14. The Situationship
14
The Situationship
Mojito (shaken)
In a cocktail shaker, combine a sprig of mint, 2 ounces white rum, 1 ounce lime juice, and 1/2 ounce simple syrup. Lightly muddle. Fill the shaker halfway with ice. Shake, then strain into a lowball glass. Top with club soda. Garnish with mint and lime slices.
DANNY
T uesday was ladies’ night, and I’d hoped Lucie would stop by the bar. She couldn’t drink red wine or her favorite negroni or the scotch she forced down when she was feeling insecure, but I’d been experimenting with nonalcoholic drinks I thought she might like. In fact, I was toying with the idea of a whole menu of mocktails.
“Danny-o!” Tad plopped onto a stool at my end of the bar. “Why the long face?”
“Just thinking.” I pasted on a fake smile. “The usual?” I grabbed a cocktail shaker and assessed the droopy mint, holding in a sigh. Once the ladies saw me mix up Tad’s drink, it’d be nothing but mojitos for the rest of my shift.
“Don’t forget I like it in a martini glass.”
I gritted my teeth and tossed a few mint leaves into the shaker, then poured in the rum, lime juice, and simple syrup—extra for Tad—and mashed it with a long-handled spoon. I tossed in a few ice cubes, shook it, then strained it into a martini glass. After splashing in club soda, I garnished it with a lime and a sprig of mint.
Carefully, I set it in front of him. “Anything else?”
“You know, in my neighborhood bar, they do a sugar rim.”
I winced. “We, uh, don’t have too much demand for sugar rims. We’re more of a beer and whiskey bar.”
“I keep telling Aunt Barb she needs to go more upscale. Maybe when she retires and gives me the bar, I’ll rebrand it. Give it a speakeasy vibe, sport coats required, you know?” His gaze lingered on the hem of my T-shirt, where I’d caught it on a dish rack earlier.
I smoothed my hand over the rip. “I’m buying the bar, remember? You were here on Barb’s birthday when she announced it.”
He leaned closer. “Assuming you and your brother can get the cash together.”
My stomach tightened. “We’ll get the cash.” If only to shove it in Tad’s smug face when I told him mojitos were off the menu.
“Sure.” His tone gave it about the same probability of a blizzard in hell.
“Tad!” Barb waved from her side of the bar. “Come say hello.”
He rolled his eyes as he slipped off the high stool. “I hate that low part of the bar. It’s the first thing I’ll get rid of.”
“It’s one of the few wheelchair-accessible bars in Rincon Hill,” I said.
He picked up his drink. “People can roll up to tables. No one wants to sit at a table-height bar.”
“People who use wheelchairs do.” I glanced over at Barb’s section. There were two people in wheelchairs bellied up to the bar. “And lots of folks like it.” A man had hung his cane on the lip of the bar. His date sat beside him, making flirty eyes.
“Not me.” He stalked off toward his aunt.
“Prick,” Leo said, grabbing a glass from the rack over my head.
“If things fall through for us, that prick’s going to own this bar,” I muttered.
He put a comforting hand on my back. “Nothing’s gonna fall through. You always figure shit out.”
“We always figure it out. Together.” I surveyed the bar I loved.
Lucie stepped through the door into the foyer. But instead of coming into the bar, she turned up the residents’ hall and trudged up the stairs.
“She looks tired, huh?” Leo said. “She okay?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her much since we dropped off that baby stuff last week. Just a couple texts. She said she was fine.”
“Maybe you should check on her. We’ll be good for a while. It’s not too busy.”
I glanced at the thin crowd. “Okay. I’ll ask Norm to make her something to eat.”
“Nah, he’ll just fry her up a burger.”
“She loves burgers,” I said.
“I know, but she’s eating for two. I’ll make her something more nutritious. Give me fifteen minutes.” He disappeared into the back.
I made sure there was enough glassware in both sections of the bar and took out the trash. As I washed my hands in the breakroom, Leo presented me with a sack containing two to-go boxes. “Ta-da.”
“What is it?” I started to pry open the box on top.
Leo put his hand over the top. “No peeking. Just take it to your lady love.”
“She’s not my ‘lady love,’” I protested.
“Fine. Your baby mama and neighbor-with-benefits situationship.”
I didn’t correct him about the benefits situation with Lucie. That part of our relationship was, if not completely over, at least on a break while she figured stuff out.
“Thanks for this,” I said. “I’ll be back to close.”
“Sure you will.”
What the fuck was it with people? I always followed through on my promises. I’d figure out how to buy the bar and support Lucie and our child. I always found a way.
Upstairs, I tapped on Lucie’s door. “Hey, Lucie, it’s Danny.”
When she opened the door, her computer screen was the only light on in the place. She wore fuzzy socks, leggings, and an oversized sweatshirt. She had on a pair of glasses that made her eyes look extra big, and she blinked up at me. “What are you doing here?”
“I brought you dinner.” I held up the sack. “Have you eaten?”
Her stomach rumbled, and she stepped aside to let me in.
