by Everly Lucas
“So, what are you going to do about it?” I ask.
Like most addicts, Danny is a skilled liar. He’d look me dead in the eyes and tell me the sky is on fire if he thought it would get him closer to his next fix. And maybe it’s just wishful thinking on my part, but this time, I believe him when he says, “I’m gonna get help. I want to get help. But I’m scared, Erin. What if I’m not strong enough?”
“You’re not,” I tell him honestly. No point in sugar-coating the obvious. “But you don’t have to do this alone, Danny. You have me. Never forget that.”
Fifteen
“Okay, everybody. Pens and pencils down.” Greg walks by as, one by one, we hand him our completed final exams. “Sit tight while I grade these. I’ll be back in twenty.”
Hopping off my stool, I head to one of the round pub tables lining the wall opposite the bar. Jazmyn joins me, followed by Neville and Kwok.
The taller guy brushes back his sleek, black hair. “So, what’ll you pick if you win, Blondie?”
Before passing out the final, Greg announced that the student with the highest score picks the drink special for Bar Night tonight. It can be any shot or cocktail we want. Of course, between focusing on the test questions and enduring little electric shocks every time I accidentally locked eyes with Van, I totally forgot to think about it.
Right on cue, my gaze flicks to Van, and…zap.
The only reason I was able to sleep last night was because of all the over-the-counter pain meds I’d popped for my ankle. But what I learned from Danny bled into my dreams. My unconscious mind pressed rewind on the last four years, over and over, each time allowing me to live another what-if life with Van. This was the kind of dream you wish you can stay in forever.
Still, I woke up smiling. He and I can’t get those four years back, but we do have forever.
Or, we will, as soon as I can snag five minutes alone with him.
“Not a clue,” I say, turning my attention back to my friends. “What about you?”
Kwok sends a flirty look to Jazmyn. “I’m thinking…Tight Snatch.”
Okay, ew. “What the hell is in that?”
He winks. “Hopefully me, by the end of the night.”
Jaz rolls her big, hazel eyes, but her cheeks flush bright pink. “Yeah, well, I’m picking Champagne Cocktail because, unlike you, I have some class.”
“Oo, burn.” Neville shoves his friend’s shoulder.
“Let me guess,” I say, “Redheaded Slut?”
He elbow-nudges me, waggling his bright-orange eyebrows. “I was thinking Blow Job.”
I nudge him back, but with my fist to his gut. “Think again.”
Five days ago, I came into this class only expecting to gain some knowledge. But here I am with three brand-spanking-new friends and—hopefully—a future with the man I thought was lost in my past.
My friends and I are still ribbing on each other—and, in Kwok’s and Jaz’s case, flirting—when Greg pops back out from his office with our graded papers.
“I have to say, this has been one of my best classes. You all did a great job, but two of you ended up with perfect scores.” He hands me my exam, and I grin at the “100” on the top right corner. “Erin and…” Crossing the room, he delivers the other perfect grade to… “Van.”
Van and I lock eyes again, and I send him a mental high five in the form of a smile. He smile-high-fives me right back, despite how lost he must be. The last thing I said to him was “goodbye,” and now I’m celebrating our shared victory from across the room.
Greg looks back and forth between me and Van. “So, how do you guys want to do this? Draw straws? Maybe put it to a class vote?”
“Whatever Erin wants,” Van says, all deep and seductive.
Clearing her throat, Jazmyn shifts not-so-subtly closer to me and taps a few times on her cell phone screen to steer my attention to the cocktail recipe she brought up: Death by Sex.
Tempting. But Van and I will have plenty of time for fatal fucking later.
To the left of that recipe is a list of recently viewed cocktails. One name jumps out at me, and, beaming, I say, “I choose…the Last Word."
Sixteen
The Duplex is always packed for happy hour, especially on a Friday. But tonight, with all the friends and family of the students here to show their support, we’re at full capacity. Standing room only.
