A Guy Walks Into My Bar

by Lauren Blakely

  “Oliver? Really?”

  Fitz nods.

  “But I’d never met him. He’d heard about the bar?”

  Fitz strokes his beard. “If memory serves, last summer when I told him and Logan I was headed to England with Emma, he said, ‘Don’t forget to check out The Magpie. Some of my mates over there were raving about it. It’s their favorite local bar.’”

  I nod, understanding now. “And you thought, naturally, I hope the hot bartender there likes dick?”

  “Fuck yeah.”

  I laugh. “Yet another reason I love you. So fucking relentless.”

  “I am absolutely relentless. And admit it,” he says, poking me. “Admit you’re glad I went there. Admit you’re so fucking happy I went to The Magpie to check out the rumor about the hot bartender.”

  I lean in close, brushing my lips against his ear. “You know how much I like that you showed up. As in . . . love.” I pull away, taking a moment to savor the view—his blue eyes, his chiseled jaw, his trim beard, and most of all, his smile. It just does something to me every time he flashes it my way. “And I should thank Oliver for the tip.”

  “Wait. Want to know what else the guys said to me when they mentioned it?”

  “I do.”

  Fitz’s expression softens, sliding into that smile that’s my undoing. “Logan said, ‘Maybe you’ll meet someone with an accent just like Oliver’s who’ll sweep you off your feet.’”

  “So, really, both of your mates were right. I definitely owe them a thanks.”

  He nudges my side. “What will you say? Thanks for sending that irresistible sex god into my bar?”

  “Yes. That. Precisely that,” I deadpan. I stare off in the distance. “Funny. You went from sex god to besotted fool in love in, what was it, five days in London?”

  “That’s all it took?” Fitz asks dryly. “I thought it was less.”

  “If memory serves.”

  “Then I’m guilty as charged. I’m both.” He taps his chest, owning it. “I’m still both. I can multitask.”

  “You are definitely both,” I say. “Those are among your pros.”

  “You better not keep a list of my cons.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I tease.

  Fitz grabs my arm. His eyes plead with me. “Say it’s all pros. Your list.”

  “Say it or mean it?” I toss back.

  “Both.”

  I run my hand over his where he’s gripping me, giving him the reassurance he sometimes seeks. And he always deserves. “Don’t ever forget it only took me five days to fall in love with you too. So, yes, the list is all pros. You are all pros. Now, let’s be good boys and go see our guests.”

  He grabs my ass, squeezing. “Good. And then a little later, I am going to strip you naked and have my way with you. Because I am seriously hot for my husband.”

  “Yet another pro. Also, ditto.” I smooth a hand down my tie, then straighten his. “There. We look presentable now.”

  “We won’t later,” he adds.

  “I know. Trust me, I know.”

  We head back inside, scanning the guests. Summer and Oliver are sharing a slice of cake. Logan and Bryn are dancing slowly. Ransom stands at the bar, his elbow resting on it. He tips his forehead at Fitz, who nods back at him. His teammate then returns his focus to a pretty redhead, who’s laughing and, it seems, making him laugh.

  “He does seem rather hooked on Teagan,” I whisper.

  Fitz peers at his friend. “Yeah? How can you tell?”

  “He looks at her the way you and I looked at each other when we first met. Perhaps at the teahouse. Wait. That was a little risqué. Possibly how we looked at each other at Sticks and Stones.”

  Tilting his head, Fitz regards them like he’s gathering data. “Or maybe how we were on the Harry Potter bridge. Or outside the Tube station?”

  I toss him a wry grin. “Well, if he looks at her the way we did outside the Tube station, this whole boathouse will go up in flames. I know I did. That’s when you told me how much you loved fucking me.”

  He laughs heartily, draping his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go with the riverboat cruise, then. That was moderately chaste for us. But I was also pretty damn hooked on you by then. And that means he’s screwed if she doesn’t feel the same.”

  “Do you think he’s even aware he’s got it bad for Bryn’s best friend?”

