19. 19 Mae
19: Mae
“ H ere’s your Moscow Mule,” I say from behind the bar of the Salty Dog—we’re back in Missarali—as I place the fruity drink before the customer, who I’m pretty sure is just scraping twenty-one. Amber checked her ID, though, since I’m not trusted to sniff out a fake one yet.
I got a part-time job to save up before I—hopefully—secure a position at a veterinary practice. I’ve already applied to a few across the country. Sure, I’m getting paid to cheer, but having something to occupy my free time is healthy.
I liked how quaint the little bar was, and when I came in with my resume, expecting them to tell me that the Help Wanted sign taped to the window was old and they’d forgotten to take it down years ago, Amber hired me on the spot.
It’s busy tonight since it’s Saturday, and Poppy came to support me.
“You’re sweating,” she says as she sips her diet soda, stifling a snigger.
“It’s called working , Poppy,” I tell her as I pile as many used glasses as possible into the tiny dishwasher. “You could help if you want.”
“Sorry, I’m too busy not listening.” She peeks back at her laptop. I appreciate her coming, especially because she has some assignments due, so she’s double-tasking, supporting me, and working on her essay simultaneously.
“Hey, Maya!” calls Jack from his stool, waving his empty beer glass. “Can I get a refill?”
I groan, taking the glass from him. “It’s Mae, Jack, and don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
Jack’s a regular. He’s here every time I work and spends hours drinking himself silly, but I’ve never seen him as drunk as he is now.
His eyes are glazed and unfocused, demonstrating the effect of countless hours spent nursing drinks in a stuffy bar. A scruffy beard frames his jaw, and his under eyes are deep and dark.
“Enough? It’s barely eight o’clock! Come on, I’d really appreciate another.”
I glance over at Amber, but she’s too busy handling the small crowd waiting to be served, looking frustrated as she tries her best to get through everyone in record time.
I study Jack, who’s swaying on his barstool, and his state is enough to make me shake my head. “Sorry, Jack, but you’ve had enough for tonight. Feel free to stay and have some water or coffee.”
Turning my back on him, I take the next person’s order, only to spot two large forms entering the rustic bar, looking very out of place in a venue with such low ceilings.
Poppy waves Nathan and Evan over.
My stomach tenses, and I quickly dab my forehead with a napkin, worried about Poppy’s earlier sweating comment. This is the last environment I want Nathan to see me in. I’m flustered. Stressed. And fed up. At this point, it’s making me question whether this job is worth the money.
“Poppy, did you invite them?” I ask in a whisper as the guys move through the crowd towards us.
She dips her chin in a nod. “Evan’s trying out a new nanny for a few hours, so Nathan wanted to get him out of the house.”
Judging by Evan’s face, he wants to throw hands, appearing to be the last place he wants to be. I don’t blame him, though.
“You said it wasn’t going to be busy, Poppy,” Nathan complains, but his eyes land on me, eyebrows hiking up in surprise. “Mae?”
I flatten down my apron. “What can I get you?”
“Why are you working here?”
I notice Amber’s lingering glance. She’s a nice girl—pretty quiet. But she takes her job seriously, and I know she’s seconds away from asking me why I’m talking instead of working when the bar is so rammed.
“I need the money,” I say matter-of-factly, ignoring Nathan's concern. I know bar work is stressful, but during the week, it’s pretty much dead—it’s only because there was a hockey game down the road that it’s now packed.
Nathan presses his lips together in what seems to be worry, but he keeps quiet for the most part, his eyes travelling down my entire length before he snaps them back up.
“Hi, Evan,” I say in an attempt to distract myself.
He nods, his jaw stiff. “Can I get a coffee, please, Mae?”
“Of course.”
There are so many people here that nobody notices Nathan and Evan, especially since their caps shield their faces.
Had I known that caps could act as masks that prevent people from noticing you, I would have bought one and begun wearing it around my mother long ago.
As I serve people, I can feel Nathan’s eyes on me. He’s watching my every move, studying anyone that talks to me. Looks at me. Breathes near me.
He doesn’t touch the water Amber’s placed in front of him, and by the time Jack snaps his fingers at me and says, “Can I get another drink over here?” the bar has quieted down.
