lauren and Nina first, asking their names. Justin’s heart started thumping.
Calm down. Calm down.
They went along the bar, each person stating their names. When Tara said hers softly, Justin was convinced Eric would recognize her, but there didn’t even seem to be a flicker in his eyes.
Then it was Justin’s turn. He tried to say his name as nonchalantly as he could manage, meeting Eric’s eyes only to be polite. Once again, Justin’s brain noted how handsome Eric was—the swept-back blond hair showing off chiseled features, the soft pout of his lips… and the knowing smile that spread across them. So he had recognized Justin. But aside from a lingering moment looking at Justin, he didn’t acknowledge anything else, and moved on to Simon.
Justin was relieved. Maybe he could get away with remaining professional after all.
THE COCKTAIL lessons were actually interesting, but Justin found them distracting simply because Eric was the one teaching. He tried to concentrate, he really did. Except his mind kept wand
ering off, posing difficult questions to Justin’s growing paranoia: was Yena still hung up on Eric? Look at him! Justin’s mind repeated. Just look at him, he was an exceptional specimen of manhood if ever there was one. Confident behind the bar, charming, and handsome. The girls—and even the guys—watched him attentively and laughed at his jokes.
Justin tried not to feel swept up by it. The more charming he found Eric, the more inadequate he felt in comparison.
Then Eric had them come up one by one to make a cocktail. Justin was equally dreading and strangely anticipating his turn. When it came, he got the margarita. Jokes about George and the fresh lime wedges erupted from the others as Justin walked around the bar and came to stand next to Eric.
Justin wasn’t sure what he was expecting from his lesson, as his mind flitted back to when Yena had been teaching him at home and the kisses they’d shared after.
Focus, Justin.
Nerves made his heart pound again, as everyone watched him attempt to mix the drink. Thankfully he remembered most of it, and only had to be reminded to add the sugar syrup.
“Good,” Eric praised, standing close behind him.
It was a small bar; Justin was used to having all his colleagues wedged up against him. But then Eric’s hand pressed against the small of his back, and that made Justin tense.
Was he just being friendly, or…?
Who cares? Ignore him and finish the cocktail.
When he closed the shaker over the glass, Eric praised him and said to keep going. Justin picked it up and shook. Droplets of margarita sloshed out, but he kept going. Eric stepped in even closer, and Justin paused.
“Position your hands like this,” he said, in a low and sexy voice that hit Justin right in the loins. He placed his warm fingers over Justin’s, encouraging them to move. “Cradle the shaker; it reduces the chance of it flying away, and hopefully keeps leaks in more.”
“Oh-kay,” Justin mumbled, preparing to shake again.
“Yeah, Justin always leaks,” Tracy quipped. Which was true, Justin hadn’t quite got the hang of a watertight cocktail shake yet.
Love on the Rocks (Bar Tenders) Page 12