Bar Night—Grape Street Bartending School’s version of a graduation ceremony—is usually held at a pub on Main Street, but Henry worked it out with Greg for the Duplex to host this week. He wanted my first official night behind a bar to be behind his bar. Henry Carmichael is one sentimental motherfucker when it comes to this place.
The twelve of us grads work in four one-hour shifts. Half have kids to get home to, so they knock out their hours first, followed by Jazmyn, Kwok, and the redhead stoner kid. He moves slower than the others, but he cracks jokes with the customers while they wait, so they don’t seem to mind. All three rake in impressive tips.
Before the first group started, I had to search through the stockroom for a case of Green Chartreuse to use in tonight’s special. Took me twenty fucking minutes. Leave it to Erin to pick some random, obscure cocktail, probably just to be difficult.
No, it had to have been the name. The Last Word. That girl can’t walk away from a conversation unless she’s the one who ends it. I learned a long time ago to always let her have the win.
To keep myself from going crazy, I spend the first three hours busing tables, cleaning spills, and helping Romeo in the kitchen. Henry tries five times to remind me I’m not supposed to actually work tonight, but I have to do something until I can confess to Erin.
I can’t drop this bomb on her until we have a solid chunk of time to talk it through—or until I can get my ass kicked without witnesses. Neither of which can happen until this night is over. If I stop moving for more than five seconds, I might forget all that and nuke her with the truth the next time I catch her staring at me…which is often.
While I’m over here sweating bullets and on the verge of losing my lunch, Erin throws me smiles every time we lay eyes on each other. I force myself not to read too much into them, but each one is laced with warmth and hope and…
No, that can’t be right. Must be my brain fucking with me, trying to make wishful thinking look like real life.
Hauling a bag of ice on each shoulder, I shove through the swinging kitchen doors and navigate the crowded floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Tino on his regular stool, at the far end of the bar.
I should go over there. Unloading on him might keep me from cornering Erin before the time is right.
As I empty one of the ice bags into a basin, my hands freeze. Not from the ice, but from the disaster about to strike twenty feet away from me. I hold my breath and watch Erin tap Tino on the shoulder. He turns to her, and she grins as the two shake hands.
She clearly recognizes him, but how? They were both at my sentencing hearing, but that was four years ago. Tino worked my case the night of the crash, so I guess it’s possible they crossed paths at some point, but—
“The bag’s empty.”
My eyes snap to the limp, wet plastic dangling from my hands, then up to Kwok. “Right.” I ball the bag in my fist, toss it in the trash, and go back to monitoring the situation across the room.
In my peripheral vision, Kwok mixes a drink, tucks a lime wedge on the rim of the glass, and slides it to the customer in front of him. Stepping to my side, he follows my stare. “For two people who met five days ago, you guys are seriously intense.”
I don’t bother correcting him. The history Erin and I share is too personal, too much a part of who we are. The world can watch her slap me. They can gawk at the bite marks on my neck. They can witness us scratch and cry and scream and fuck, for all I care. Let them look. Let them be jealous. But the years we spent together, the years we spent apart, the sacrifices we’ve made, the blood we’ve shed, the pieces of ourselves we've
cut out for each other… Those are ours alone. Fuck the rest of the world. “She’s the fucking love of my life.”
Kwok sputters. “D—dude. Don’t you think it’s a little soon for that?”
“Soon?” I hold back a laugh. He wouldn’t get the joke. “I just hope I’m not too late.”
Pale-blonde curls catch the light as they dance on Erin’s shoulders. When she nods in my direction, Tino twists around on his stool, spots my open-mouthed stare, and grins the grin of a man who knows he’s up to no good.
The smug bastard flashes me a wink, and I start forward, ready to run interference, but Kwok’s hand clasps my shoulder, holding me back. “Whoa, buddy. Where do you think you’re going?”
I shrug him off. “I’ve got shit I need to take care of.”
“Yeah, well, that shit will have to wait.” He lights up the screen on his watch and points to the time. Nine o’clock. “You’re up,” he says, already backing away.
