by Chant, Zoe
She pulled up YouTube and a cocktail guide, stuck her headphones in her ears, and got to work.
7
When it was almost four-thirty, Anita appeared, silhouetted in the stairwell that led up to the apartment.
Russ thought the jukebox should have spontaneously turned itself on for her. She deserved a musical intro, something to acknowledge how her walking in changed the whole room for the better.
Rolling, rhythmic music sung by some smoky-voiced singer. Peggy Lee’s “Fever,” maybe. Some song that you said you wanted to dance to... but that you really wanted to make love to.
Her long, wavy black hair was piled up on top of her head, with wispy tendrils curling down around her ears. Her white Western-style shirt had black yoke embroidery over the front and lace around the cuffs; the plain white was gorgeous against her rich brown skin. Her jeans were faded and tantalizingly tight.
And then there were the cowboy boots, low-heeled and dark brown, the tooled leather emblazoned with roses.
When she saw him looking, she smiled. Her dark eyes glittered.
“Emily gave me a ride into town to hit up a couple of stores,” she said. “I thought this seemed like the right uniform for a roadhouse. And I noticed your boots last night.”
She’d noticed his boots?
She went on, “A little bit country-western, a little bit rock-and-roll.”
And more than a little knockout. She’d get rich off tips from every straight guy in town.
“It’s great.” He could keep the words professional, but he couldn’t keep the gravelly rumble out of his voice. His voice had always gotten lower and rougher when he was turned on, and the hellhound’s bite had only made that stronger.
Anita’s smile widened, and Russ realized something that the old him would have realized a long time ago.
She liked him.
Ever since his life had come crashing down around him, he’d felt like damaged goods. Who wanted to date a guy with a monster crouched inside him? And how could he even think about dating when he knew that it was there, its fiery eyes only ever temporarily closed?
He hadn’t wanted to bring an innocent woman into the hellhound’s path, so he had shut down his dating life completely.
But Anita didn’t know about the hellhound. She thought he was just Russ, a small town bartender with a thing for cowboy boots.
He had to pull back. Way, way back. If she realized even a fraction of how much he cared about her, she would have to wonder why the hell he was making sure to keep his distance.
He physically receded from her, putting the mahogany bar between them. “There’s no formal uniform, though, for what it’s worth. You don’t have to worry about a dress code.”
Her smile shrank down, becoming nothing but politeness. “Okay. Good to know.”
Russ tried to remember what he had taught Suzy Lynn on her first night.
“Customers will start trickling in pretty soon, so I’ll just give you a crash-course for right now, okay?”
Her mouth took on a determined cast that he found almost as sexy as her smile, and she pulled a mini steno-pad and pen out of the back pocket of her jeans. “Got it. Go.”
He showed her the storage room, pointing out the extra cases of beer and wine and the extra kegs that they might have to tap. “Don’t try to get one of the kegs down on your own tonight, all right? They’re really heavy, and if they roll the wrong way, you can wind up with a broken foot. You’ll probably be able to handle them just fine, but let’s just start off careful.”
She nodded. “My feet thank you for the consideration.”
Don’t look at the cowboy boots, don’t look at the cowboy boots...
He looked at the cowboy boots, which accentuated her strong calves.
She followed the direction of his gaze, and he frantically tried to think of something else he could have plausibly been staring at.
“And over there, behind you, is... an outlet. In case you need to charge your phone.”
In case she wanted to charge her phone by leaving it on the floor of the supply room. Sure.
Well, this would kill any feelings she had for him pretty quickly: if he boxed himself into too many corners like this, she would wind up deciding he was an incredible weirdo.
Back out at the bar, he pointed out the sliced lemons and limes—whole ones in the kitchen—and the salt and sugar. He showed her where she could find the different kinds of glasses. Napkins, dishcloths...
“You’ve got a pretty intuitive layout,” Anita said finally, smiling again. “I don’t think learning where everything is will give me too much trouble. Everything’s so neat.”
Russ grinned. “It’s the computer science thing.”
“Computer science?”
“My old job. I did web design, and one of the biggest things I focused on was getting a clean layout. You want people to know where to click to find what they want. If a website’s confusing and frustrating to use, people are just going to go somewhere else. I guess I still like figuring out where to put things.”
“I don’t have it down to a science, but I like it too. I used to watch all those shows about how to organize your life. My sock drawer is terrifyingly neat.”
“I believe you.”
“And I should thank you again for giving me a sock drawer. Seriously, Russ, the apartment is unbelievable. I wouldn’t have been able to find a better place, let alone a furnished one, let alone free...”
He shrugged and took a couple steps back, resisting the return of any kind of dangerous thank-you hug. “It was no problem, really.”
He was almost glad to be interrupted by George and Luann.
“Well, well, well,” George said.
Luann elbowed him. “You can’t see a woman and say ‘well, well, well.’ I don’t care how you meant it. It always sounds sleazy.”
Russ could tell they were both going to be in fine form tonight—and since they had come in together, he was guessing last night’s date had gone pretty damn well. Good for them.
