Chapter 7
7
MALCOLM
I ’m sitting on my couch reading about the rise and fall of the Roman Empire when my phone buzzes on the coffee table. This is the third book this week that I’ve read about Rome, but not the first three in my lifetime. My reading preferences range from Ancient Rome and the inner mechanical workings of anything to autobiographies and short stories. And the newspaper. I read the paper every day and am probably one of the last remaining people who still have it delivered to their front door.
Growing up, my friends used to look at me like I was crazy for reading them the headlines at lunch or choosing some dry looking textbook over a graphic novel. But I’ve always had a fascination with the world and the history of it. Pair that with an eidetic memory and I could tell you almost any fact from any book I’ve read in my twenty-nine years.
Reaching for my phone, I swipe my thumb across the screen to read the message.
Lily (Thursday, the bar)
Hey Malcolm. Have any plans for the weekend?
Seeing as how it’s Saturday, I’m going to assume she means do I have any plans tonight . My labeling system for the contacts in my phone helps me remember that this is the Lily I took home with me from Butcher and Block.
I’m working tonight - closing.
Her text comes in at the perfect time because I’m going to have to leave soon if I don’t want to sit in traffic. Standing from the couch, I pull off my glasses and set them on the coffee table along with my book as a new message from Lily comes in.
Lily (Thursday, the bar)
Would you wanna get together when you’re off? We had fun a couple weeks ago, I’d love to see you again.
Without meaning to, my brain goes to the image of Ophelia’s pale yellow dress pushed up above her waist. The softness of her skin, and the noises she made as I pushed inside of her. Her coy smile as she looked at me from the doorway ready to leave and how I wanted to lick it. I smash my eyes shut and shake my head, trying to loosen the memories of her that seemed to be hanging onto the insides of my brain.
I’ll text you.
Lily (Thursday, the bar)
I hope you do Have a nice night at work.
Tossing my phone down on the coffee table to go and get ready, I know two things to be true. One, I’m going to have to work a little harder than I normally do to wipe a certain someone from my brain. And two, that I’ll more than likely not be texting Lily at the end of the night.
* * *
I’m a few hours into my shift, managing the bar and making sure to check in with the team who I’m sharing the Saturday night shift with. Alice is here as we’re busy enough on Saturdays to need two bartenders and we work in tandem serving beers and slinging drinks. We take turns running orders to tables and rarely have to communicate who is doing what because we’re so in sync. It’s a busy night and there are bodies crowding every inch of the bar ordering or waiting on their cocktails to be made.
“Malcolm, we need more vodka if we’re going to make it through the night,” Alice calls to me from further down the bar. My eyes scan the scene in front of me and decide that if I’m going to run to get more, it has to be now.
“I’m on it.” Lifting the barrier and stepping out from behind the bar, I head for the storage closet in the kitchen, passing the back of house staff who are hard at work cooking and prepping food orders.
“Everyone okay back here? You all need anything?” They shake their heads and a few of the guys wave me off not lifting their heads from their prep stations. A lot of people don’t know how important the kitchen and back of house staff is to a restaurant but I do, so I always try to make sure they’re taken care of.
Reaching the liquor closet, I take the set of keys off the belt loop of my faded, worn out jeans to unlock the door. The lock is a small precaution we take in order to keep our friends working to get sober from falling off the straight and narrow. Only three people have the keys to this closet: Marshall, me, and our back of house manager Benny. I unlock the door, grab what I need, and lock it again before heading back to my place behind the bar. As I approach, I spy the hourglass figure of a woman who wasn’t there before sitting at a stool by herself. Moving behind the bar once more, the bottles of vodka clang together as I set them down on the counter. My eyes connect with Alice and I jut my chin in their direction so she sees them there before moving to stand in front of the newcomer.
“Well look who we have here,” I say, using a damp rag to wipe down the counter in front of her. Her eyes lift and she looks at me with a semi-stunned expression. The chocolate color of her eyes warms as the lights behind the bar illuminate them.
“Ahh, if it isn’t my post-wedding date.” Her lips curl up into a lustful smile and my eyes flit down to them without permission, reminding me of what they felt like against my own.
“Post-wedding date? I would say it was more than just that,” I challenge. “I hardly consider having a one-night-stand a ‘date.’”
“Darling, that’s all my dates ever are.” She lifts a brow at me as Alice leans in front of me, setting a drink down in front of her.
“Maybe you should find a man who will treat you to an actual date then,” I offer, trying to play it cool. Someone approaches the bar and orders a drink which I punch into our computer system. Quickly swiping their card, I open a tab for them for the evening and turn back to her.
“I much prefer my current arrangement with men.” Lifting the straw in her glass to her red painted lips, her eyes remain locked on mine as she wraps them around it and takes a sip. If I’m not mistaken, she is trying to egg me on. And it’s working.
