Kyle snorts. “The only love life he has is the one with his hand.”
“Lies,” I sing out, tilting my head toward Rex. “He’s going to marry Carolina.”
Kyle snorts again. “Carolina is too smart to marry him.”
“I’m right here, assholes,” Rex chimes in, furrowing his brows. “And no, I’m not marrying Carolina.”
“Kyle is right,” I say. “She is too smart to marry you. You should’ve taken your chance in high school, but it’s probs too late now.”
“We never dated because we’re best friends,” Rex grits out.
Carolina is a touchy subject for him. They’ve been best friends since high school, and he’s more protective of her than he is of his own sisters. I’ve never seen my brother care about someone so much. There’s no doubt the love for each other is there between them, but Rex is scared to ruin their friendship.
“Best friends who secretly love each other.” I angle my gaze toward him. “You just wait. I’m calling it right here, right now. You’ll be with her before you hit your thirties.”
“I don’t know,” Kyle says. “I think he ruined his chance.”
“Both of you can fuck off,” Rex grumbles.
12
Maliki
I come to the Twisted Fox when I need a beer and peace away from my customers. You can’t enjoy a relaxing drink in your own bar. Clients and employees are demanding even if you tell them you’re off for the night.
That’s why Cohen and I have a thing.
I come here when I need away from the chaos.
Down Home is his destination when he needs space from here.
It’s like our bars are friends, too.
Tonight, neither one of us is working, so I sit down at a table. Cohen comes strolling through the bar, navigating around his customers, holding a beer in each hand. He slides one to me, twists his stool around, and straddles it backward, resting his arms on the back.
“How’s everything at the bar?” is the first question he asks.
It’s our version of, What’s up, man?
“Busy as hell,” I answer. “We’re out of the red and pulling in a respectful revenue.”
I finally started turning a decent profit two years ago. I’d managed a bar before this. The owner had given me complete control, and I doubled the revenue, reduced expenses, and raised his Yelp rating two stars. I worked myself to death at that bar for one goal: to own my own.
Everything changed when Liz called, crying.
She’d rooted through my father’s mail, and what she discovered wasn’t pretty. He had the bar in a financial mess, held countless loans and liens against it, and if he didn’t write a hefty check to the bank in seven days, he’d lose it. It wasn’t my issue, was what I told her. I didn’t want the bar, didn’t want to move back to Blue Beech, didn’t want to clean up our father’s goddamn mess.
Liz was determined to keep it in the family and decided she’d try to take over. She tried and struggled—struggled to secure loans with her less than average credit score and lack of funds. I love my sister and didn’t want to see her kill herself to make the bar work, so I paid the debt and took over.
Pissed, I’d hardly spoken a word to my father when he sold it to me, but now, I’m glad I did it.
Cohen shifts in his stool, making himself comfortable. “Remember when we talked about launching a bar together?” He shuts his eyes in recollection. “Look at us now, owning our own and some might say in competition with each other.”
“Shut the fuck up. You’re not my competition,” I say, kicking his foot with my Converse.
Cohen and our friend, Archer, asked me for the go-ahead prior to opening the bar. Some might be pissed if their friends opened a bar thirty minutes away from theirs, but I was happy for their success. Cohen and I had dreamed of having our own business, and here we are, fulfilling that goal. Plus, I get to hang out with my best friend all the time.
He shrugs. “We should revisit the idea sometime.”
“It’s poor timing right now. My hands are full, getting the place back up and running. Plus, I’m renovating and upgrading my shit.”
Not only am I having Sierra redo the face of the bar, but I’m also purchasing new kegs, kitchen appliances, and upgrading my taps. I’m not the founding father of Down Home, but I can still make it mine. I’ve considered a remodel for a while, but hiring Sierra has gotten the ball rolling.
He nods slightly while grinning. “That’s awesome, man. I’m fucking happy for you.”
He raises his beer into a cheers motion, and I clank mine against his.
I met Cohen through a woman I dated. He dated her best friend. He worked at another bar in the city, a lame-ass one, and I hired him where I worked. That was eight years ago, and we’ve been friends since. If there’s anyone who understands me, it’s him. We grew up in bars, and now, we eat, sleep, and breathe our businesses.
He snaps his fingers a few times and grabs his beer. “Oh, I meant to ask you, what happened with the chick and cheating husband?” He takes a long swig of his drink.
Oh shit.
I didn’t think of Cohen asking me about Sierra. I came here to clear my head and get a grip on the situation.
There goes that.
“She, uh … moved into my place.”
He spits out the beer in his mouth, liquid spewing on his lap and the table. He snatches a few napkins and cleans the mess, laughing. “Are you shitting me?”
I shake my head.
“You’ve never let anyone move into your place. Your motherfucking ass wouldn’t even let one of our best friends move in.”
“Her losing her place of residence wasn’t her choice. Finn, on the other hand, was kicked out as a result of banging his roommate’s sister.”
Finn is a friend and also works at Twisted Fox.
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Now, let’s return to the fun subject of you and your hot new roomie. I’m sure you’ll have no problem screwing the hurt from her cheating husband right out of her.”
