Chapter 1 #2
I like to think I’m Montrell’s favorite bartender, too.
One night, after using a particularly creative and vulgar insult to tell off a handsy trucker, he almost smiled.
When the other bartenders confirmed they’d never seen even a twitch of his lips, I gave him a free drink to show my appreciation.
After that night, he started tipping me twenty percent—twenty-five if I wore a red bra.
I’ve tried to make him actually smile ever since with increasingly debauched jokes, but he only crooks his eyebrow as if to say “is that all you got?”
When I mentioned the increase in tips to Chloe and Maddie, we conducted an experiment to see if bra color made a difference with anyone else.
Eileen demanded a cut of the wager when she found out and tried to convince us to participate in a wet t-shirt contest. Maddie won first place and still has the “Lynden’s Best Tits” sash made out of toilet paper hanging from her cubby in the back bar.
Eileen got second place. Carlos got third.
I’m restocking the back bar with refills from the cellar when Maddie bumps my shoulder.
“Heads up, babe. Colt just walked in,” she says with a wink and laughs as I groan, rolling my eyes.
My on-and-off-again fuck buddy and I don’t actually like each other.
When we’re not “on”, I try to put as much distance between us as possible.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, however, and ever since junior year of high school, we’ve been circling each other like sharks.
Wearing his signature crooked grin and shooting me “the eyes”, he gives Eileen a tight hug and peck on the cheek, startling when she grabs his ass before picking out a seat next to Bert.
“Hey darlin’,” he greets me in that deep, delicious drawl that sends a thrum of awareness through my body when I set his usual drink down a few minutes later.
We’re currently “off” again because he’s been dating some girl on the rich side of town for the last few months.
Last I heard, it was going well, but Bert has occasionally been known to be wrong.
“What’s this ‘darlin’’ nonsense, hmm?” He laughs, holding my gaze and brushing my fingers when he takes the glass out of my hand.
His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows the first sip, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of breaking eye contact.
The man knows precisely how charismatic he is. It’s a shame his personality is shit.
“You know me, Nyx. Nothing keeps me away for long.”
“What’s your girlfriend have to say about that?”
“I doubt my ex-girlfriend cares right ‘bout now, seeing as how she’s hangin’ off the arm of some suit at a fundraiser or something that her daddy’s puttin’ on.”
“I see now,” I tease, “little Colt is feeling lonely.” He scowls at my use of the loathsome nickname reserved especially for him and sneaks his arm around my waist, pulling me in for a side hug despite my antagonizing. When he turns to whisper in my ear, his hot breath tickles the hairs on my neck.
“Lonely, horny. Call it whatever you want if it means I get to watch your tight ass riding my cock,” he mutters, and my breath hitches when he grazes his lips against my skin.
Thank fuck for Bert blatantly clearing his throat.
I remove his hand from my waist and back away as if the physical distance can erase the effects of his words and negate my rising irritation at his unrepentant smirk.
“Colt, fuck off with that shit while I’m at work.” Chastised and entirely without remorse, he raises his hands in feigned innocence. I roll my eyes once more—frankly, it’s a miracle they haven’t fallen out of my face—and make my way back to the bar.
A few hours and several drinks later, Colt comes up behind me as I’m closing out the register, slipping his warm hands under the hem of my shirt and around my waist. He chuckles when I growl, pressing his chest against my back.
“What are you doing after work?” he asks, rubbing his thumbs against my lower back, kneading my tight muscles. As much as I could probably use a good fuck after the week I’ve had, I have too much self-respect to be a rebound.
“Ask me again next week,” I say, leaning into his warmth and looking at him over my shoulder.
While I refuse to be a stand-in for his ex, I am more than happy to steal a few moments of comfort from a familiar body.
I’m momentarily knocked off balance at the intense look of longing and something like—regret?
in his eyes, before it disappears when that thousand-watt smile comes back out to play.
“I’ll hold you to it. Maybe we can do something for your birthday.”
I smile, surprised that he remembered. “You’re a day early, but I appreciate the thought.”
“Nah, just wanted to be first in line,” he says with a wink. I blow him a kiss and he clutches his heart like I’ve struck him with Cupid’s arrow, and I shake my head to hide my blush. The door has barely closed behind him when Maddie and Eileen flank me at the bar.
“Are you ever going to give him a real shot?” Maddie teases, closing out her last customer on the register next to mine.
“Hell, Nyxie,” Eileen starts as she grabs her pack of cigarettes from behind the bar, “if you don’t want him, I’ll take him.”
“You’d eat him alive,” I drawl just as sarcastically. She cackles, lighting up a cigarette .
“Gotta keep young somehow,” she mumbles around it, and I bark out a harsh laugh as she leaves to bus the last few tables.
Half an hour later, the bar is closed and Eileen locks up.
Carlos stays with Maddie and I while Sheriff Royce’s patrol car idles, waiting to escort Eileen to the after-hours bank deposit box.
Before I know it, the door to my just-this-side-of-condemned apartment locks behind me.
On autopilot, I undress in the bathroom and soon the groaning shower pipes rattle, spitting out tepid water that flows down my spine.
My soaking hair cascades around my face, shrinking my world down to the swirling bubbles pouring down the drain, washing away my thoughts along with the dirt and grime.
Long after my body is scrubbed raw, I linger under the dwindling spray.
Long after my skin pebbles in the humid air, and my hair creates rivulets of ice-cold water that trace my veins, I linger in that quiet, shrunken world.
And as I finally crawl under the cold, lonely sheets of my bed, sleep welcomes me with promises of peace.