CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Callahan
There’s something about day drinking that makes everything better.
And there’s definitely something about having a beer or two while on the clock that feels like a quiet fuck you to my brothers for the ultimatum they gave me before I left.
The one that keeps eating at me when I have two seconds to think straight outside of this massive influx of information I’m trying to process.
Talk about drinking water through a firehose.
Besides, it’s been two weeks of nose to the grindstone, and it’s high time I made friends with the head bartender at the resort. I’ve always found bartenders have a finger on the pulse of the guests and the management they work for.
Keone didn’t disappoint with his inside information on the other resorts that are slowly wheedling our staff away. At the complaints he hears the guests grumble. And at what he sees from where he stands as an observer and a listener.
Besides, I found it much easier unwinding by chatting with a three-hundred-pound Samoan gentle giant than fighting the good fight against Sutton. Because I’m tired, I have a headache, I’m horny, and I’m more than sexually frustrated.
What’s in it for me is a whole lot of nothing, if I’m honest.
“She wants you, you know.”
“Excuse me?” I ask Keone.
“The lady at the end of the bar. She’s eyeing you like she wants you for dessert,” he says, his accent subtle as he keeps his head down while running a towel over the counter beside me when it’s not even dirty.
I know who he’s referring to. I’ve caught her looking a few times since I’ve been here. She’s pretty in a mom way. No doubt she has two kids back in the room who are constantly fighting, is tired from taking care of everyone, and just wants thirty minutes of fun.
Definitely not my scene, but I still feel for her needing a break.
“Yeah. I saw her,” I murmur before taking another sip of beer.
“Wouldn’t be a good wingman if I didn’t tell you.” His laugh thunders around the patio, and I dare anyone not to smile at the sound of it.
He takes care of a few more customers as I watch the ebb and flow of foot traffic. Most people are heading to the beach. Some are heading to the pool. Others look like they definitely forgot to put sunscreen on and need to stay out of this strong Caribbean sun.
My mind drifts to Sutton and her bullshit one-night stand ploy in the office earlier this week.
Was that supposed to make me jealous? Make me fight harder and want her more?
I want her all right. That’s never been in question.
Was it supposed to make me figure out the answer to her fruitless fucking question that the more I think about has no real answer to?
Fuck.
“What’s got you so serious, man?” Keone asks on the next pass around.
“Tell me something. When a woman asks what’s in it for me, what the fuck is she actually saying?”
Another roar of his laugh. “You got women problems? Jesus, that doesn’t bode well for me with you looking like you do and me looking like I do.” He rubs his round belly and flexes.
“Not women problems. Just . . .”
What the fuck are you doing, Cal? Asking advice from the bartender about a woman you just met because you need to find an answer to an impossible question so you can get laid?
Let’s add rambling thoughts like an idiot to the list while I’m at it.
“Just . . .” Keone leans an elbow on the bar and asks.
“It’s nothing.”
“That’s bullshit, but I respect a man keeping his business, his business.” He takes a sip of water and wipes the beads of sweat off his head with a handkerchief he pulls from his back pocket. “But I tell you this, Boss Man, women like three things. To laugh, to feel wanted, and little gestures.”
“Little gestures?”
“Yes, man. It lets them know you care and—”
“It’s not like that,” I say. “It’s—she’s—”
“Ahhh,” he says, drawing the sound out. “I hear you. I feel you, brother. She’s not putting her clothes in your drawers anytime soon.” He fist-bumps me. “Nothing wrong with that now, is there?”
I chuckle and down the rest of my beer instead of responding.
“You in the game playing phase. You chase or she chase?” he asks and slides another beer in front of me without asking.
“That’s the question of the day, isn’t it?”