I study her for a beat before leaning over the bar, holding myself up on my elbows. My face is level with hers and I don’t miss how her eyes flash towards my arms that stretch the short sleeve shirt I’m wearing. When she licks her lips, a cocky smirk grows on my face.
“I’m off at eleven, why don’t you let me take you home?” I offer, keeping my voice low and gravely.
She takes another pull from her cocktail before placing it down on the counter and leaning in towards me, mirroring my movements. At this point, our faces are mere inches apart and I feel the rest of the world starting to fade away. It’s as if the entire bar is empty and it’s just the two of us.
“Sorry, pretty boy, but I already have someone who I’m hoping will do that.” Her voice drips with control and confidence and the way she looks at me tells me that she knows that if she asked me to get on my knees for her, I would. “Besides, I don’t do repeats. I’m more of a one-and-done kinda girl.” When she winks at me I can feel the tension between us growing. I open my mouth to say something when a voice comes from behind her.
“Ophelia, sorry I’m late, traffic on the bridge. You look stunning tonight.” A man I don’t recognize places a hand on the small of her back and I want to reach across the bar and break his fucking fingers. She turns and looks up at him before placing a cordial peck on the side of his cheek.
“It’s no problem at all. Let’s go find a table.” She picks up her drink and he offers her his hand to help her down from her stool. As they start to walk away together, she turns over her shoulder and gives me a confident smile.
“Bye, pretty boy,” she hums, waving a few fingers in my direction as her date guides her to an open table. When I stand up straight, it’s more than just my hip bones that are pressed into the back of the bar.
* * *
Over the next hour, I’m forced to watch her on her date. The schlub she’s with is wearing a plaid button down shirt and slacks of all things. What the fuck does she see in him? A few times he leans in and whispers something in her ear and she throws her head back laughing as if he’d just said the funniest thing in the world. As I watch her from afar, I continue to take orders, clean glasses, and check in on the staff. As summer draws to a close, this will be one of our last few busy weekends before things around the city slow down and the tourist season ends.
“Hey, I’m slammed over here, can you take this to table twelve for me?” Alice asks, sliding me a cocktail. Having the tables memorized, I look up at table twelve and smirk as an idea takes shape in my mind.
“You got it.”
Walking over to her table, I smile confidently at the people eating and enjoying their evenings. As I approach, she catches my eye and tilts her head to one side. Once at her table, I set the glass down, and pull my lips back a fraction of an inch.
“Another cocktail for the lady.”
“Thank you,” she says slowly, following me with her eyes as I lean in close to her as I set it down.
“It’s the bartender’s job to deliver drinks to the tables when people order them. I’m Malcolm.” I offer my hand to the guy. He squeezes his eyebrows together before painting a confused smile on his face and taking my hand to shake.
“Malcolm, this is Jason. Jason, this is Malcolm.” Ophelia introduces the two of us. Her smile has hints of unease in it, unsure as to why I’m over here talking to them instead of just dropping the drink and leaving.
“Justin, it’s nice to meet you man,” I exclaim, intentionally getting his name wrong. “You’ve got a good one here. Ophelia is great.” I turn over my shoulder and wink at her which wins me a scowl. “I hope you can handle some pain though.” I pull the corner of my mouth back and grimace, finally releasing his hand.
“What? What do you mean, pain?” He nervously chuckles, trying to keep the mood light.
“Oh, she didn’t tell you?” I act shocked even though what I’m about to say is a complete lie. “This girl has all sorts of kinks. Whips, knives, bondage, she’s into all of it. I hope you’re ready.” I glance back at her and her jaw is practically on the floor at what I’d just said.
Clapping a hard hand down on Jason’s shoulder, the poor guy looks horrified. If he were wearing them, I’m convinced he’d be clutching his pearls. “Well, enjoy your evening.” I nod curtly to them both and walk away quickly before the laughs I’m holding back burst out. Before I’m too far out of earshot I hear her say, ‘That is not true. I don’t do those things, I don’t know why he said that.’
Back behind the bar, I fill more orders and smile at myself hoping I put a damper on their evening plans. I don’t know what it was but the thought of Ophelia taking anyone home with her made me feel…something I shouldn’t.
I don’t do feelings.
I hump and dump.
That’s what I do.
It’s what I’ve always done.
A group crowds around the bar and once they’re all taken care of, they leave to find their seats. As they do and the view of the restaurant opens up, I look over at her table and find her glaring at me. She might have a pissed expression on her face but what I care about more is that she’s looking at me and not the man sitting across from her. My lips pull back into a smirk and I wink at her again from across the bar. And even from the opposite side of the room, I swear I can see her subtly shaking her head at me.