3. Jesse
3
JESSE
“ J eez, Jesse, how long are you going to muddle that basil for?”
“For as long as it takes to make your drink right,” I said, shooting a look at Brooklyn on the other side of the bar. “Unless you’d like to take over.”
“God no.” Brooklyn grimaced. “I’ll stick to coffee and muffins, thank you very much.”
“Baking and cocktails really aren’t that different,” I said, shrugging. “A little science to both, a little bit of art. And both make people happy.”
I set his glass down and rummaged around for the gin on the shelves behind me. I’d been at the Flamingo for a couple of hours already before Brooklyn came in, but we were running a special on Spanish wines tonight, so I hadn’t needed to get the gin out yet.
“So you say,” Brooklyn said. “And yet everything I make always ends up too sweet, too boozy, or too watered down.”
“You’re overthinking it. At its heart, a cocktail is just spirit, sugar, water, and some amount of bitters or sour.” I turned back around and slid Brooklyn’s drink over to him along with a coaster. “Here, try this.”
He made a show of inhaling deeply like he was sampling wine before taking a sip. His face broke into a smile. “Delicious.” He smacked his lips. “I bow to the master. And this, by the way, is yet another reason you’re not allowed to leave Savannah. Who’s going to make me fancy drinks if you leave?”
“Any of the other bartenders here?” I said. “Or Charlotte herself? You’re here enough, I’m half-surprised she hasn’t adopted you by now.”
Charlotte was the purple-haired, tequila-swilling septuagenarian owner of the Flamingo. She was warm and welcoming and had a dirtier mouth than anyone I’d ever met. She’d set out to open an establishment where everyone felt comfortable, and while the bar wasn’t explicitly queer, between the pride rainbows everywhere and the giant mural of two women kissing on the back wall, it might as well have been. I would have come here even if I hadn’t worked here, and I couldn’t imagine Brooklyn stopping once I was gone.
“I might need her to. If you really do abandon me, I’ll need a grandmotherly shoulder to cry on.” Brooklyn made his eyes wide and earnest. “I’ll be inconsolable, you know.”
“You poor thing. You’re breaking my heart.”
“Good. That’s part of my nefarious plan to get you to stay.”
Brooklyn took another sip of his drink, but my attention flickered over to the front door, where a guy was walking in. Normally I would have taken a quick glance, then turned back to Brooklyn, but this guy—damn. He warranted way more than a quick glance.
Tall and broad-shouldered, with honey-colored hair, he was wearing a tight green T-shirt that clung to his pecs, biceps, and what I suspected was a set of washboard abs underneath. His warm green eyes darted around the room like he was sizing up the place.
I had to be honest, he didn’t look like the stereotypical Flamingo patron. No facial piercings, no gauges in his ears, no distressed grunge or flamboyant pink or even starving-art-student vibe. This guy looked preppy, clean-cut, and absurdly hot.
What the hell was he doing in here?
Don’t stare , I told myself as he approached. I mean, I was allowed to look at him a little bit. He was coming up to my bar after all. I could be friendly—just not too friendly. He smiled when he reached the smooth wood surface, and my stomach did a somersault.
“What can I—” I coughed, realizing my voice sounded strangled, and tried again. “What can I get you?”
That was better. I could still tell that being a foot away from this gorgeous guy had me tense, but hopefully he couldn’t.
“Hey,” he said, his voice warm. A shiver ran through me at the sound, and I hoped he hadn’t noticed. I could go swimming in that voice. It was velvety smooth. The guy scanned the taps behind the bar and nodded once. “Can I get whatever your cheapest draft beer is?”
“Coming right up,” I said, proud that my voice came out a little smoother this time. I poured him his beer and gave him a quick smile, then forced myself to stop looking at him. Or, at least, to pretend to stop looking at him. If I could talk to Brooklyn and still see this hot guy out of the corner of my eye, there was nothing wrong with that, right?
“You’re done already?” I gave Brooklyn an incredulous look. He twirled his empty glass around on the coaster sheepishly. “I just gave you that drink. Just because that one was on the house doesn’t mean they all will be. You gotta pace yourself.”
“Now, see. That’s perfect marathon running advice, right there,” Brooklyn pointed a finger at me. “You’re a natural. Made for long-distance running. If you leave before the race, you’ll never get to show us all what you can do.”
“I’m not running that marathon,” I said for what felt like the millionth time that day. “I embarrass myself enough as it is. I don’t need to go looking for more opportunities.”
