1. Dee
Chapter one
Dee
Present Day
“Hey, shithead. Divert your eyes before I start charging you,” I snap at the newly twenty-one-year-old Chad. Brad? No, his ID definitely said Chad.
It doesn’t matter. He’s a twerp on the other side of my bar, which means I need him to keep his eyes north of the equator or he needs to move the fuck along.
“Can’t blame a guy for looking.”
I grimace and gag. Dramatically. Because fucking ick.
“Actually, I can. Get away from my bar before I ask muscles over there to show you the door,” I say with a nod toward Paul, our security guy. I refocus my attention on the drink I’m making for the service bar, watching Tweedledee scamper to his crowd of man-child friends in my peripheral.
Sex on the beach. Shit, I should remember how to make that by now.
It’s been three weeks since I was called into the biggest conference room at Keller’s Financial, along with more than one hundred coworkers, only to walk out with a small severance, termination of benefits, and the word layoff ringing in my ears.
I shouldn’t have been shocked. The signs were there—I was a data analyst, but I wanted to hold onto hope.
Hope that the job I had been working my ass off for wouldn’t be ripped away from me when I was finally thriving.
Things were easy, basically second nature.
I had built a solid team around me and a social support network.
I’d been at Keller’s for almost eight years.
I put in the hours and paid my dues at entry level.
I finally found that ever-elusive balance between my work life and real life. All that effort, down the drain.
What a turd sandwich of a month.
I still have to tell my family…my friends.
I’m going to. I’m not one to keep secrets—not many, anyway—but I expected to find a new job quickly.
I applied to thirty jobs the day after the layoff.
Impressive fucking work if I may say so, considering the four margaritas I had the night before to ease the pain and disappointment.
Even hungover, I locked in the next day—admittedly not until two in the afternoon, but I was able to get my resume updated, polished, and pushed out to thirty potential employers.
Ten replied before the end of the week, requesting an interview.
Which leads me to now. Ten interviews done and not a single callback. Not even when I sent a thank-you. Not even when I called to follow up and express my continued interest in the position.
Ghosted. Fucked over by the man again.
So here I am. Trying my hand at bartending. It’s…not going well.
“Jasmine?” I whine to my coworker. “Sex on the beach. Please help.” I slap my hands together in prayer, the service ticket for the drink crumpling between my palms.
“Eh, don’t recommend. Sand really works its way into unforgiving places, never to be seen again, but always felt,” she deadpans.
I stare, waiting for sweet mercy. She shakes her head.
“Dee, you know this. Peach, orange, pineapple, cranberry.”
“You’re so wise. Thank you.” I throw her a salute and get to making the drink, fully aware that while the ingredients might be correct, the proportions are probably a little off.
I’m so screwed. How long will they keep a bartender on staff who can’t make a simple drink? I’m not willing to play that game, so I need to find another job and find it fast. I pull my next service bar ticket. Thank God this one’s just a bottled beer.
“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” I hear a familiar voice drawl from behind me.
Dammit. I’m not ready to talk to anyone about being laid off. Especially not this someone. Not until I have a plan in place. Besides, Ellie, one of my best friends, is surprising her husband, Dom, with a vow renewal next week, and I’m not about to be the party buzzkill with this kind of news.
I grab the bottle and place it on the service bar mat with the ticket.
“Really, Dee? You’re going to ignore me?” he prods.
“I’m not ignoring you,” I say, turning with a too-sweet smile to finally face Dylan.
His dark blond hair is gathered in a tight bun, something new he’s been doing since he let his hair grow long, and his perfect smile is framed by just the right amount of scruff.
Tattoos peek out from underneath the rolled sleeves of his black button-up shirt on his right forearm.
He’s collecting looks from women around the bar already, and I can respect that.
Hotties recognizing hotties and all. “I’m just busy. ”
“Didn’t know you picked up a side gig,” he says, eyeing me with a hint of confusion, folding his arms as he leans against the bar top.
Fuck yes. Thank you for the save, my man.
“Yeah, you know me.” I shrug. “Can’t stay still for too long. Needed something fun on the side. The extra cash doesn’t hurt either,” I lie easily, thanks to his assumption. “What are you doing here?”
“Meeting up with a couple of coworkers to talk through our schedule for the next month.” He nods toward a table near the back corner of the bar where several others are already seated with drinks.
“Don’t you work at a bar? Why drag your coworkers out here?”
“What? And miss out on this friendly service?” His lips tilt.
“I don’t think any of my customers would call my service friendly.” I cross my arms and lean against the back counter stacked tall with liquor bottles, my default stance when dealing with pain-in-the-ass customers. A little on the defensive and a ten on the I-don’t-give-a-fuck scale.
“Oof, that bad?” His brows furrow, eyes scanning the bar to his left and right.