  Fitz shrugs, lowering his voice another notch. Not sure. But he had his heart broken a while ago, and at laser tag the other week, Bryn and I were saying she’d be good for him. Whether he figures that out is anyone’s guess, but she did win him at the charity auction.”

  “The one you’re never participating in again?”

  Fitz holds up his hand, running his thumb over his platinum band. “Um, yeah. Taken. Hello? But that raises an interesting point. Would you have bid on me? Like, say you never met me, hypothetically. And you went to the auction and saw me onstage. In the Win a Date with a Player auction.”

  I laugh. “You’re assuming I’d have been at the auction.”

  “Work with me. Pretend you were. Pretend I’m onstage all smoldering and sexy. You’d have bid on me, right?”

  This man. He has always made me laugh. “No. Of course not.”

  “Why not? I’m irresistible. You said it yourself.”

  I set a hand on his back. “I’ve seen the way you stare at me. I’d never need to bid on you. You’d have jumped off the stage and into the audience just to ask me out on a date.”

  Fitz pretends to consider this. “You are so cocky, but also so right.”

  We swing past Teagan and Ransom, and Fitz mouths to him, Go for it.

  Ransom points to his ear, mouthing back, I can’t hear you, then smiles at Teagan once again, looking wrapped up in whatever they’re saying.

  “Some guys don’t see what’s in front of them,” Fitz says.

  That’s definitely true, not just for guys, but for everyone. I look over at Maeve and Sam, holding tight to each other on the dance floor. I flash back on that moment at the sushi lunch last year, when something seemed to be brewing. That was months ago, but Maeve needed that time, needed those months. Seeing her now, she’s ready for all that love has to offer her.

  Perhaps that’s the true key to happiness. Seeing it. Recognizing it. Having the guts to go for it. To know you deserve it. I reach for my husband’s hand, thread my fingers through his, look at our joined hands, then meet his eyes.

  “I am not one of those guys. I know exactly what I have in front of me.”

  His grin melts me. “Everything.”

  And I give him his favorite word from me. “Yes.”

  Soon enough, we say goodbye to all our friends and family, and we head to the hotel, making good on all our wedding night promises.

  The next morning, we catch a flight to Europe, and we go to Copenhagen, like we talked about doing one morning when we were tangled up in the sheets of a hotel bed in London.

  The capital of Denmark is both picturesque and cosmopolitan, with cobbled streets right alongside skyscrapers. We spend our days wandering around the city, taking boat rides and bike rides, and checking out the sights, doing what we’ve always done together.

  Talking, laughing, having the best time.

  One evening, we stop at a bar and grab beers to drink outside, when I spot a tall, strapping blond Dane walk by.

  Fitz scoots closer to me, nodding to the guy. “Told you the men were hot.”

  I arch a brow. “Are you honestly going to perv on other men on our fucking honeymoon?”

  Licking his lips, he gives me a salacious grin. He laughs, then shakes his head. “No. I can’t even pretend. Not even in a fantasy. But you know what I want?”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want your fantasies, Dean. Tell me what you’d do to me right now. If we were in our room? Whisper it in my ear.”

  I run my hand over the ink on his muscular arm. “Ah, that I can do. I can definitely t
ell you all the filthy things I want to do with this body. I like that a lot better.” I move in closer, flicking my tongue over his earlobe. “Bite your neck.”

  “Do it now.”

  “With pleasure,” I say, as I brush my lips downward then nip the flesh of his neck.

  He shivers, then closes his eyes. “What you do to me . . .” His voice trails off.

  “And what exactly do I do to you, Mr. Fitzgerald?”

  He groans as I say his name, since he loves whenever I use it. Any and all variations of it. “You turn me on, Dean.”

  “Good answer.”

  “You’re the only one I want.”

  I bend my face to him again, rubbing my day-old stubble against his neck. “Good. Because all my fantasies are about you too.”

  “Tell me another one,” he says, adjusting himself in his chair, his eyes still closed, the expression on his face one of clear arousal.