Nathan raises his eyebrows and takes a look at Jack. He opens his mouth to speak, but Evan taps at his bicep, stopping him. I imagine he doesn’t want a scene.
“Jack,” I sigh, “I’ve already told you you’ve had enough for tonight. You won’t be getting any more drinks.”
He doesn’t like my reply, and he stares angrily at me, his fingers wrapped around his coffee mug—I gave him one about forty minutes ago to shut him up—so tightly it looks like he’s trying to strangle it. But with his strength, Jack couldn’t strangle a marshmallow. “I’m at this bar every damn day, and you think you can just show up out of the blue and cut me off? I’m the reason this bar is even staying in business, you little bitch!”
“Woah,” Evan calls, scowling.
Nathan immediately stands, the sound of his barstool scraping back rumbling over the soft country music playing from the speakers. He towers above Jack, head tilted and his eyes daring. “What the fuck did you just say?”
Jack’s face flickers with concern, but he doesn’t let up. “You heard me. I’m a paying customer, and it’s within my right to be served a beer when I ask for it. Since when did a woman belong in a bar anyway?” His words slur.
A chuckle slips past Nathan’s lips, but it’s not out of amusement at Jack. The laugh carries an intimidating tone. He places a firm hand on Jack’s shoulder, jostling it slightly. “Alright, here’s what you’re not gonna do, buddy.” His eyes are piercing. “You’re not gonna sit here like some entitled dick, demanding alcohol you clearly don’t need. You’re not gonna make sexist comments about the women who work here, and you’re most definitely not gonna call her a bitch in front of me again.”
Jack’s tongue darts out to wet his dry bottom lip, eyes shifting to Nathan’s large hand that’s still gripping his skinny body.
“Nathan, it’s fine,” I say, placing my hand on his that’s splayed out on top of the sticky bar counter, but as soon as I do, I snap it away, realising we’re surrounded by people who would view the action as unprofessional.
Luckily, it doesn't look like anybody noticed.
I turn to Jack. “I’m not putting up with this crap today, Jack. I may be new to this bar, but I’m not a pushover, and after speaking to me like that, you need to get the hell out.”
He seems shocked at my remark, but after a few seconds and another glare from Nathan, he stumbles towards the door, grumbling under his breath.
“Come back and apologise when you’re ready,” I tell him before he leaves, my eyes narrowed into slits.
“Wow,” Amber snickers, applauding me as the door slams shut. “I loved that.”
“I’m not putting up with being called a bitch, especially not by a drunk old man who thinks I work to serve him beer all day,” I huff, wiping my clammy hands on my apron. I’m riled up, and Nathan can clearly tell.
Are you okay? he mouths at me, and I roll my eyes and bob my head up and down.
The way he’d stood up for me—he’d seen red, and watching him that protective of me did weird things to my stomach. The warmth in my cheeks is betraying me.
He still looks incredibly ticked off, his jaw popping as he intertwines his fingers. Leaning his elbows against the bar counter, he takes a deep breath, and though Evan and Poppy act oblivious to his reaction, I know they can see how the altercation has affected him.
“Mae, do you mind changing the Sprite keg in the basement? The syrup’s run out,” Amber asks me. “Be careful. It’s heavy.”
“Sure. I got it.” I need the escape, and I take a breather once down in the dimly lit basement, the cold air making my nipples harden against the cropped dark green T-shirt I’m wearing. My upper lip is no longer sweating, and I lean against the frosty wall. “Fuck my life.”
“You sure do have a potty mouth for someone who looks so sweet on the outside.” The voice makes me turn, and a small gasp escapes when I see Nathan standing at the entrance to the basement. He turns his cap backwards so I can see his face. “Only me, princess. No need to scream.” The corner of his lip quirks up. “Unless you want to.”
I scowl at him. He’s getting braver. “What are you doing down here?”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay. And Amber said you might need help changing the keg.”
I’ve been shown how to do it once before, but I can’t lie and say I remember how to do it step by step.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for sticking up for me. You didn’t have to.”
He’s wearing a hoodie today, almost as green as his eyes. I like it, and I have a sudden urge to steal it. As women, I’m pretty sure stealing men’s hoodies and claiming they’re ours has become instinct at this point.
Nathan cocks his head. “You handled Jack well.”
