by Alexa Anna
But I also find I miss having them around. I miss Jake’s sideways humor and Luke’s serious nature. I miss chatting with them, and I miss something else, but I’m not even sure what it is yet. Are these feelings getting out of hand?
The morning in my apartment is lonely, and I just sort of mope around, not really doing anything. I get on my ancient laptop and surf around the internet, just checking the normal celebrity gossip pages that I sometimes read just for fun. I check my social media accounts, but no one seems to want to have much to do with me, judging by how they’re not writing me.
My mind drifts back to Jake and Luke, and I get the idea to check them out online.
Here they are. I’ve found them. An article from about two years ago.
Wow, it looks like they used to run a very profitable business, but…
What I read next shocks me.
They were involved in a scandal. The way the article makes it sound, they were caught up in a drug dealing rig, becoming involved themselves. They went to prison, but got out only after one year each for model behavior.
A drug deal?
That doesn’t sound like the Jake and Luke I know. They may have tattoos, and they may not seem like it on first impression, but they’re always trying to do good, to protect people. I can’t see them getting caught up in dealing heroin, the way the article claims. That just doesn’t sound like them.
But the article does send a shiver down my spine. Do I really know them as well as I thought I did? After all, they never mentioned to me that they’d essentially just gotten out of jail. That’s kind of a big thing that you should mention to a new lover, right? Well, I don’t know, since I’ve never had a love before. But it sounds reasonable.
I feel a little hurt, a little deceived.
They should have mentioned it to me. That’s the least they could do.
After all, those masked guys who kidnapped me are involved in dealing heroin, at least that’s what word around the bar is. Was there a time when Jake and Luke were really seriously on the wrong side of the law? Are they trying to clean up their act now?
I get lost in the article, lost in the black hole of the internet, and only snap out of it when I realize I’m already half an hour late for my shift at the bar.
My head full of doubts, I head off to work, rushing to get there. Not that I can rush much, since I have to wait for the bus, which takes another fifteen minutes to show up.
By the time I finally get into work, the musty, strange, sour smell of the bar greeting me with an unpleasant blast in the nostrils, the dim light not making anything better, Jim is already furious.
“Where the hell were you?” he says, his mouth packed full of the chewing tobacco that he uses sometimes. Little dribbles of black spit fill his lips, and the spaces between his teeth are stuck full of bits and scraps of tobacco.
“Sorry,” I say. “I lost track of time.”
“You were with those two lowlifes, weren’t you?” he says, nearly spitting the words at me. “What, you were sandwiched between them and you couldn’t get out in time for work?”
My heart starts beating faster. My face turns red. I get angry, really angry.
“What are you talking about?” I say, unable to contain the anger in my voice.
“Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on with you and them,” he says. “If I were you, I’d stay away from them. But do what you want. I could care less, honestly. Just don’t let it interfere with your work. You’re just like every other woman bartender I’ve had here.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I say.
“I don’t think I need to spell it out, do I?” says Jim, spitting some of his tobacco juice into a clean bar cup.
Gross, I’m going to have to clean that out later.
“Screw you,” I say.
I inhale sharply. I’ve never said anything like that to a boss before. I’ve always been the good girl. But who does he think he is? Why does he think he can talk to me like that, and judge me for what I do with my own time?
Jim stares at me, his face unreadable, impassive, his cheeks stuffed full of tobacco.
My heart is thumping. Is he going to fire me?
A couple regulars are sitting on their barstools, and they’re watching this whole transaction with interest. It’s the most interesting thing that’s happened near them all month, for sure.
Finally, Jim bursts out laughing. But it’s not a nice laugh. It’s a cruel one.
He doesn’t say anything as he grabs his coat and heads out the door, still laughing all the while.
“What an asshole,” says one of the regulars, a woman named Betsy. She’s in her fifties and probably drinks a little too much. I’ve never talked to her much before. I’m usually too busy fighting off the unwanted advances of the male drunks.
I look at her, and I see her slightly unkempt appearance, her hair with knots in it, unwashed for a few days. She’s seen better days, but that doesn’t mean she’s a bad person.
“Thanks,” I say.
“He’s always been like that,” says Betsy. “I’ve been coming here for years long before you started working here.”
I have to wonder why she’s been coming here for so long, but I guess the answer is pretty obvious: the drinks are cheap, and they’re strong enough, since Jim doesn’t water them down like the other bar owners. But it’s not like he doesn’t water them down for altruistic reasons.
He just figures that the customers are more likely to come back if the drinks are strong enough. He also likes to sample the selection frequently, and doesn’t want to have to deal with watered down drinks himself.
“Yeah?” I say. I normally don’t have much time for the customers. Especially considering all the little chores I have to do because Jim never really does anything on his shift except hang around and drink. He doesn’t clean anything.
But to hell with him. After he basically called me a whore without actually saying the word, he can go fuck himself if he thinks I’m going to clean up after him today.