  “Some are pretty simple. Right now, I’d take you back to the room. Throw you on the bed. Tease your stomach with little kisses. Nibble on your thighs. Bite your arse. Lick you. Torment you. Not even touch your cock till you were begging.”

  He opens his eyes, narrowing them. “You’re so cruel.”

  “That may be true, but you’d be rewarded for enduring my cruelty.”

  “How so?”

  “I’d put you on your hands and knees, get inside you,” I say, as his expression goes slack-jawed. “Cover your body with mine. Take you. Please you. Fuck you. And finish what I’m starting right here.”

  Fitz sits up straight, blinking, sex written in his eyes. “Now. Do that to me now.” He reaches into his wallet, fishes around for some kroner, and tosses them on the table. Then he grabs my hand, tugging at me.

  I lift my beer. It’s half full. “I’m not done. Don’t you want to enjoy the scenery some more?”

  “I want to enjoy your scenery.”

  I hold up a finger, making him wait as I take another swallow, even though I want that fantasy as badly as he does. Then I set the glass down, as his eyes sear me, like he’s saying he’s going to punish me for making him wait another damn second to deliver.

  If hot, hard, hungry sex with my husband is a punishment, then I’ll be bad every day.

  And in our hotel room, we’re so bad that it’s damn good as we enjoy the scenery so very much, exactly as I told him we would.

  Later that night, when we head out to dinner at a swank new eatery Naveen raved about, Fitz drapes an arm around me, as a couple of guys walk past us, looking our way. “They want what we have,” he says, all confident, as he often is.

  “Yeah? What’s that? Reservations at a hard-to-get-into restaurant? It did take me some finagling to snag it.”

  He stops, cups my cheeks, and looks me in the eyes. He goes serious. Intensely so. “Do you have any idea how fucking amazing it is to know that one person can be everything to you?”

  My heart thumps harder. I match his tone when I answer. “I do.”

  “It’s incredible that one person can be it for you. Can be your great and fantastic love.”

  And the organ beats louder, only for him. My voice softens to a whisper as I look at the man I love. “I know what you mean. I have mine, and it is fucking amazing to be with you.”

  “Same, babe. It’s the same for me.”

  We continue on, walking down the street, wrapped up in each other.

  This is happiness, and I’ve got it.

  We’ve got it in each other.

  The next summer we go to Italy. We have more to celebrate. Not just a one-year anniversary.

  But a Stanley Cup.

  Fitz is still pretty over the moon about winning it. Understandable. Though he said his favorite part was when I wore his jersey to the winning game.

  Not true.

  I didn’t. I just wore a team jersey.

  But he has an active imagination, and he pretends I wore his number. I let him have this fantasy. I let him have all his fantasies.

  Since most of his mirror mine.

  The following summer, we go back to England for a few weeks, then to Prague and Amsterdam.

  It’s everything we once imagined it would be.

  And when we return to New York, the next season starts. He’s busy again, and so am I.

  But we text and talk, and I video chat him the morning he turns thirty, since he’s in Toronto for the last game in a long road trip.

  He stretches in his hotel bed. “I’m so sad I can’t have a birthday morning BJ.”

  “I’m devastated too. I can’t think of a better present to give you.” But, in fact, I have other gifts for him.

  When he returns the next night, while I’m at The Pub, he’ll find it on the kitchen counter.

  A note that says: Remember that time you walked into my bar? You said some things were hard to resist. You said, too, that you’d show me if I told you what time I got off. Tonight, I get off at one. I’ll show you what’s hard to resist, after I make you a martini that goes to your head. Pros of being married to a bar owner.

  But first, Leo arrives at The Pub in the early evening. We chat for a few minutes, as he tells me all about what went down when Lulu showed up at some sort of chocolate event, and then he helped her get a job at his company.

  “Level with me. Are you prepared to work with her?” I ask my friend.

  “She’s a contractor. We’re not going to be in the same offices.”

  “You completely dodged the question,” I point out, since things are different now with her. Well, they could be different, since his friend Tripp died a few years ago, shortly after I became friends with Leo.

