Chapter 8
Val
Five ‘til. I wonder if he’s going to be late? He’s usually here by now.
With one minute to go, he rushes through the door breathlessly, glancing at the large clock face above the bar.
“Shit, Grandma’s slower than molasses on ice,” he grumbles, heading to the sink.
“What does your grandmother have to do with almost being late?” I know he wasn’t, technically.
But still worth giving him a little shit over considering he’s almost always been fifteen minutes early.
“I had to take her to the pharmacy to get her meds. No one else was available. Not even her doctor son.” His blue eyes roll towards the ceiling as he scrubs.
Fighting the smirk at his melodrama is an Olympic event.
“So you’re like the errand boy? Cute.” I have the right employee then. Better than my sullen-ass brother who fought me every step.
Sawyer’s shoulders rise and fall with a big sigh. “I guess. I mean, I don’t mind. It just kinda sucks that they just expect it.”
I’ve noticed that when he starts getting down on himself, his lower lip sticks out in a subtle pout.
He glances at the order rack. “Oh, no food yet?”
“Nope. Slow so far. I’m going to catch up on cutting fruit. I’d like you to restock before it gets busy.” I dig out the tub of limes from the cooler and prop them on my hip.
His easy grin raises his cheek. “Sure, no problem. Liquor then beer?”
“Never fear,” I quip out of habit.
But his nose wrinkles. “Huh?”
When I laugh and push through the swinging doors, he follows me like a puppy.
“The saying is ‘liquor then beer, never fear. Beer then liquor, never sicker’.” Dropping the plastic container on the bartop, I wipe down the cutting board before pulling out a paring knife.
“What does that mean?” His fingers scratch the back of his neck while his forehead furrows.
I can’t resist pointing at the knot between his eyebrows. “Sheesh, kid. Didn’t anyone teach you about drinking?”
Red flushes up his cheeks, but he shakes his head.
“Don’t mix drinks. That’s the best advice to avoid a hangover. And stay away from the sweet shit.” I wave the tiny blade in his direction, then point at the stairs. “Hell, that’s the answer to life, too. Remember that.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His words drift behind him as he disappears through the door.
Hmph. I’m not old enough to be a ma’am.
Am I?
“Hardly,” I grumble to myself.
I’m nearly done with the limes when the first wave of people arrive.
It’s always in groups. Even if they’re all alone, it’s like some telepathic signal goes out, drawing them in.
I’ve grown to accept it.
Two older men slide into the stools nearby.
“What can I get you boys?” I give them the same smile and nod as they order.
A couple of whiskey sours, and the night has begun.
By the time Sawyer comes up with the next case, I have three pending food orders to redirect him on.
Without a word, he takes the slips and u-turns into the kitchen.
“Who’s that?” One of the older men gestures toward the swinging door as I slide his next round in front of him.
“Oh, that’s one of my helpers.” I always prefer to not drop names of anyone.
And Sawyer has always come across as the shy type.
“So not your boyfriend?” The first jostles his buddy with a grin.
I let out a throaty laugh. “No man can tie me down.”
It was a mistake I’ll never make again. Chris turned out to be an absolute monster. I should have seen the signs early when he would get rough with me.
But I never expected the level of evil I had married. Joining a group of vile men to rape and murder? Behind my own bar?
Yea, that’s a fuckup I don’t ever want to repeat. I’ll happily remain single forever.
“Don’t look so sour, sweetheart. Have a drink with us, we’ll bring a smile to those pretty red lips.” The first one looks old enough to be my father.
His buddy looks like his dad.
Ew.
“Gosh, wish I could.” It’s always easier to play them off. “But I’m not allowed to drink with the customers.” I’ll never tell them that I’m the owner and made up that rule for myself.
“Come on.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “Your boss won’t know about just one.”
“Maybe some other time.” I whisk myself away to take orders from a new group seating themselves near the pool tables.
Pushing into the kitchen, I hang up the slips and lean against the counter. “How’s it going?” I exhale hard, blowing a stray lock of maroon hair away from my eyes.
Sawyer pauses and pushes his baseball hat up. “Fine. I got the two pizzas cooking and the cheese sticks have—” He leans back far enough to glance at the wall. “—two more minutes.”
“Oh good, I have a chance to hide.” Reaching into the fridge, I grab a diet soda and twist off the top.
He blinks at me and glances towards the bar. Side stepping closer, his palms flatten on the counter and he leans in near enough I catch a scent of leather and fresh grass. “Is there someone out there getting ornery with you?” His voice is a deep rumble, but quiet enough it stays between us.
When did his nuts drop? He sounds like a man all of the sudden.
“No.” I wave him off. “Sometimes people just don’t seem to understand why someone who is single doesn’t want them.”
His spine straightens to tower over me. “That ain’t right.”
“It’s fine. I’m used to it. Gotta have a thick skin to work in a bar.” I flash him a smile as the minute hand slips another spot.
He shakes his head, then pulls the basket out of the fryer and dumps the contents into a little cardboard snack boat.
“Thanks.” I slide them onto a plastic serving tray along with one of the cooked pizzas.
My butt taps the swinging door, but I stop. “Hey, Sawyer?”
“Yea?” He pauses to look at me.
“I’m glad you’re here.” It’s nice that someone has my back.
Just in case.
