Pour Decisions #2
“Maybe,” I smirk, and I move closer to Janice. I am curious now. Maybe even a bit intrigued. She moves her phone into the pocket of her navy skinny jeans.
“No, ma’am. I want to see your reaction when he comes in.”
“Damn, Janice,” Jace chuckles.
“You guys just like to torture me. This guy better be as hot as you say he is.”
“Fuck yeah, he is,” Jace cuts in.
“If you don’t go for him, I will.” Janice laughs as her boots clunk towards the kitchen. What happened to not mixing business with pleasure? The echoes of her boots soften the further away she gets. Her hips sway side-to-side as she struts through the double doors.
“Jace. You better not be fucking with me. It sounds like this guy looks like the perfect man for me, and perfect guys don’t exist. Believe me, I’ve lived and worked in this city long enough to know that.”My expression goes serious as I turn to face him.
“Thalia, if you don’t step up, I will swoop in before Janice gets a chance. Man has the best hair that I have ever seen. Tattoo-covered arms and blue eyes that could match the fucking ocean .” His emphasis lands on the last word.
His eyes gaze up at the ceiling. He looks as if he just pictured a four-course meal with cheesecake for dessert. “You got all of that from one picture?” I laugh, and my concentrated face turns into an upturned smile.
“Girl, yes. You will too once his fine ass comes walking in those doors.”
The night gets later, and more people crawl in from the crisp fall air. The Neon Rose Lounge is busier than last night, which isn’t much of a surprise because we get most of our business on Saturdays.
I must look ridiculous. My head turns towards the doors every time I hear the swoosh of them opening.
With curious eyes, I look at Jace. Their teasing earlier has me questioning if every one of the bar patrons is this mystery man.
Only to find out, it isn’t the “Pour Decisions” guy.
Each look he pairs with a shake of his head or him mouthing “fuck no.” Both are just as animated.
Way to be inconspicuous, Jace . This guy is going to wait until close to sign these damn papers. What a prick .
The damp microfiber towel in front of me, which I use to clean the bar, acts as my distraction.
I need to keep my mind busy. I will do anything to keep from looking desperate.
I don’t even fucking know this guy. The obsession with every little detail in front of me triggers a need to start cleaning the glasses.
I must have been scrubbing mindlessly. I look down and the glass is crystal clear, aside from the white material inside.
By the way those two salivated over this guy, he better be worth my anxiety and nervousness.
It was true, I hadn’t had a boyfriend in, well, ever.
Serious relationships never seemed to be worth the hassle.
I just never let myself settle with someone I knew I would regret in the morning.
Date after date had been a bit depressing.
Sitting in the same restaurant that every man in the city takes you to.
It’s a little over your price range. They think if you’re impressed with a thirty-dollar salad, you’ll let him in and spread your legs.
Sure, I will, because honestly, I have fucking needs too. Ha, do you see what I did there?
Anyway, the old question of “what’s your favorite color?” can only go so far. Let’s face it, neither one of us gives a fuck if I like red and you like orange. Let’s get this one-night stand over with and never talk to each other again.
“Hey!” My inner monologue is interrupted by Jace’s whisper.
Not a whisper. More like a quiet shout or a loud, breathy command.
I look up from the squeaky sound from my glass as my towel rubs against it.
He nods in the direction of the front glass doors.
Immediately, my heart beats faster. Why am I so nervous?
This is just a guy. A supposedly hot guy, nonetheless, but just a guy in the city.
Nothing more. Fuck, my face feels hot and I feel like I’m going to throw up.
Did I mention this is another reason why I don’t go on dates?
Shit, am I sweating? Well, great, now I feel like I am going to throw up, I’m nervous, and I probably smell bad.
Oh fuck, I didn’t even think about my breath.
This should help . I pour a shot of peppermint schnapps and lean my head back. Here goes fucking nothing.
I nervously watch as the doors swing open. The thudding sound of his boots on the hardwood floor vibrates along the bottoms of my feet and up my legs, stopping at my upper thighs.
“Bitch, turn around,” Jace whispers commands once again.
I guess I should do what he says. The nerves in my system mix with the minty shot.
Come on, Thalia, where is that mask of confidence?
My face says calm and collected bartender; my insides, however, are on fire.
My head is spinning. I don’t do flirting or dating. I am not made for this.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he begins. His smooth tone makes my heart beat faster, and the hair on my arms stands on end.
Sweetheart, what the fuck? What is this, the fifties?
Be calm, Thalia. Turn around, meet the new supplier.
Just get him something to drink. It will all be over soon.
He can’t be as good as they said. No one is.
Just turn the fuck around. Give him his drink and send him on his way to Janice.
Reluctantly, I turn around and face the mysterious supplier.
Oh, fuck.
Suddenly, I don’t mind the sweetheart comment.
He’s hot. Hotter than hot. His black leather jacket sits snug around his arms, unzipped just enough to see his tightly fitted black shirt.
I know I’m gawking at the man when I start to hear my mother’s voice in my head.
“Stop staring, Thalia, that’s rude. Now, fill this wine glass, would you? ” Yes, mother, of course.
I move my gaze up to his olive-toned complexion.
Well, from what I can tell anyway. Half of it is covered with a full beard connected to a mustache that’s just as thick.
His eyes– those eyes are like the ocean .
The way they contrast with his dark beard is–what do the kids these days say? Chef’s kiss.
Oh. God. And he smells good too. The scent of sweet bourbon mixed with his cologne radiates off him. Fuck, I am in trouble. Damn, I’m staring again.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks. The use of the nickname again makes my heart stutter. His deep and slightly accented voice sounds very familiar, with a touch of humor mixed in the way he asks.