Jazmyn taps on the bar in front of Erin to grab her attention. In total sync, the two glance my way, back at each other, and share a meaningful smile. Of course, I have no fucking clue what it means…or any of her smiles today…or why she’s still wearing our ring.
With a parting wave to Tino, Erin joins me behind the bar. Getting way up in my personal space, she gazes up at me with wide, sparkling green eyes as she trails a fingernail down the length of my right bicep.
That delicate touch triggers a violent reaction below my waist, making me so hard it hurts. Each new pump of blood to my dick is like a war drum pounding in my veins.
Erin’s mouth opens as she draws in a breath, and I’d give my left nut to lick the seam of her parted lips. “Tess had to bail,” she tells me. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”
“Huh?” Clearly her mind isn’t even in the same zip code as mine right now. “Who’s Tess?”
Erin rolls her eyes. “You know, from class? She was supposed to work this hour with us, but she had a migraine.” Hands on her hips, she tips her head in the direction of the dozen or so customers leaning over the bar, waiting for service. “This’ll be a rough sixty minutes. Think you can keep up?”
“With you? Rarely, if ever.”
She laughs, throwing her head back and letting out the most joyous sound known to God and man. For four years, I’ve held the memory of that sound close to me, heard it in my dreams, woven it into my fucking soul. But no dream or memory can match hearing Erin’s laugh fresh from the source.
Biting her bottom lip, she shifts on her feet, putting the majority of her weight on the right one.
I wince in sympathy. “What about your ankle? It has to be killing you.”
She shrugs. “I can handle a little pain. Don’t you dare go easy on me, Woods.”
“I wouldn’t fucking dream of it, Kenny.”
“Good.” She moves closer, brushing her hips and soft, firm breasts against my body. Laying her hands on my chest, she clutches the fabric and tugs me down to her level. I don’t bother stifling my groan when she whispers in my ear, “I like it better when you go hard.”
Fuck.
One hour. Sixty fucking minutes. A shit-ton of seconds until I can get her alone. I’ve waited a lifetime for this girl, but this one, last hour might just kill me.
Seventeen
Erin struggles, at first. I have the benefit of knowing this bar like the back of my hand, so I find everything I need without even thinking, but she has to learn on the fly. Still, if she’s flustered, she’s playing it close to the chest.
Same with her ankle. Anyone who doesn’t already know she sprained it two days ago would never guess. The way she moves, the smile that hasn’t slipped from her face… Erin is a fighter. A quiet one, but that only proves how strong she is.
We stay busy, with bodies lined up three-deep, waiting for service. Nobody hassles me—self-preservation on their part, I guess—but Erin, looking like America’s fucking sweetheart in her t-shirt and jeans, with her bright eyes and easy smiles… Some of these assholes might see her as someone they can mess with and get away with it. They’d be wrong, and I’d love to see them try.
After pouring a line of tequila shots for a group of women wearing glittery plastic penises around their necks, I sneak a glance at Erin again. Just checking on her, that’s all.
A lanky douchebag with bleached tips and heavy rings on his bony fingers leans over the bar, waving a twenty in her face while she finishes up with her current customer. The noise level in this room is off the charts, so I can’t make out what he says, but I can tell by the way her expression shifts from sweet to seriously goddamn wicked that he shouldn’t have fucking said it.
I don’t interfere. I know I don’t have to.
Erin goes up on her toes, getting close enough for the tool to hear whatever it is she imparts to him, loud and clear. He flinches back from her, turning sheet white, while she snatches the twenty from between his fingers, pours him a beer, and keeps the change.
I can’t help it. I grin, my eyes still locked on this angel who won’t hesitate to rain hellfire on anyone who deserves it.
Henry steps up next to me, watching her almost as intently as I am. “Who is that?”
“Her name is Erin.”
He nods, admiration clear in the soft set of his mouth. “She’s one of your classmates, right?”
I chuckle under my breath. “She’s a hell of a lot more than that.” Henry sends me a puzzled look, and I hold up my bandaged hand. “She’s my complication.”