I’ve known him since he was a kid. Well, I missed a few years in the middle, but he’s always been kind.
A good friend to my brother.
I could probably trust him more than most guys.
His crooked smile is the last thing I see before heading back out to the busy bar.
Old man number one tosses up his arm as soon as I glance at him.
“In a minute,” I yell over the growing din.
Between the jukebox and the talking, it gets loud in here on a normal day. When the band is playing, it’s almost deafening.
The lecher winks at me and gives me a thumbs up.
I try not to sigh too hard over the food on my way to the table.
On the way back, I plaster on the smile. “Okay, boys. Another round?”
“Actually—”
Oh fuck. This can’t be good.
“—we’ve been discussing this. Since you can’t drink with us, would a hundred bucks let me take a body shot?” His white eyebrows wag over the gap in his teeth.
I pretend to contemplate it for a second. “Hmm, I don’t really think—”
“Two-hundred.” The second guy drops a c-note on the bar.
“What, just to watch him?” I point to the first with a confused look.
They both dig into their wallets again, dropping more bills. “Five hundred.”
The first douchebag is practically drooling staring at my tits.
“Hmm. You want to spend that much, just to see someone else take a shot off of me?” I tap my chin.
They both eagerly grin.
“Just a second.” I swipe up the money and push in through the doors.
Sawyer has the second pizza boxed and the new order already cooking.
Damn, he is getting good at this.
“I have a proposition.” I wave the wad of green between us.
His Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow. “Okay?”
“These two jackasses want to give me this to see someone take a body shot. Want to split it with me?” I’m not too proud to admit I’ve done more for less.
Running a bar is expensive.
“What does that mean?” he stammers, shifting to cock his hip against the counter.
“Not much really.” I shrug, giving him a smile. “I’d trust you over any of those bozos.” My thumb jerks over my shoulder.
His nose wrinkles and his lower lip pouts out slightly. “I guess. But I don’t know what to do.”
This time it’s my turn to blink at him. “You poor, sheltered, boy. Come with me.” I grab his wrist and tug him with me back into the noise.
I flash the bills again to the two old men. “Alrighty, one body shot coming up.” After stuffing the cash into my pocket, I pour a glass of tequila and grab a lime, then hand Sawyer the salt shaker.
“Go ahead.” Pulling back my head lifts my chest, front and center in my tank top.
Sawyer’s cheeks pale, then flush pink. “I, uh.” He looks at me helplessly.
A flash of guilt goes through me. He really is clueless.
My fingers tangle in the front of his shirt to pull him down until my lips almost brush his ear. “You need to lick each breast, sprinkle salt on it. Then, you swallow the drink, taste the salt, and take the lime.” When I let him go, he almost stumbles backwards with a dazed look.
Jesus Christ, I’m going to give Mason a smackdown next time I see him.
Poor, naive, Sawyer.
“Ready?” I smile sweetly up to him.
His hat moves almost imperceptibly with his slight nod.
When I wedge the small glass into my cleavage, he looks like he’s going to pass out.
“If he can’t do it, I can!” The second idiot is gaping so absurdly his false teeth fall onto the counter.
“Fuck, Alvin, get your shit together,” number one grumbles at him, but his gaze never leaves me.
“No, he can do it. Right?” I bat my lashes at Sawyer.
I hope he knows it’s part of the theatrics.
His big blue eyes squeeze tightly, then he focuses on me and flips his hat backwards.
Dang. He’s kinda hot with a little more of a badboy look.
What is wrong with me?
When his scalding tongue touches me, it almost sizzles against my skin.
He licks a tentative path, then switches to leave a matching burning trail on the other.
I help him by sprinkling the damp lines with the little white granules.
“Now drink,” I whisper, guiding him.
When he straightens and reaches for it, I hold up my palm.
“Can’t use your hands. It’s the rule.” I wink at him so both the onlookers can see.
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Stupid groan in unison. “I’m telling you, I know what to do!” The older one is practically bouncing in his stool.
Shit, his adult diaper is probably going to fall off if he keeps that up.
Sawyer’s forehead knots, but his hand drops.
The pink triangle of his tongue runs over his pouty lower lip before he bends, his mouth barely brushing my sensitive skin to close around the rim.
Why am I so engrossed in watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows the alcohol?
With a grimace, he drops the cup into his hand and sets it on the ledge.
“Salt,” I exhale.
His head drops, and his warm palm cups my elbow lightly as his mouth works over one of the sprinkled lines.
“Okay, now the lime?” His voice is hoarse.
“This one.” I pick up one of the slices, then pinch the rind between my teeth.
He mouths the word “fuck” and his nostrils flare with a rapid inhale.
Is it that bad?
I showered before work. I don’t stink, damn it. I smell like mint and coconut.
And I’m pretty sure he likes girls. Shit, does he have a girlfriend and I’m putting him in a hard spot?
Now I feel like crap. I should have asked.
Before I can pull out the fruit, his hands frame my cheeks to hold me as he lunges in, tugging the sour slice from my teeth with only the faintest brush of his mouth against mine.
The green wedge practically glows against his red face, but then he quickly tosses it into the garbage.
Without a word, he pushes past me into the kitchen.
Well, hell. I may have screwed the pooch.
But it’s too busy to stop.
Crap.