“Yeah, I’m just a bit out of it. It was a busy night.” My voice is a little breathier than usual as my eyes scan over him.
“Yeah, where’d they all go?” He smirks as his hands gesture to the empty seats nearby. Damn it . I lean against the bar, in fear that I would fall from my knees, going weak. I wonder if he can tell my legs are turning into jelly.
“They just left.” I can smirk, too.
“Is that right?” His mischievous grin turns into a full-fledged smile across his handsome face. Well, fuck. Now, the rest of me feels like jelly as well.
“Yep.” I nod, desperately trying to appear casual. “Is there anything I can get you?”
“Yeah,” he pauses to think, as if to make me believe he doesn’t already know what he wants. “How about bourbon?”
“Coming right up.” Shit, where is our bourbon? Oh, good. There you are, you bastard. Still leaning against the bar, I begin pouring the brown liquid into the short, clear glass, the splashing sound filling the tense silence between us. Satisfied with my work, I slide the glass closer to him.
“Thanks,” he says while matching my gaze. Oh, shit. Don’t do that. “So…” Dear God, please don’t expect me to have a conversation with this man. I can’t think straight right now. “What time does this place close? I mean, I should probably know since we’re doing business together.”
“Three A.M. and you’re not technically doing business with me. That would be Janice. I just work here.”
“Well, Sweetheart,” there’s that word again. “You’re going to be pouring the product. So, I’d say we are in business together.” He brings the glass up to his lips, just peeking out from his facial hair.
“I suppose so.” I lean in closer. Holy shit! Am I flirting? No, that’s just my body trying to balance.
“What do you do when you get off work? If you don’t mind me asking.” His blue eyes shoot through me as he peers over his glass. Why can’t I think? What do I do when I get home? Do I even have hobbies? Damn, what is considered a hobby these days? Think, Thalia, think .
“Hey, Thalia!” Saved by Jace . He yells from his side of the bar.
He would say it was his normal voice. Anyone else would say yelling.
“You got any plans other than your usual nighttime routine?” What the hell?
You just happened to overhear our conversation, and now you want to add to my embarrassment of my bad attempt at talking to this overly attractive man?
“Routine? What is this routine of yours?” The mystery supplier’s eyes widen at the question. Oh, fuck. Jace, please don’t.
“Oh, yeah. Thalia has this set schedule when she gets home.” Jace announces with his hands on his hips. Well, this is fucking mortifying.
“Really? I’m intrigued. What's your name again?” He asks, setting down his glass.
“Jace, my name is Jace. And honey, I didn’t mention my name yet. But I’m sure you’d remember if we met.”
“Something tells me I’d remember meeting you, too.” There’s that smirk again. Oh, God. I think I’m going to throw up.
“Well, anyway. Every night, Thalia gets off work, she stops at her favorite Thai place then goes home and listens to her favorite true crime podcast.”
“Every night? You eat noodles every night?” His voice pitches up in question. His eyes dart toward me, and my stomach turns with butterflies. That’s never a good sign.
“No, not every night. Just when our tips allow me to.” I answer him as if I just broke my mother’s favorite vase.
“Oh, that’s damn near every night.” Jace cuts in.
“Does this podcast have a new episode every night?” Our new supplier asks, smiles and takes another drink of his bourbon.
“Not since last night.” Oh God, my voice is cracking .
“You listen to the same ones over again…?” He lets out a small laugh. His eyebrows raise in what seems like curiosity. Why do I feel judged? I don’t even know this man.
“Sometimes…” I reluctantly reply.
“It must be one hell of a podcast.” He crosses his arms across his chest and leans back in his chair. “What’s it called?”
“The Manhattan Murders Podcast.” My voice gets quieter, while I look down towards the laces of my black boots.
“You don’t say.” He bends closer with his elbows on the bar and licks the bourbon off his lower lip. If he keeps raising his eyebrows at each one of my answers, I’m going to get suspicious.
“Janice!” Jace yells in her direction. Oh, thank God .
“I believe you both have met our new supplier.” Janice’s heels clicking once again in our direction. “Janice Martinez.” She extends her hand for a professional handshake. His large tattooed hands engulf hers. Damn, I wonder how they would feel… Now is not the time, Thalia.
“Lee Reynolds,” he says, accepting her hand. Fuck. I knew he sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place his voice. Now, I know I am going to throw up. Are my eyes as wide as they feel? Shit. Shit. Shit .
“Girl. You okay?” Jace whispers in my ear. This time, in what I would call a normal whisper volume.
“No. Fuck . I don’t know.” I am in panic mode. My body feels like I am going to fall over and pass out. Shit, I just made a fool out of myself in front of the man I listen to on a nightly basis. “That’s one of the men in my headphones.” I know I’m trying to hide it, but my face shows everything.
“Bitch, you sure? Which One? ”
“I listen to him just about every night. I fucking know who Lee Reynolds is. He’s the producer. Yes, I am sure.” My tone is sharper than I intend it to be.
“This is fucking perfect.” He’s no longer whispering and it’s not helping my situation.
“What’s perfect?” Janice looks up from her conversation with Lee. My Lee. Okay, not my Lee. The Lee whose voice echoes throughout my earbuds on lonely nights. Fuck. This isn’t happening.
“Just the new business plan. Excited for the new product. Another great opportunity to see your baby grow.” Janice knows I’m lying.
I’m sure they all can tell. I can feel my voice cracking again.
I watch the smile on Lee’s beautiful face get wider.
He just watched me fangirl over him and I think I’m going to die from complete fucking embarrassment.
“Uh-huh. Well, Lee,” she turns to face him, “I believe we have some papers to sign.”