At least someone gets to mate, his hellhound said glumly.
“Anita, this is George Mulaney and Luann Wells, two of our regulars. George owns the garage I sent you to.”
“That’s why it’s called George’s Garage,” George said, holding out his hand to Anita. “I don’t have much of an imagination.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Russ thought he saw Anita tense a little before she reached out and shook George’s hand, like the delicate muscles in her swan-like neck had suddenly stood out like cords. But it was all over so fast—her shaking first George’s hand and then Luann’s—that he must have imagined it. She hadn’t seemed at all reluctant to touch him, and he didn’t think just a little bit of a crush would make that much of a difference. It had to just be in his head.
“I should buy you a drink,” Anita was saying to George. “Even if I had to get some bad news in the process, that was one of the nicer garage experiences I’ve ever had. Your guy Buzz is a straight shooter.”
“Only kind I hire.” George looked at Russ. “Are you going to go on and tell us this girl works for you, Russ, or are we just supposed to guess?”
“She’s dressed like she works here,” Luann said.
“The bar doesn’t have a uniform!” Russ protested.
“No, but if it did, that’d be what it would look like.”
True enough. At least if he wanted to value promoting the roadhouse’s image over his own sanity.
“She does work here,” Russ confirmed. “Luann, George, this is Anita Sanchez. She didn’t mean to wind up in Heaven’s Limits, but her car broke down outside the bar last night, and she’s going to stay here long enough for it to get fixed up again. She’s going to do me the favor of slinging drinks while she’s here.”
While she’s here. Which meant she would leave again.
Not if I chew up her car into little tiny pieces, his hellhound volunteered.
Absolutely not. He knew there was
a good chance it wouldn’t listen to him, but he injected as much cold, steely control into the command as he possibly could. You don’t destroy people’s property, especially Anita’s. You don’t touch Anita or anything in her life.
It quieted down, its tail tucked between its legs.
For a second, Russ felt a pang of guilt for how he had talked to it. If it had been a real dog, he would never have even imagined being that harsh to it. He liked dogs, for God’s sake, he just didn’t like rogue hellhounds who lived in his head and tried to ruin his life. And that was what this was, no matter what people in Heaven’s Limits said.
“Well, Anita, you can start by slinging me a beer,” George said. “Whatever you have on tap tonight’s fine.”
“Sure,” Anita said cheerfully. “Can I get you anything, Luann?”
Luann looked at Anita like she was sizing her up. It was an intensity of stare that made Russ nervous.
“If it’s another one of your complicated cocktail orders, I’ll make it,” he said.
Anita’s smile widened, showing a dimple in one rounded cheek. Russ could already tell that particular smile was going to be the death of him. “I know a couple, Russ. Let me take a shot at it.”
“Slippery Nipple,” Luann said.
He knew perfectly well why she had picked that one. Suzy Lynn had never been able to hide her shock at an older woman ordering something as lascivious-sounding as a Slippery Nipple, and she had kept on being shocked every time Luann had ordered it, like each time it was a fresh surprise.
Anita just thought for a moment, like she was flipping through a mental recipe book, and then said, “Sure, coming right up.”
She drew George’s beer first, since that was quickest, and she whipped a cocktail napkin off the stack, flipped it over onto the back of her hand as she carried the mug, and then tapped it down on the bar with the beer following it.
Russ stared at her.
It was a basic enough bartending trick—he could do it himself—but he knew she hadn’t tended bar before. Had she practiced before she had come down?
And did anyone have the right to make a deft little movement of her fingers so unbelievably sexy?
“She’s got flair,” George murmured to Russ as Anita turned back around to start assembling Luann’s cocktail.
All he could do was helplessly nod.
A Slippery Nipple wasn’t that complicated, really, but he was still impressed that Anita knew the recipe off the top of her head. She didn’t have to pause to consult the mixology book he kept under the bar, she just went straight for the necessary bottles: Grenadine, Sambuca, and Bailey’s. She had a good eye for her pours, too, forming each layer perfectly until the shot glass was glistening with layers of deep amber, cream, and pale brown. She brought it over to Lu, careful not to jostle the glass and mess up the layers.
“One Slippery Nipple,” she said proudly.
Lu picked it up and downed it one go, letting all the flavors hit her at once. A relaxed, pleased smile spread over her face.
It was an expression you only saw on Lu once in a blue moon.
“Hits the spot,” she said. She looked at Russ. “And she didn’t even get scandalized at an old lady ordering a bachelorette party drink. This one’s a keeper.”
“I know.” The words were out before he could think to stop them.
The sudden high flush on Anita’s cheeks said she’d heard him, too.
Dammit.
Once again, he was saved by the arrival of more customers, and the night slowly picked up the pace.
It didn’t stop him from thinking about Anita, but it at least saved him from dwelling on her to the point of accidentally blurting out his feelings. At this point, he was willing to take what he could get.
He’d made a mistake in thinking that he could keep her this close and still be able to do the right thing and walk away from her when the time came. He would just have to depend on her to do the walking—to take her newly repaired car and drive straight out of Heaven’s Limits and out of his life.