  “It’ll be fine. We’re friends,” Leo says of Lulu. “We’ve been through plenty, as you know. And plenty of people who have history work together.”

  Laughing, I slap my palm on the bar. “That is the best understatement among all the understatements in contention for Understatement of the Century.”

  Leo grins, shrugging. “Who doesn’t have history?”

  “You two have so much history you could write a new textbook.” But then I stop the ribbing. “Listen, all I’m saying is, once upon a time, you were in love with her. Now all you have to do is keep it on the level as you work with her. It ought to be easy, right?”

  “Piece of cake.”

  But when Lulu strolls in, and Leo gives her a look like she’s the answer to all his prayers, I have a feeling he’s going to be back here in a few days, needing a much stronger drink.

  And I’ll be here when he needs me.

  Later, after I close the bar and clean up, there’s a knock.

  My reaction is Pavlovian. My skin heats up. My dick starts to harden as I walk to the door.

  Blue eyes, hot as sin, greet me as I open it.

  “I believe you said you’d make me a martini,” Fitz says in a low rumble.

  “You want the kind that goes to your head?”

  “Yeah, I do,” he says, and his gaze is hungry already, since he’s been on the road for a week.

  In an instant, the air between us is charged.

  Flickering with arousal. With the promise of hot, dirty deeds.

  Three years in, it’s still there.

  It’s still pulsing.

  It’s still powerful.

  This connection. This intimacy. This desire.

  He grabs my face and devours my lips.

  We kiss hungrily for a few minutes, then I break the kiss and pull him to the bar, away from the doorway and from the eyes of anyone on the street past midnight. “Sit. Have your drink.”

  “Someday,” he says, echoing the words we both voiced at the club the night I said I’d make it for him. Our wish to have all our somedays together.

  “You get all your somedays, Fitz.” I hand him a martini.

  Fitz knocks back a thirsty drink as Sam Smith plays on the sound system. “I want all my somedays,” he says, desire in his voice as he hands the cocktail to me. I find the spot on the glass where his lip
s were and drink from there, meeting his gaze the whole time, as a pulse seems to beat between us.

  He groans his appreciation. “It’s already working.”

  “Is it now?” I put down the glass.

  His eyes won’t leave me. They stay on me, full of heat. “You go to my fucking head, Dean.” My husband stands, walks behind the bar, and grabs the waistband of my jeans. He jerks me toward him, our bodies pressing together. “That drink makes me want you. Or maybe it was a week on the road. Seven lonely fucking nights.”

  “You missed my cock.”

  He runs a thumb along my jaw. “Missed your cock. Missed your face. Missed your sarcasm.” He grips my chin harder. “Let me fuck you here.”

  I shake my head. “No. We’re not fucking behind the bar. I can’t in good conscience serve a customer knowing we screwed here.”

  “I want to, babe,” he says, on a needy, hungry plea. “What if I do chores, like you and Maeve?”

  I laugh. “Wait a second. Chores are in the running? That might change everything.”

  His eyes twinkle with mischief. “Let’s start a new game. For every dirty deed you let me do to you here in your bar, I’ll owe you a chore.” He brings his lips to my ear, licking and biting, driving me wild. “And you know what’ll get me to sanitize the ice bins for you.”

  A groan works its way up my chest as I picture our X-rated exchange rate. “I do enjoy when you work your magic in that department. You have a wicked tongue.”

  Fitz flicks the tip of it against my earlobe. “You love all the things I do to you with my tongue.”

  My temperature shoots up a hundred degrees. “I love all your secret, dirty tricks.” For a few seconds, I linger on the images, on all the ways he drives me out of my mind with pleasure. But I also find so much pleasure in having fun with him, teasing him. I inch away so I can tip my forehead to the game room. “Only, I really need someone to paint the game room.”

  His hands grip my hips now, and he yanks me against him so I can feel the full length of his erection. “Let me fuck you here, and I’ll paint it this weekend,” he offers.

  Even though I’m tempted, I laugh. “Hmm. You seem hard up, so this negotiation might be mine to win. How about a blow job for a paint job?”