“You won’t be embarrassed if you train for it and actually do it. Besides, think how buff you’ll get.” Brooklyn tossed a glance at the hot guy drinking beer and smiled wryly. I followed his gaze but jerked mine away when the guy looked up and made eye contact.
“I don’t even think that’s possible for me,” I said with a groan. “I think I’m genetically unable to get buff. Doomed to be skinny-fat for the rest of my life.”
“Well, you certainly will be with that attitude,” Brooklyn sniffed.
“Not that it’s any of my business, but it is true that you don’t tend to bulk up from distance running.” I jumped at the sound of Hot Guy’s voice and turned to look at him. His left arm was folded up on top of the bar, his right one bent and holding his beer. He smiled apologetically when he noticed I was startled.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No, it’s fine,” I said quickly. Who was I to tell a sexy stranger that he couldn’t talk to me? Not that I thought he was interested. There was no reason a guy who looked like that should be interested in me, even if he did like guys. But still, a little conversation never hurt anyone.
“Have you run a marathon?” I asked, tilting my head to the side and considering him. It gave me an excuse to look at him, and I liked what I saw. Now that his arms were flexed, I couldn’t help but stare at the muscles rippling under his skin.
Even if he was totally straight and had wandered in here by mistake, I could enjoy a little eye-candy, right? After the day I’d had?
“A few.” Hot Guy shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal.
“A few?” I repeated, my voice going up half an octave. I took it down before speaking again. “That’s impressive.”
“Eh, it was a weird time in my life.” Hot Guy took another sip of his beer and I tried not to make the fact that I was staring at his lips too obvious. They were pink and full, and I couldn’t help but wonder what they would feel like on mine.
“Well if you’ve run multiple marathons, maybe you can convince Jesse that he needs to run this one in July,” Brooklyn put in from over my shoulder. He gave me an innocent smile when I turned to glare at him.
“You’re running one in July? Where?” Hot Guy asked.
“Here,” I said with a sigh. “Well, just outside of Savannah actually, for most of it. Which is absurd—who the hell thought that it made sense to have a marathon here in the middle of summer? But it doesn’t matter, because I’m not actually going to run it.”
For the first time, I regretted saying that. It might have been nice for Hot Guy to think I was some kind of athlete myself. But who was I kidding? He could probably tell just from looking at me that I wasn’t.
“Why not?” Hot Guy asked. He looked genuinely interested, which was even stranger.
“Um, it’s kind of embarrassing.” I flushed. I didn’t really want to tell him about Tanner and I wasn’t sure how else to explain that I’d signed up for a marathon against my better judgment.
“Try me,” Hot Guy said. “I bet I’ve got more embarrassing stories than you. I’m Mark, by the way.”
He stuck his hand out over the bar and I took it out of instinct. A tingle went through me when our skin met, and my eyes jumped up to his. It felt electric, and for an instant, I could have sworn he felt it too.
“Jesse,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “And, well, okay, I guess. But prepare yourself for something truly pathetic.”
And prepare yourself to find out that I am capital G gay , I added mentally. If Mark was going to turn out to be a homophobe, I’d rather find out sooner than later. Not that it would necessarily stop me from thinking he was cute, but I could at least attempt to have some self-respect.
Mark took a long drink of his beer, then slapped the bar twice. “I’m ready. Lay it on me.”
I snorted. “Basically, my boyfriend wanted to do a marathon, and I thought that if I signed up with him, it would bring us closer. I’d never have done it otherwise. You can probably tell I’m not exactly Mr. Athletic. But yeah, I signed up, and then he dumped me, and now, to top it all off, he’s planning on running it with the guy he was cheating on me with. So, yeah. Not exactly something I feel the need to subject myself to.”
“Wow,” Mark said.
“I told you it was humiliating,” I said ruefully. “On several levels.”
“That’s not humiliating. That’s infuriating,” he replied. “I can’t believe he did that to you. What an asshole.”
“Well…yeah.” I didn’t know what to say. I agreed, obviously. But I hadn’t expected Mark to react that strongly to my story, or to me. It was kind of flattering. “I don’t know what I was thinking, dating him. I probably should have seen him for who he really was ages ago.”
“Eh, love makes us do stupid things,” Mark said.
“Like signing up for marathons?”
“Yeah, I guess that counts, too.” Mark cocked his head to the side. “So you’re dead set against running it, huh?”
“I mean, yeah?” Why did I feel like I was letting him down? I’d just met the guy. I didn’t owe him anything. It was silly to try to impress someone who’d never be interested in me anyway. And yet, I still felt this sudden urge to change my mind and tell him I would run it after all. “Why?”