He buried himself in the work, which was a lot easier now that he had her help. Anita was already a wizard behind the bar, serving up beers and shots and glasses of wine with seemingly practiced ease. She moved with swift grace, weaving her way among the tables and dodging around him when she came back behind the bar. He and Suzy Lynn had had their fair share of awkward collisions when they’d both moved for the same bottle at the same time, but he and Anita seemed to have some sixth sense about where the other was moving. It started to feel like they were in a complex dance.
It felt like that even more when she turned around at one point and grinned at him. A strand of her dark hair had come undone and fallen forwards, brushing against her cheek. He wanted to touch it. He wanted to touch her. She was rosy and buoyant and obviously enjoying herself, even though all she was doing was serving up drinks. She radiated joy, and there was no way Russ could have ever stopped himself from returning her smile.
He was in way too deep. And all he wanted to do was drown.
8
Anita was having the time of her life. Sure, she sometimes had to flip through the stained, seltzer-spattered cocktail guide to find out how to do something, and sure, she still didn’t feel comfortable trying the “set something on fire” bar trick the internet had assured her was a guaranteed crowd-pleaser, but she thought she was doing okay, especially for her first night.
After years of being miserable, it was just so much fun to have something to do that she was good at and to know that no one was going to show up to take it away from her. Her family wasn’t going to swoop in and try to protect her from a danger she was walking into with her eyes wide open. For the first time in her life, she felt like she was really claiming her own space. And she loved it.
The roadhouse was terrific. She obviously hadn’t gotten to see it in full swing before now, and she was delighted by how friendly and boisterous the atmosphere was. Someone was always laughing. Someone always had the jukebox going. (Right now it was playing something that crooned, He’s a slow drink of whiskey, and I want to be the glass, which definitely made her think of Russ. She was going to learn more country songs tonight than she’d ever known in her life.) People joked around, chatted, flirted, and even comforted each other, all in a way that showed how they had known each other for years. There was a kind of homey intimacy to it that she’d never experienced before.
She liked these people. Emily came in and greeted her—she seemed way more awake now, even perky—and George and Lu pulled her aside every chance they got to toss her another getting-to-know-you question. Some of which were... weirdly specific.
“If you were an animal,” George said, in a tone of voice that made it sound like he was putting it all in air-quotes, “what kind of animal would you be?”
Maybe he had Googled icebreaker questions.
“Let me just make somebody a whiskey Coke and then I’ll get back to you,” she said. True to her word, she came back a minute later and said, “A horse, I guess. A Mustang.”
“Interesting,” George said.
“What kind of animals do you like?” Luann said.
“All kinds. Dogs, cats, horses, bears, lions, wolves, deer, capybaras, sloths...”
“Dogs,” Lu said to George, pointedly.
...Okay.
She didn’t know what was going on with them, but she had the feeling that they were protective of Russ, and she liked them better for it. After all, she wouldn’t have wanted just anybody to waltz into Russ’s life, either.
She wanted to be the one doing the waltzing. Right into his life and right into his arms.
But in the meantime, she was happy enough to tend bar.
It was all going perfectly until a rattlesnake crawled across the toe of her boot.
She was pouring a glass of white wine when some primitive, subconscious warning kicked in, alerting her to a gentle rasping sound.
She looked down just in time to see a snake alm
ost as thick as her wrist sliding past her under the bar. While she was frozen with fear, it glided right over her boot, not even stopping. It was a snake on a mission.
She was lucky she didn’t drop the wine bottle.
Her voice was tight and squeaky with fear as she managed to say, “Russ!”
Russ whipped around like he was ready to go toe-to-toe with whatever had scared her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Snake.” She made herself swallow. She didn’t want him to think she met just an ordinary garden snake. “A rattlesnake just slithered behind the bar and over my foot.” She pointed, her finger shaking slightly in midair. She’d kept her voice low so the customers wouldn’t panic, but if the snake got out from behind the bar—
Russ was obviously a lot tougher than she was, because he didn’t look scared. He just looked... annoyed. Like having a poisonous snake infiltrate his bar was a hassle that just kept coming back up, no matter how many times he’d thought he’d dealt with it.
...If the roadhouse had a snake infestation, Anita thought she would probably like working there a little less.
Russ made a beeline for the snake and planted himself right in front of it. The snake pulled up short and raised its head, looking at him.
“We talked about this,” he said to the snake.
It had to be just her imagination that the snake looked chagrined. It had to be.
“The only way to get a drink here is to order it at the bar once you’re over twenty-one,” Russ said sternly. “Sneaking into the supply room isn’t going to work, and if you try it again, I’m going to have to tell your parents. Now out.” He pointed at the door.
The snake reared up more, which must have made Russ think it was about to strike. It looked strange for a second, like it was—growing?
“No, no, no! Not in here. We have people here who are new to town, okay? They’re not used to... snakes.”
Great, so that did mean that snakes were a regular occurrence behind the bar. She was going to have her cowboy boots reinforced with steel to make sure no fangs could ever get through to her skin.