Chapter 9 - Charlie
S lipping into my regular seat at the end of the bar, I can see Porter eye me from across the room. I’ve become quite comfortable in my little area here and surprisingly, he's still his normal flirty self, even after I went on my I don't want babies rant, followed up with the we’re definitely not dating night. He doesn't seem to be overly bothered when my crazy pops out.
I picked this spot because it’s the business end of the bar, staff pass to get into the kitchen and Porter sometimes has to walk by to serve drinks and meals. I've also let him in on the secret of my usual drink, a bourbon and coke, hold the bourbon. The way he was so confused trying to make it, he asked me twice if it just meant I wanted a regular coke to drink. I didn’t mean to flummox him but every night since I let him in on the secret, he makes a little smirk when he pours it.
He’s attentive without being overbearing. Makes sure my drink is topped up when it gets below half a glass and he always asks what I want for dinner, even though I make a point to order the next item on the menu. So far, everything has been too delicious to pick a favourite. Tonight however, my glass remains empty and I can see he’s a bit under the pump with double the amount of people that are generally here for a Tuesday night.
A queue of at least a half dozen people are at the bar waiting and the usual girl, Mel, who works evenings is nowhere to be found. Standing, I look myself over in the mirror behind the bar and think about adjusting my messy bun, but really, this is as good as it’s going to get. I’ve been up since 6 a.m. and it’s now just past 6 p.m. So after twelve hours, most of them spent reading while I watch over Mila, I brush off my scrubs and get to work serving drinks to help. I keep meaning to ask him if I can help out anyways, so this is more like trial by fire.
“Charlie,” Porter growls at me, not less than two minutes after I served my first beer.
Sighing at his very typical and expected response, I can’t help but give him a little bit of sass. He should know by now that his tough guy act doesn’t scare me.
“You’re welcome,” I say smoothly, without meeting his stare.
I continue to crack the tops of a couple of beers, handing them to the man waiting patiently and taking the cash from his hand.
“I can serve a few beers, Porter. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see you're the only one working tonight.”
Looking over the small crowd forming he runs a hand over his face, clearly torn at what to do. Every night when I come in for dinner he tells me I work too hard but the reality is I feel like I've retired. Mila is my only patient. She doesn’t swear, spit, or try to lash out at me. Dante is checking in on us both constantly and she sleeps a large portion of the day.
Leaning toward him, I go up on my tip toes and whisper in his ear, “I’m ready and willing, Porter. Tell me what you need.”
His hand moves to my hip and squeezes it firmly, his breath heavy as I drag my fingers down his arm when I pull away. The look of lust flashes across his face for just a moment.
We have this playful banter between us and I admit, it probably crosses the line every now and then with how forward I am. But he has yet to do anything other than stare at me for longer than is considered appropriate for most people.
When his gaze skims over my body, I can almost feel it as he undresses me with his eyes. Each night, I try not to moan at the whisper of his breath on my neck when he cages me into the bar, standing so he is just barely touching me, his chest to my back, asking what I would like for dinner. I almost have enough courage to say you most nights, but I just stifle a moan and give him my order. My vibrator practically does nothing these days and the idea of trying to date seems taxing at best, even if he did suggest I do it.
I lean back against the bar as he agrees to accept my help, a decision that doesn’t come easy to him, but his brow releases a bit of tension as he accepts the reality of the situation.
“Okay, here are the rules. You must stay behind the bar and no going out to the tables where someone could grab you. I have zero tolerance for any of my staff getting groped. I don’t want to have to kill anyone tonight on top of us being busy. Blood’s not as easy as you'd think it is to get out of clothing, let alone the floorboards. But you’d probably know a little about that with your work. Anyway, I don't want to spend all night scrubbing the damn place clean, so just stay behind the bar.”
I can't help but grin up at him, grabbing onto the front of his black henley and pulling at him slightly as I bounce on my feet.
“You're letting me help,” I whisper scream in excitement, a small grin spreading across his face.
“Careful Porter, someone might see you smile,” I say laughing, looking up at him. Taking a half step towards me, the space behind the bar is so small that he's practically against me. Surrounding me in this all familiar cage he likes to create where he’s all around me but barely touching.
“Stay behind the bar, Charlie. Take cash payments only, and don't bother with the card machine.”
Moving closer still, his hot breath blows across my ear as he purrs, “I'm not above punishing you if you disobey me.”
Giving me one last look, he walks away, returning to take more orders out on the floor. Leaving me flustered and needy for something I know only he can give me.