I flicked on a light in the entry and walked into the kitchen, where I turned on more lights. I washed my hands, then hunted in her cabinets until I found a couple of plates and some utensils.
“Why don’t you make yourself at home,” she said wryly.
“Are you drinking enough water?”
She walked to her desk and carried back an almost-full glass of water.
“Good effort,” I said. “Be sure you drink that with dinner.” I opened the containers. The top one held two chicken breasts nestled into pasta with Leo’s special spinach pesto. The bottom one held a salad. How had he found greens and raw veggies in Norm’s kitchen? Leo was a culinary magician.
I divided the salad, pasta, and chicken between two plates and carried it to her table. Then I pulled out her chair. “Come sit. Leo made the food, so I’m sure it’s good.”
She sank into the chair, and I scooted her closer to the table. I went to get myself a glass, filled it from the tap, and joined her across the table.
Lucie already had a mouthful of food.
“How is it?”
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling as she chewed and swallowed. “You’re wasting him in that bar, you know. He should run a restaurant.”
My shoulders crept up toward my ears.
Deliberately, I lowered them. “He wants to run the bar with me. And he made this downstairs. He and Norm could work something out.”
She raised her eyebrows and took a bite of pesto-coated chicken.
“Maybe we can coax Norm into early retirement,” I said.
She didn’t dignify that with an answer but dug into her dinner. When our plates were clean, we cleared the table.
“You can go back to work.” I plugged the sink and started filling it. “I’ll clean up.”
“Really?” She tipped her head to the side. “Okay.” She padded back to her desk.
I washed the dishes and put them away, then I wiped down her counters and table. She was still working, so I swept the kitchen floor too. I refilled her glass from the pitcher in the refrigerator, watching her shoulders hunch as she typed. That couldn’t be comfortable.
I imagined what it must be like to have Lucie’s job, to work at her desk at the newspaper all day, then return home and work at her desk into the night. Tending bar was hard on my feet, and the hours were shit, but at least I could move all day. I wouldn’t trade places with her for the world.
Gently, I rested a hand on her shoulder. “Is this okay?”
The keys clacked under her flying fingers. “Sure, I guess.”
With light pressure, I kneaded her shoulders until they eased away from her ears and I didn’t feel a knot under my hands. As I worked up the vertebrae at the base of her neck, she groaned. “Feels good.”
“Yeah?” I stroked from her neck down between her shoulder blades.
“My shoulders are so tight.” She moaned.
My dick stiffened. It remembered another part of her that was tight. Gritting my teeth, I pressed my thumbs into the outsides of her shoulders, then moved them an inch toward her spine and pressed again. I repeated the motion until my thumbs met her backbone. Then, like my physical-therapist sister had taught me, I curled my fingers over the front of her shoulders and pressed my fingertips under her clavicle into the hollow, against her pectoralis major, to counteract her typing hunch.
“More,” she said, leaning her head back. Her long eyelashes fanned across her cheeks. I shuffled back half a step. I did not want her to lean too far back and figure out I had a hard-on. As I dug my fingers into her muscle, I tried not to imagine letting my hands drift lower to the tops of her breasts. To move over the swell of them and cup them from underneath, to feel their heavy warmth in my hands, to run my thumbs over her nipples and hear her breath catch as pleasure lit her up inside.
I failed. Completely.
I failed so hard that I imagined I heard her gasp. But when I looked into her face, it was relaxed. She wasn’t worked up like I was over a G-rated shoulder massage.
Her hands had fallen from her keyboard into her lap. I bet a hand massage would feel great too, so I ran my hand to the cap of her shoulder and opened my mouth to suggest it, but she straightened.
“I’m going to bed,” she announced.
I lifted my hands and rolled back her chair. “Good. You look like you could use some sleep.”
She stood and arched her brow. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t mean—I’m sorry. You’re gorgeous, even when you’re tired.”
She tightened her lips. Was she trying to hide a smile? “That’s your job, you know. You did this to me, so the least you can do is tell me I look pretty.”
“I…I’m sorry?”
“Don’t worry about it.” She moved her hand toward me like she’d lay it on my arm but snatched it back at the last minute. “I’m joking about it being your fault but not joking about saying I’m pretty.”
“You’re beautiful,” I said. It was true. Despite the shadows underneath, her dark eyes drew me in. I wanted to kiss her more than anything.
Her plush lips kicked up on one side. “Thank you for dinner. And for cleaning up after.”
Those lips. I blamed them for the babble I was powerless to stop. “I can come by anytime you like. I could talk to Barb about switching up my schedule. I could come up and make you dinner. I’m no Leo, but I’m a decent cook. And on Saturdays, I don’t usually work until after seven, so I could be here all day. I’ll clean your place, arrange all the baby stuff?—”
“That’s sweet,” she interrupted me, “but I’m good. My friends have offered to help.”
“Okay.” My stomach felt heavy like I’d eaten one of Norm’s burgers.
“Hey, no pouting,” she said with another sexy smile. “I’ll let you know if I change my mind, okay?”
I nodded and trudged to the door. Of course she’d accept help from her smart, accomplished friends and not from a bartender.