“Tell me more about it,” I say.
“He’s just a real prick,” says Betsy, taking another sip of her cocktail.
“You think he could have anything to do with what’s been going on around here?” I say, leaning in and lowering my voice.
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” says Betsy. “That asshole’s capable of anything. He’s always looking to make a quick buck. He’s scammed so many people… and who knows, I mean, this bar couldn’t be making much money, could it?”
I shake my head. “No,” I say. “Trust me, it’s not. I honestly don’t even know how he affords to pay me.”
“The hipsters don’t make him any money?”
“They don’t tip well,” I say. “So I don’t make much from them. But as far as the bar’s earnings go, there really aren’t enough of them to make him that much money, even considering how he makes me overcharge them.”
Betsy laughs at that. “Well, they should be overcharged,” she says. “They’ve got more money than they know what to do with.”
I’m pretty sure I don’t agree, but I just go along with it.
“I don’t understand how they get their money, anyway,” I say.
“Parents,” says Betsy. “Or they work online.”
I nod my head.
“So you think Jim has some kind of deal with these new gangsters? Did you know they tried to kidnap me? It’s kind of suspicious how they did it right when I was leaving work, after all…” It really does sound suspicious to me, and I’m seriously starting to wonder if Jim could be involved somehow.
“I bet he’s responsible for the whole thing,” says Betsy. “No, dear, I didn’t know that. How awful!”
But the conversation doesn’t move much past this point. She gets distracted by her drink, and by an older man sitting next to her, who’s wearing a gold watch and a gold chain and is obviously trying to impress Betsy with his wealth.
The next fe
w hours of the shift are uneventful. There’s not enough going on at the bar to keep me distracted from my own thoughts. I think about Jake and Luke going to jail, feeling a little deceived. And I think about Jim, and what a sleaze ball asshole he is. I bet he’s involved in all this somehow. I just don’t know how. I need proof. I need something to show Jake and Luke.
I glance at the customers, who seem to all be set with their drinks for the moment, and I head into Jim’s office. I almost never set foot in here, unless he asks me to, practically because the place gives me the creeps, and partly because it smells so bad, some weird, acrid, musty smell that I can’t quite place. It sort of smells like cat urine. Wait, doesn’t some drug smell like that? I don’t know anything about drugs, but I remember hearing that once somewhere a long time ago.
Under the desk there’s a rickety system of filing cabinets that are sort of jerry rigged together in a strange way.
I open one of them up, and the drawer screeches on rusty metal sliders.
Leafing through them, the files are all decades old, and don’t show anything interesting. They do show Jim’s been cooking the books for years, but that’s nothing new to me.
But how does he make his money? How does he keep this place open? And where’s he always heading off to? Why doesn’t he work the evening and night shifts, when the bar is arguably the busiest?
Right now, there’s only one other bartender, who works part time. He works the shifts I don’t work, just two a week. I’ve only met him once, and he seemed like kind of an idiot, so I doubt he would have picked up anything strange. There’s really no one else to ask, except the regulars, but they might tell Jim I’m poking around where my nose shouldn’t be.
A noise outside the office by the bar startles me. Wood splintering. Someone screams.
Shit, I hope another fight hasn’t broken out. That’s exactly what I don’t need to be dealing with right now.
I rush out, my apron flapping behind me, my breasts bouncing in my bra.
To my surprise, there’s no fight. I look around for something broken, and see a barstool on the floor, the leg broken in two.
Betsy’s on the floor, but the old man with the gold chain is helping her up, making sure to grope her as he does so.
“Sorry, dear,” says Betsy, staggering to her feet. “I didn’t mean to fall down. I think the stool broke.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, picking up the broken stool. “That should have been replaced years ago. I’ll give you a drink on the house.”
“Much appreciated,” says Betsy.
The door opens and I expect to see another one of the regulars.
Instead, it’s Jake and Luke.
Mixed emotions flood me. There’s some anger and resentment that bubbles up. After all, why didn’t they tell me they were in jail? They told me plenty of other things.
But there’s also desire. Now that I see them again in the flesh, my body feels drawn to them, especially after I had them both inside me at the same time. I can’t get that feeling out of my system, the lingering memory of the intense orgasm I had. And I don’t want to get it out of my system. I don’t want to forget it.
I expect them to try to kiss me, even though there are people here. And I’m not sure yet whether I’m going to let them. I’m not feeling sure if I’m angry or not, which is certainly a weird feeling.
“We’ve got to talk,” says Jake.
I except him to crack a joke or something, and I expect to pretend to not find it funny, to show them that I’m upset with them for never telling me that they were in jail.
But instead, he’s deadly serious.
“What’s going on?” I say.
“Let’s go into the back office,” says Luke.
“Are you two OK?” I say, looking them up and down carefully, half expecting to see another injury. It wouldn’t be the first, and I doubt it would be the last.