Working in a similar environment, I’m sure Dylan can probably empathize with a shitty night of customer service.
“Eh, nothing I can’t handle.” I sigh, my posture softening.
Maybe I let a bit of hopelessness bleed into my voice, just a small moment of weakness, because Dylan’s eyes lock on mine and hold.
His assessing stare starts to feel like it’s about to lead to an interrogation, so I break away from his gaze and grab another service ticket, not fully reading it, too aware of his lingering attention.
“Well, you let me know if you need back up,” he says, uncertainty ringing in his hesitation.
I turn to the taps and fill a tall glass with draft beer. I walk past Dylan to place the drink on the mat for the server to pick up, the movement helping me once again shove down any frustration over my circumstances. When I face him again, I feel locked in and ready to put on my bravest face.
I rest my palms along the edge of the bar and pop a hip, leaning closer and keeping my voice low. “You don’t have to worry about me, Dylan. I’m a big girl.” I wink. “Now, what can I get you? Don’t be a pain in the ass. Make it easy and tip like you’re trying to impress me.”
His eyes warm, and his shoulders relax, any bit of concern he might have had clearly dissipating.
Good. I don’t need him running his mouth to Dom or one of the girls that I was here.
It’s one thing to let him assume the wrong thing and not correcting him.
But if my girls asked me about it? I couldn’t lie.
I’d have to admit to what’s been going on, and I’m not going to shit all over Ellie and Dom’s vow renewal with my stupid drama.
He picks up one of the drink special menus and spends a few seconds skimming the list. “How about a very berry mojito?” His eyes glow as he peers at me over the top of the sticky, laminated pamphlet. “With extra berries.”
I narrow my eyes. “You asshole.” I groan, reaching for the muddler. “Why don’t you muddle your own berries. Better yet, bend over and let me show you right where you can put—”
He laughs, large and loud, holding his palms up in defeat. “All right, all right. A beer. Dealer’s choice.”
I reach behind me, tugging on the handle of the cooler, grabbing the first bottle I feel without looking. I slide the bottle opener from my armband, pop the top off the bottle, and place it on the bar in front of him.
“That’ll be thirty dollars.”
He laughs, throwing down forty, not bothering to call me out for upcharging the literal fuck out of him.
“Thanks for the generous tip,” I say, blowing him a kiss as I walk away.
I hear his laugh all the way to his table, where he joins a small group of people.
I watch him for a second, always interested in how people act in their real life versus work life.
Dylan couldn’t seem more relaxed. He appears to be his usual self—charismatic, charming, low-key, chill—even with the people he works with.
Must be nice. I haven’t ever known that kind of ease in the workplace.
Even with the level of familiarity I’d had with my coworkers, I still had to be on all the time to be taken seriously.
A man in his forties stumbles over to the bar. “Hey, beautiful. I came for another drink but…wow. I didn’t expect to find royalty behind the bar.”
Aaaaaand there goes my good mood.
I look at the obnoxious, clearly wasted guy at my bar, leaning far too heavily on the structure for support. Pointing at the door, I roll my eyes and bark, “Out.”
I glance at Dylan only to find that his relaxed demeanor has evaporated.
His shoulders are tense and he’s standing, his bar stool pushed back.
He looks ready to sprint over here. And he’s staring at me with an intensity I’ve never seen from him before.
I’m distracted when Paul and another one of the security guys approach the bar.
After confirming this guy is way too drunk to be served, Paul escorts him out of the front door.
My eyes meet Dylan’s from across the bar, and even though the music is loud, I can hear every word in that look.
Do you need me?
I shake my head and he visibly softens. A small nod is all I get before he sits, refocusing his attention on his coworkers.
Dylan and I have known each other for years, but truthfully, it’s not often he and I spend time together alone.
There was more than enough chemistry between us when we met, but neither one of us have ever made a move to pursue something more.
Have I considered it? Absolutely. Having both been designated the smart-asses of the group, he speaks my language.
Confident, over the top, and impossible to ignore.
We give each other more shit than anyone else in our circle.
Hell, just weeks ago we were at each other’s throats over something so small I don’t even remember what it was.
I do remember refusing to give in and loving the battle of wits he’s always ready to bring to the table, but it’s never crossed that line.
But in this moment, I’m grateful he’s here. In this bar I never expected to work in, at this point in my life, when I thought I’d have everything figured out. I’m relieved to have someone I trust in my corner tonight, even if I can’t explain everything that’s going on.
I spend the rest of my night feeling more comfortable than I have since I started. And it isn’t until I’m home in my apartment that I recognize that look Dylan was giving me all night. It was protective.
I smile at the thought. Isn’t that cute? Dylan thinks I need protecting.
I’ll have to remind him who the fuck I am.