Grinning, he clasps a hand on my shoulder. “She’s also a damn fine bartender. And, you know, we still need to fill Frankie’s spot, since you’ll be running this place.”
“Seriously? You’d be okay with that?” I try not to get my hopes up. If I can’t get her to forgive me, there’s no way in hell she’ll want to work with me. Or for me, for that matter.
Henry chuckles, shaking his head at me. “I gave you the job because I trust you, Van. If you think she’d be a good fit, and if working together doesn’t cause drama, I’m all for it.”
He wanders back around the bar, heading straight for a tiny brunette and wrapping his arms around her from behind. She tilts her head back, beaming up at him, and the two share a kiss so hot, it could set this bar on fire.
Henry wasn’t kidding when he said his shit was complicated. The brunette he’s mouth-fucking? That’s Frankie’s girlfriend.
I check the time on my phone. Five minutes. Not even. Four and a half, really. As soon as they’re up, I’ll drag her to the nearest dark, quiet corner, fall at her feet, and beg for her sweet smiles, her hellfire, and her epic laughter. I’ll tell her whatever she needs to hear from me. All the secrets I’ve kept from her. Anything. Everything. She can have it all.
I pour two pitchers of beer, mix a Long Island Iced Tea, and dole out another round of shots to the penis crew. The four and a half minutes fly by, and when I check my phone again, the time is ten o’clock on the dot. Sucking in a deep, fortifying breath, I will my heart to stop pounding so hard. The damn thing doesn’t listen.
This is it. The outcome of this moment will either be a life with the woman I’ve loved since before I knew what love was…or a life of regret. A life of wishing I could turn back the clock and do it all differently. A life of never knowing what it feels like to fall asleep with Erin Kenny in my arms.
No. There is no life without her.
Ronnie and Henry show up to relieve me and Erin for the rest of the night. Bracing my hands on the edge of the bar, I shut my eyes and give myself one last pep talk.
Stop being a fucking pussy.
But by the time I blink my eyes open, Erin is nowhere to be found. I crane my neck, scanning the crowd for her blonde curls and coming up empty. Fuck. She wasn’t supposed to bail before I could even speak my piece. After, maybe, but not before.
My legs are longer than hers, so if she’s already out the door, I can still catch up with her. Flying out from behind the bar, I push past everyone standin
g between me and my girl. They clear a path, no doubt sensing I’d knock them down like bowling pins if they didn’t.
I make it halfway to the exit when I hear my name called out in a high-pitched voice that cuts through the music, the clinking glasses, and the conversations all around us. Erin stands with her back to the bar, a warm overhead lamp shining like a spotlight on her.
Catching my breath, I go to her.
She grips the stem of a cocktail glass filled almost to the brim with tonight’s special—pale green from the Chartreuse and lime juice—and slides it in my direction.
What is she up to? “C’mon, you know I don’t drink. I mean, thanks, but—”
“I saw you last night, talking to Danny.”
My heart finally stops pounding. Hell, it stops, altogether. I try to replay last night in my head. What did I say to him? What words did I use? He and I both knew what I was there for, so I don’t think I came right out and said “I lied to the police and took the fall for you.”
“I only caught the tail end of your conversation,” she says, “but after you left, he and I talked…like, really talked, for the first time in years.” Her fingertips trace the base of the glass in little half circles, back and forth and back again, hypnotizing me with the repetitive motion. Then they stop, and we look into each other’s eyes. Hers are wide open and searching mine. “I could go on and on about how I feel about what you did, how you made this huge sacrifice for my family…for Danny and me…and what an insane, supremely stupid choice you made in the name of—”
“Erin.” I need her to get to the point, to lay out what this means for us, if her knowing the truth makes her mine.
“Right,” she says, blushing. “Like you said, I’m no good at shutting my mouth when I should. And what else can I really say now, except…thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.” She taps the rim of the glass, a sheepish smile tugging at her pink lips. “So I’m giving you the last word.”