I reach forward to push his shoulder. “We’re not fucking. We’re simply roommates, and she’s helping me renovate the bar.”
He drags his hand through his hair. “You must know her pretty damn well to let her move in. You were also pissed enough that you beat the dude’s ass like he’d just cheated on your little sister. Is she a friend’s sister? Why do you care so much about her?”
I contemplate my next move and scratch my cheek while looking away from him. “Do you remember when I used to tell you about the teenage brat who kept sneaking into the bar?”
He smirks. “Holy shit! That’s her?”
I nod. “That’s her.”
He smacks his knee. “Man, I told you that something would happen with her someday. She’s not even your type.”
I massage my neck, suddenly feeling tense. “I have a type?”
“You for sure have a type.”
I raise a brow.
“Emotionally unavailable, like you, is your type. Women who are fine without wanting more from you. I don’t get that vibe from her. Hell man, she’s married.”
“Soon-to-be divorced.”
“You sure about that?”
I nod. “Positive.”
I don’t tell him how well I know Sierra—that I know how fucking strong she is and that she won’t take Devin’s punk ass back.
At least, I hope not.
* * *
I toss my keys onto the kitchen island and head into the living room where I hear the TV playing. I shove my hands into my pockets when I see Sierra slouched on the couch. Her legs are drawn to her chest, and she’s staring at the screen as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.
It’s a fucking vacuum infomercial.
She peeks back at me over her shoulder, her eyes red and puffy.
Shit.
“You were out late,” she deadpans.
I should’ve canceled my plans with Cohen and stayed with her, but da
mn, she seemed fine. It surprised me with how relaxed she’s been the past few days, given her situation. I just found out Sierra is a closet crier. She waits until she’s alone to expose her wounds.
I swallow a few times, guilt rising up my spine, and level my voice. “It’s midnight. I’m normally not in bed until four in the morning. This is early for me.”
That only grants me a sullen look. “Did you have fun with your friends?”
I’m sure I had more fun than her. She looks like someone ran over her dog.
I proceed further into the room to face her. “It ended up being only me and Cohen hanging out.”
The initial plan was drinking in the city with our other friends, but I didn’t want to leave Sierra alone all night. When I told Cohen I wanted something more chill, he stayed behind with me.
She repeatedly nods. It almost makes her look like she’s rocking back and forth.
“What about you? Did you do anything?”
Her face falls more. “I talked to my mom, and then my brothers helped me move.” She rubs at her tired eyes. “Other than having my entire life overturned, nothing.”
She needs a friend, and I wonder why she didn’t call Ellie. That chick seems to be the Robin to her Batman.
Looks like I’m her Robin tonight.
I crash on the other end of the couch, giving her plenty of space. “Did you get everything out of the condo?”
She chews on her lower lip to block it from trembling. “I did.”
“And have you talked to him?”
“He’s called a few times, but I’ve dodged his calls. He knows about me working at the bar and had the guts to accuse me of cheating on him with you.” She drops her legs and snorts. “I didn’t even bother replying. I hope he thinks I’m screwing your brains out, so he can feel as stupid as I do.”
My head jerks back. “Screwing my brains out, huh?” My dick stirs. Why does she have to say shit like that?
“You know what I mean.”
“It can be arranged, if you’d like.”
Our eyes briefly meet until she breaks contact by rolling hers. “Whatever. I annoy you.”
“True. You’re right. I shouldn’t screw an annoying woman’s brains out.”
“So, is that what you were doing tonight?”
“Screwing an annoying woman’s brains out? Negative.”
“What were you doing then?”
“Hanging out with Cohen.”
She sucks in what sounds like an aggravated breath. “You already said that.” She yawns. “I’ve had a long day. I’ll see you later.”
I capture her arm when she gets up, stopping her. “Don’t bullshit me, Sierra.”
She sinks back against the cushions. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about your rounded-ass questions you ask in some code that I’m supposed to understand, and then you get pissed when I don’t speak in code right back. I had drinks with a friend.”
“So you told me.”
“Why are you upset about that?”
“I’m not.”
“Bullshit.”
She throws her head back. “I don’t know why I am, honestly.” She shrugs, tears hitting her eyes.
“Again, speaking in code.”
“I hoped maybe as roommates, we’d hang out or something.” She shakes her head and slaps her forehead. “Oh my God, that sounds so stupid and immature.”
I stand, walk to the kitchen, and grab two beers from the fridge. My next stop is the pantry where I snag a bag of kettle corn and chips. I reach into the freezer, pull out a container of ice cream, and open the drawer for two spoons.
“What are you doing?” she draws out, her attention bobbing from me and the snacks clutched in my hold when I return.
I plop back down on the couch, closer to her this time, and the chips fall between us. “If you want to hang out with me, just say it.” I hand her a spoon and the tub of ice cream. “I bought this at the store earlier. Mint chocolate chip is still your favorite, right?”
She nods as a blush hits her cheeks.
“Good. Now, pick something to watch. I’m exhausted, and I can’t promise to stay awake long, but I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
13
Sierra
Tonight is my first weekend shift.