“I know how to stick up for myself. I’m an independent woman.” I wince. I know it doesn’t look like it when it comes to my mother, but she’s the only person I let get away with treating me like crap. I’d love to call her out on her shitty treatment, but we need something from each other right now, and I refuse to stoop down to her level and join in with the toxicity she brings to the table.
I move over to the stack of kegs, grab the Sprite from its pile, and roll it towards the pipe the old keg is hooked up to. My biceps complain, and my eyebrows scrunch up.
Nathan’s eyes twinkle as he chuckles. “I can see that.”
“Did you come down here just to laugh at me?” My tone is semi-playful, but I side-eye him.
“No,” is his response as he lifts the keg off the ground and carries it over to its tap, dropping it down as if it weighs nothing. His arms ripple, and I give my eyes permission to check him out.
I find lengths of muscle. There’s such raw power in his frame. That night in his bed…fuck. It’s all I’ve been thinking about. He’s all I’ve been thinking about. I so wish I’d had the confidence at the time to reach for him. Touch him. Pleasure him.
“Thank you,” I say, gesturing to the keg.
There’s a brief pause, but then Nathan steps around the keg, boots thundering against the concrete. His forehead creases as he looks at me, eyes so scorching I feel like I’m burning alive. “Do you know how easy it would be for me to kiss you right now?”
My heart stops, shock coursing through me like an electrical current. The comment ignites a hurricane of emotions inside me, and I attempt to swallow the lump in my throat but fail miserably.
“Nobody would know. Nobody would see,” he continues, his finger finding my chin.
My entire body is tingling. My skin is on fire, and Nathan is the only element that can put it out. I need his lips on mine. His hands on me. I’m just as bad as the horny football fans that want him. But I want the real him. The real Nathan Slater. Not the cocky heartthrob they see on TV.
I force my face to deadpan him, though. “Who says I want that?”
“Don’t pretend you look at everyone the same way you look at me, princess.” The corner of Nathan’s lips curl.
“Look at you, how?”
“Like you want me to fuck you.”
Oh shit. My body is working on autopilot.
My breath hitches, and as I take a challenging step towards Nathan, our chests almost touch. Warmth emanates from him.
My heart is rattling against my ribs. I feel like they’re about to break, but the pulse is addictive.
The air between us crackles with an unspoken challenge, Nathan’s eyes flickering with desire. As the seconds stretch out, every one of them feels like an eternity, the both of us daring each other to bridge that gap. To make the move. To cross that boundary.
“Fuck it.”
Arms snake around my waist, pulling me to a hard chest. I immediately respond as Nathan’s lips find my own.
God, am I going delirious? This doesn’t feel fucking real.
Our bodies fit so perfectly together. All I can do is moan into his mouth as he swipes his tongue across my bottom lip, demanding entrance.
I’m self-conscious that I smell like old wood and sweat, but it doesn’t seem to bother Nathan if I do.
Electricity rockets through my body. My fingertips. My Legs. Right up my spine. It’s making it almost impossible to feel okay with telling myself that in a few months, I won’t have this anymore. Mine and Nathan’s ships will sail away from each other.
Because we’re very much on different paths.
My breath is hard to catch, and the more I chase it, the more desperate I feel for this not to be the one and only time I’ll kiss Nathan Slater.
His large hands cup the back of my neck as our lips explore one another’s, fingers tugging at my hair, forcing a subconscious moan from me. The kiss is full of desperation, my hands clawing up his chest and gripping his hoodie between white fingers.
I can feel his boner against my stomach—hard and thick—making my head spin. I know I’m soaking through my underwear and jeans, and I want nothing more than for him to unbutton them and feel it for himself so that he knows what he does to me.
Nathan pulls back and looks at me like I’ve hung the moon. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to do that?”
“I thought you hated me.”
“I hated the way you made me want you, princess. But I never hated you .”
I scrunch my nose up. “Well, that’s a shame, Nate. Because I hated you.” I attempt to suppress my brewing giggle.
“You’re going to regret saying that one day,” he tells me, lips melting against mine again before Amber’s voice yelling for us above the basement causes us to pull away.
Then, I spend the next two hours of my shift having to pretend that Nathan Slater—the man sitting and waiting for me to finish my shift with his sister, pretending to be interested in her assignment just so he can stay at the bar—isn’t altering my brain chemistry beyond recognition.