Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
I walk around the cabinet, reminding myself of the rules and why they exist, grab a pack of wipes and clean myself up. A few shirts hang in the closet from what I picked up from the dry cleaners earlier. I grab a gray one and slip it on, and then bend down to look in a mirror on the wall and fix my hair. When I’m ready, I walk out and down the hall. I push open the door to the main part of the bar. My ears are instantly assaulted by the noise.
Women touch me and call me by my name. I’m treated like a rock star in this bar. I’m friendly, say hi, but keep moving. I lift the panel and step behind the bar. Eddie smirks. He thinks he knows what’s up, but really, he doesn’t. He doesn’t see my heart about to pound out of my chest, or the way I look toward the bathrooms anxious to see her again. He doesn’t notice that I bring down the most expensive tequila in the bar and mix up a Paloma for a woman who’s not even here. Nope, I smile and pretend I just got laid. Sure, I came, harder than I have in a long time and I wasn’t even inside her. But I was with her and that in and of itself, was worth coming over.
I pour two glasses of white wine and make a margarita before Constance makes her way back to me and finds a vacated barstool. I deliver her drink and lean in so she can hear me . . . Fine, I pretend that’s why I lean in. I just like being near her. “It’s a Paloma. I like it with salt shaken in, but I’ll leave that for you to decide.” I set the saltshaker down in front of her.
“Why did you make me a Paloma?”
“When this drink is made right it’s delicate on the palate.” I take my fingers and suck the tips into my mouth. Her eyes are glued on my mouth, her lips parted, and her breath picks up when I pull my fingers slowly back out. “The grapefruit with the club soda balances the liquor. It’s sophisticated, but refreshing, like you.”
“Thank you,” she replies.
“You’re welcome.” A lady with a strong east coast accent calls my name. I recognize it instantly. I’ve never slept with her, but that’s not due to her lack of trying. Before I go, I add, “By the way, your hair looks beautiful down. You should wear it like that more often.”
“Maybe I will.” Her smile is wide and relaxed. She takes a sip of her drink.
I wink and walk to serve the other lady, but keep my eye on Constance. That’s when it happens. Giant hairy mitts for hands hide her eyes when someone comes up behind her. When she turns, her eyes go wide, obviously recognizing this douche. She’s okay, so I help Mitzi, from the Upper East Side. If her friends only knew how she trolled Brooklyn for hookups she might not be so easily accepted on the social scene of Manhattan.
While blending Mitzi’s favorite drink, a banana daiquiri, I glance down Constance’s way. She steals a glimpse of me before the asshole snaps his fingers to bring her attention back to him.
Asshole.
Ohhhh. Is that the asshole that stood her up tonight?
I serve Mitzi and another woman vying for my attention, then check on Constance. Standing right in front of her, I rest my hands on the bar. “Everything okay down here?”
The asshole flashes a fifty, and replies, “I need a hoppy IPA, and the lady needs another.”
Figures. IPA’s are generally bitter, similar to the taste he’s left in my mouth. I look to her and sadness has crept up on her, a lot like this guy. She pushes her empty glass away, and mouths, “I’m sorry,” but says, “I’m good, Hardy. Thanks.”
Asshole says, “Hardy, be a good barkeep and run along and get me that beer. Seems I’m drinking alone.”
Ignoring him, I stay focused on Constance. “Hey?”
“Yeah?” she replies quietly.
“I can throw him out if you want.”
That makes her laugh and it was worth being belittled by him to hear that effervescent sound. “I’m good.”
“Well, just let me know. I know a guy.”
“The boss.”
“Yep. The boss.” I leave her to go get that bitter beer for the asshole. When I set it down, as much as I want to spend time with her, I don’t waste time and hang around with him there. My bar is packed and three people deep down the length of it. I get to mixing.
I find time to drop off a fresh drink for her and then another. I start to think I might have to cut her off soon. The asshole is taking her laughter and smile as an open invitation and crowding her. She’s nice enough not to complain, but it pisses me the fuck off.