The corner of his mouth crooked up into a smile, just revealing a flash of white teeth, and my breath caught. “I was going to say I’d run it with you, if you wanted a training partner or something. But if you really don’t want to do it…”
“What?” I shook my head, not sure I’d heard him correctly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brooklyn choke on the ice in his glass. “You want to run the marathon with me? Are you even registered?”
“Well, no.” Mark made a face. “I’d have to figure that out. But if there’s still space, I could sign up.”
“But why? No offense, but you don’t even know me. Why would you voluntarily sign yourself up for that kind of torture? And with a perfect stranger, at that?”
“You forget, I’ve run a few before.” Mark smiled. “They’re not that bad. I kind of like them, actually. And as for why, well, I’m new in town, and I don’t really have anything else to do, and training for a race takes up some time, so I just figured…” He trailed off and looked down at his beer, then back up at me. “You know what? Don’t worry about it. It was a dumb idea.”
“No, it’s not,” I protested. Because despite knowing him for all of five minutes, I apparently felt a need to convince him of that. What was wrong with me? This guy could have walked into any other bar tonight, and we’d never have met, and I would have been perfectly fine. But here I was, feeling like I would rend my garments and gnash my teeth if I made him unhappy. “Really. It was sweet, and I do appreciate it, but—”
I stopped short, hearing my words. Sweet? What was I thinking? That was not a thing you said to a stranger. I knew I was awkward, but usually I wasn’t this bad. Maybe Mark’s muscles were frying a circuit in my brain or something.
“I mean, not sweet,” I corrected myself. “Nice. It was nice of you to offer. I’m just not sure it would be any fun for you. I’ve never run more than three miles in my life, and that was on a treadmill in college when I had a crush on a guy who worked at the gym. Needless to say, that was a while ago. I don’t really think you’d enjoy running with me.”
“Three miles is a perfect place to start,” Mark said. “And honestly, I’m not that fast. Or competitive. I just thought it sounded like a good hobby to fill my time with. But no worries. I’m not trying to pressure you into—”
“Oh, just do it already,” Brooklyn said, and both Mark and I turned to look at him. He raised his eyebrows and looked back at each of us in turn. “It sounds like you both need something to do. At least, I know you do,” he said, pointing at me, “and don’t try to deny it.”
“Hush, you.” I shot him a dirty look, then turned back to Mark. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s not doing this for our own good, he’s just afraid I’ll leave town and leave him without his cocktail source, and he’s desperately trying to find ways to get me to stick around.”
“You’re moving?” Mark blinked. “I didn’t realize. You definitely shouldn’t put off moving just to run a marathon with me.”
“Well, I’m not like, moving moving. It’s just something I’m thinking about,” I reassured him, marvelling at the words coming out of my mouth. Thirty minutes ago, I’d been pretty convinced I was going to move back to Florida as soon as I could, and now I was thinking about putting it off for the indefinite future? Seriously, what was wrong with me?
That was an easy question to answer, though, when I actually thought it through.
After a month of feeling sorry for myself, and at the end of a terrible day, a hot, funny, hot, nice, did I mention hot guy was not just talking to me, but telling me he wanted me to stay in town so he could train with me multiple times a week for the next few months.
What else was I supposed to do but develop an immediate, overwhelming crush?
“Oh. Well, then in that case, you should definitely stay,” Mark said, and when he smiled, his eyes lit up, and my breath caught again. This was not good. “Because now that I know you can make a killer cocktail, what the hell am I drinking this beer for?”
He held up his nearly empty glass, and I laughed. “I promise, I’m a good tipper,” he added, and I felt something inside me shift. Was I really doing this?
“You’re sure you’re serious?” I asked him. “You want to run a marathon with a total stranger? Who sucks at running? And is probably going to whine and complain the entire time?”
“Never been more serious about anything in my life,” he said, smiling blithely.
“I doubt that,” I told him. But dammit, his eyes. His smile. His whole…everything. I knew better. I really did. I did not have the best track record with men, and jumping straight from a breakup with my ex to an irretrievable crush on a guy of undetermined sexuality was not likely to improve things. “But I guess I don’t have a good reason to say no.”
“Spoken like a true champion.”
“Spoken like someone who is probably going to annoy the shit out of you the first time we go for a run together,” I said. “But I don’t actually have a job lined up back in Florida, so I suppose I’m not in a hurry to be unemployed.”
“I’ll take it.” Mark grinned. “And I promise, we’ll do nice slow training runs with lots of water breaks. I’ll go easy on you.”
Go easy on me?
Fat chance. I’d already fallen. Hard.