2. Lincoln
lincoln
. . .
“How about another round, stud?” The blonde standing in front of me placed her hands flat on the bar top, trying and failing to push her tits together as she gave me a saccharine sweet smile.
Was that supposed to be alluring? I guess for some men, it was, but I’d done this job for a long time. This woman was on the prowl, looking for someone to show her a good time.
Unfortunately for her, that wasn’t going to be me.
“Sure thing. What’ll you have?” I asked, pulling out a line of glasses and filling them with ice.
She tapped her long, manicured finger against her lips in thought. I didn’t know who she was trying to fool, but it wasn’t me. She’d been sipping on vodka and cranberry juice all night, one of the most basic drink requests I could think of.
My dad always said you could tell a lot about a woman based on her drink of choice. I used to laugh him off because there were a lot of reasons for people to drink weird shit. Hell, every now and then, even I enjoyed a fruity little cocktail over a beer.
But working at this run-down bar in the middle of nowhere opened my eyes to the truth. I realized I’d spent too much time chasing after the vodka cranberry women over ones who knew how to shoot their whiskey.
As if on cue, the woman turned over her shoulder to the rowdy group of girls in the corner. “Who wants another vodka cran?” She was met with a chorus of cheers, and I smiled as I grabbed the bottle of clear liquor and began to pour.
They all wore bright pink sashes with different sayings in gold glittering letters. I couldn’t tell if it was a birthday celebration or maybe just a bunch of girls from the city running away to the mountains to “find themselves” at some kind of bullshit yoga retreat the hippies up there like to put on.
The woman, little miss Sexy & Single according to the words across her chest, turned back and slid her card across the sticky bar top when I told her the total. “Can I start a tab?”
“Absolutely, ma’am. Just be sure to stop by and close it out before you go. Wouldn’t want you to forget it,” I called over my shoulder, walking to the computer to input her payment. I slipped the card between the tabs of the Rolodex, noting the man’s name engraved into the card she’d given me.
Sexy and single, my ass.
I’d always liked working behind the bar. It was methodical. Practiced. Most of the time, the place was filled with local patrons who’d known me since I was a boy. They’d order a beer, and we’d chat the shit about this, that, or the other until closing time. But tourist season was in full swing since the weather was changing. Summer was coming, and as much as I hated to admit it, our little slice of heaven in the mountains was beautiful.
Pinecrest was a close-knit community, filled to the brim with that small-town charm most city folk sought when taking their family on vacation. The town held festivals once a month during the tourist season, and there was a local farmers market every weekend. Everyone participated in some capacity, usually wrangled into helping by Joan Wilkins, the chairwoman of special events who looked like the fucking crypt keeper.
“Oh-Em-Geeeeee!” a brunette squealed, running up to the bar and slinging an arm around her friend. According to her sash, this one was supposed to be the Dancing Queen . “I just love vodka crans. They’re the best. Don’t you just love them?” Each word is over the top and exaggerated, but she didn’t seem to notice or care about the looks the locals shot their way. She grabbed the drink and brought it to her lips before calling, “Girls, come get your drinks!”
The sound of screeching chairs and cheers for alcohol drowns out the sound of Hank Williams on the ancient jukebox. Each woman grabbed a cocktail, profusely thanking me for doing my job, before returning to their table.
“Goddamn tourists,” Frank mumbled, downing the rest of his beer with a grimace. “Why do they have to come here? To this bar?”
“I don’t know, old man. Maybe you should raise your prices to drive them away,” I said, smirking as I collected the empty glasses and placed them into the dishwasher.
Frank hadn’t worked behind the bar in years. These days, he was more of a silent partner, sitting on a stool and drinking his own stock while I ran the day-to-day operations.
If you’d asked me five years ago if I would’ve seen myself handing out beers to the same men I once looked up to, I would’ve told you my ambitions ran deeper. But all it took was one day , one mistake , for me to give up on all my dreams.
“Kid, this bar is more yours than mine. I tell you that nearly every damn day. I don’t know what else I could do.”
I held out my hand for his empty glass, filling it with a local craft brew before sliding it back his way. “Am I still considered a kid at 35? What’s the cutoff? When do I become an adult?”
“Fuckin’ smartass. ”
I opened my mouth to live up to my reputation but was quickly stopped by a dark-headed bombshell walking through the front door. She stood in the entryway, clutching her purse strap with a white-knuckle grip. Her eyes flitted around the bar, taking in her surroundings.
I didn’t recognize her, and she sure as shit didn’t look like she belonged in a small town like Pinecrest. This girl was the kind to turn every head in a room without trying, even if there was something wild in her eyes I couldn’t quite place.
I considered myself a good judge of character. Working this job had some perks, and that was one of them. I saw people in all their glory. I celebrated their highs and mourned their lows right alongside them.
And this woman? She was running from something or someone, of that I was sure.
When her gaze landed on the bar, she pulled her shoulders back and strode forward with a confidence I’d only seen a handful of times. She dropped her bag at her feet, sliding onto the worn leather stool. Her shoulders drooped a fraction, a hint of vulnerability peeking through before she turned steely eyes on me.
“ Goddamn ,” Frank muttered for the second time in less than five minutes. He really was a man of few words. “They don’t make’em like that ‘round here.”
I wiped my hands on the towel, throwing it over my shoulder. “What were you saying not even five minutes ago about tourists getting the hell outta your bar?”
The men behind me laughed, and I was sure Frank flipped me the bird as I passed by, but I didn’t care. Not when that beauty was staring up at me through long lashes, scanning my body in a way that made me want to fucking preen.
I’d never been that guy before. Sure, I wasn’t a fool. I wasn’t ignorant of the way women had stared at me my whole life. I took care of my body and my mind, but I wasn’t one to walk around like I was god’s gift to the female population.
“What can I getcha, darlin’?” I asked, placing my palms on the counter. “We’ve got the basics, and?—”
“Whiskey on the rocks,” she paused, closing her eyes before chuckling. “Actually, make it a double.”