Maliki briefed me this morning on what to expect. A live band is performing, so no doubt we’ll be busy. He answered my last-minute questions. We reviewed drinks and prices. I’d used a cheat sheet my first night, but I won’t have time for that.
He’ll change the ice and kegs—thank God. The last time I attempted to change a keg, it doused me, and I smelled like stale booze all night.
Maliki is on his side of the bar, prepping his area, when I get downstairs. Even though it’s not that long of a bar, when working, it’s almost like we’re in two different worlds. I slip my bottle opener into my jean shorts pocket and start setting up my space.
The jukebox plays in the background as I slice my garnishes, restock my straws, and get all my supplies in place. Everything needs organized, so this shift slips by with ease. So many people have shown their doubt about me working here, and I need to prove I know what I’m doing.
People don’t come to Down Home only for the drinks and kick-ass bar food. What brings them here is the live music, events, atmosphere, and of course, the old-fashioned dance floor. I’ve witnessed sad souls with downcast eyes walk onto that dance floor, and when they return, their smiles could light up the room.
The atmosphere unwinds you.
That’s why I love it here so much.
Well, that, and Maliki.
I don’t stress about fitting in here like I do at a benefit dinner with my parents or when hanging out with Devin at a country club. My hair can be messy, my clothes casual, and no one bats an eye.
There are a few customers already here, mainly on Maliki’s side, and when a customer plops in front of me, I take his order.
Jack and Coke. Bacon cheeseburger and onion rings.
I yell his order to the kitchen and start his drink. After handing it to him, I return to cutting my lemons.
“You look fucking gorgeous tonight.”
I get a whiff of his cologne when Maliki stands behind me. I love how he smells. It’s clean but masculine. I focus on my task, frazzled, and don’t glance back at him. Every muscle in my body convulses as his chest hits my back, and I shiver when his cold hand brushes my hair away from it, his fingers slightly running along my neck.
Oh my God. Oh my God.
I squeeze my thighs together, and my heart clunks against my ribs. If only I were brave enough to grind against him, but there are people around, and public rejection doesn’t sound like a great time. I grip the knife in one hand and use the other to clutch the bar while struggling to control my breathing.
I don’t know what to expect when I turn around to face him.
Maliki retreats a step, his eyes wide and focused on my fingers
I meet his gaze and realize I’m still holding the knife.
“Shit,” I mutter, dropping it onto the bar. “Totally wasn’t about to go all stabby on you.” I sigh and run my hands down my shorts. “And thank you.”
I’m wearing cutoff jean shorts that my mom would call inappropriate and have my bar shirt tied around my waist, revealing a hint of midriff. A shiny, new pair of pink Doc Martens are on my feet.
“I have to make those tips,” I add.
He chuckles. “I see. You’re trying to steal my cash because you’re cute.”
He doesn’t seem anywhere as worked up as I am about our little encounter. Meanwhile, my heart is banging batshit crazy.
“Damn straight.” How I’m speaking is beyond me.
I bite into my tongue, holding myself back from mentioning how hot he looks tonight with his hat, torn jeans, and boots. I don’t because it’d make things awkward. Maliki knows how to play off his flirting. Me? I’m a disaster. It always comes out wrong. We’
re working together all night, so it’s in my best interest to not make it weird.
But he isn’t making it easy with the whispers in the ear and touching.
He levels his eyes on me, as if he’s about to break news I don’t want to hear. “There’s a bachelor party tonight. I would’ve given you a heads-up, but I just found out. You cool with that?”
“Of course.” I pat his chest a few times and fake a smile. I’m not exactly okay with it, but I’ll deal. “I’m a professional, Maliki. I mean, I might kick a dude in the junk and kick him out if I see him cheating on his wife, but other than that, I’m peachy.” I shrug, grab my knife, and slam it into the cutting board.
He laughs, smoothing his hand over his jaw. “Please don’t kick anyone out. That’s my job, remember?”
“I learned from the best.”
Our attention flashes to the opening of the kitchen when someone calls his name.
“Let me know if you need anything,” Maliki says. “I have all your stuff in your area, so you won’t need to search for anything.”
“Maliki, you don’t have to do that. It’s my job.”
“And?”
“You don’t help Mikey set up his space. People will think you’re giving me preferential treatment.”
“Sierra, if someone doesn’t think I’m giving you preferential treatment, they’re dumb and should be fired.”
“I’m serious,” I whine with frustration.
He smiles, showing off his bright white teeth. “Look, you’re my friend, roommate, and … someone I like to look after.” He glances to the ceiling, either searching for the right word or asking God for an answer. “Little sister?”
Oh, hell no.
He didn’t just pull the little-sister card.
“Oh my God. Never refer to me as your little sister again.”
“That’s not how I meant it. What I’m saying is, it’s obvious I help you as much as I can and watch over you.” He shrugs. “That’s it.”
“While I appreciate that, I don’t want other employees talking shit about me.”
“They won’t.” He chuckles. “Not to your face.”
Just Roommates Page 10