“We’re fine,” says Jake, his tone still serious.
“I’ve got to tend bar,” I say, deciding that I can be obstinate and annoy them this way.
“They can wait,” says Luke.
“They’re going to want more drinks,” I say.
“I’ll take care of that,” says Jake, plunking down a wad of cash on the bar. “Next round’s on me,” he says.
The few regulars that are left give a faded cheer.
They make their orders, and I fill mugs of beer and pour shots of whisky, serving them all.
“Ready?” says Jake. “That’ll keep them busy.”
“For another couple of minutes,” I say.
“Come on,” says Luke.
I sigh and lead them into the back office.
I sit down on Jim’s chair, even though it gives me the creeps to do so, and face them. They sit in the two chairs facing the desk.
“What have you two got to say for yourselves?” I say, the words coming out of my mouth without me really thinking about them. I know I sound annoyed, and I don’t care.
“What?” says Jake. “Listen, we’ve got to tell you something important…”
“Were you ever going to tell me?” I say.
“I’m about to,” says Jake. “Just give me a chance. The thing is that…”
“You weren’t going to tell me you two were in jail?” I say, interrupting him.
There’s a silence from both of them. Luke looks down at the ground and Jake shuffles his feet in front of him, looking sheepish.
“And it’s not just that,” I say. “But you were dealing heroin?”
“That’s not true,” says Luke, quietly.
“A bunch of horseshit,” says Jake. “Who told you that?”
“I read it online,” I say. “And maybe you weren’t dealing. Maybe I have the words wrong. But you were doing something with it.”
“Listen,” says Luke. “I can understand why that would trouble you, but I can assure you it’s not true. We can explain later. But there are more pressing matters right now.”
“More pressing than you dealing drugs and going to prison for it? And lying to me about it?”
I say the words, but I’m no longer mad, and the anger’s not behind them. I look at Luke and Jake and know that they’re telling me the truth. I don’t know how, but I’ve developed a connection between them, and it just doesn’t sound like them. There’s just no way it could be true.
The thought hits me like a ton of bricks: I trust them. Even when the papers say one thing, I know it’s not true. I believe them.
That’s a weird feeling for me. I haven’t trusted anyone in a long time.
“It’s about Jim,” says Jake, looking around, as if Jim is hiding in one of the filing cabinets.
Luke takes out an electronic device that looks something like a radio, with an antenna. He moves it around the area, standing up and walking around the cramped office.
“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head at Jake.
“What’s that?” I say.
“A device that checks for bugs,” says Luke, sitting down again.
“What?” I say.
“Sorry,” says Jake. “We can talk more about it later. Time is important now. It looks like your boss Jim may be involved with these gangsters.”
“He may be more than involved,” says Luke. “He might have been the one who started the whole thing. We got a strange tip from the guy who hired us, who represents everyone in the neighborhood, including Jim… but the case is complicated. We started checking some records, and some things don’t add up. There are some major discrepancies…”
“Doesn’t surprise me in the least bit,” I say.
“No?” they say together, all four of their eyebrows raising.
“I just talked to a regular here tonight,” I say. “And she thinks Jim is up to some shady shit. I mean, I always knew he was doing something shady… but… well, plus, he’s just a prick. He said some nasty stuff to me tonight.”
“Like what?” says Jake. “Is he mistreating you?” He seems upset at
this, looking angry, like he’s ready to go fight Jim on my behalf. This just endears him to me more. I’m already over the whole jail thing. I know they’re innocent, whatever anyone else says.
Luke puts a hand up to calm down Jake. “I’m sorry he’s a dickbag,” he says. “But you might be in real danger. Not just words, OK? It might not have been a coincidence…”
“That I was kidnapped after leaving the bar?” I say, finishing his sentence.
He nods gravely.
Jake looks grave too.
“What do I do?” I say.
“We don’t know,” says Jake.
“That’s the problem,” says Luke. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go back to your apartment again.”
“I’ll have to stay with you two again?” I say, trying to contain my excitement.
Jake gives me a wink.
Even Luke can’t help but crack a smile.
All three of us know exactly what staying with them again entails.
Sex, lots of steamy, hot sex.
Orgasms, lots of orgasms.
My mind drifts for a moment to their naked bodies… what they feel like wrapped around me, what it feels like to be sandwiched between them.
“Lexi?” says Luke. “Did you hear what we said?”
“Oh? No, sorry, what were you saying?”
“We need to stay with you tonight until your shift is done. We’ll just try to blend in with the other people here.”
I laugh. “That’s not going to be easy,” I say.
“We’ll try,” says Luke.
“But what am I going to do? Can I keep working here?”
“It’d be better not to,” says Jake.
“But… I have bills to pay. I can’t just leave my only job.”
“Your life might be in danger,” says Luke. “What’s more important, your life or your money?”
“Without my money, I… what will I do?”
“Stay with us,” says Jake.
“I can’t just rely on you guys.”