Come Again

by Kate, Jiffy

  “Anytime,” he adds with a nod of his head, retreating to the back for more supplies.

  “Well, I’ve got to get going. I need to shop before tonight’s class. Do you need anything?”

  “A shot of whiskey,” I tell her. “But I guess I’d settle for a coffee.” Giving her my best impersonation of a puppy dog, which probably comes off more like a sad pit bull, she laughs.

  “You’re on your own today.” Walking to the door, she swings it open. “I need to make sure you don’t forget how to use a coffee pot.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I growl, waving her off with a bar towel.

  When I hear the front door open just a few minutes later, I call out, “Did you change your mind about the coffee,” figuring she forgot something and wanting to give her a hard time.

  “Uh,” a feminine and newly familiar voice stutters, “well, actually, I did bring coffee.”

  Turning, I see the new girl standing at the door with a to-go tray of coffee cups and a bag I recognize from the coffee shop on the other side of the square, Neutral Grounds.

  “Pastries, too.” She offers me a warm smile and holds the bag up, but I can’t manage more than a grunt. For some reason, it pains me when people do unexpectedly nice things, maybe because I’m forced to be nice in return and that pisses me off.

  She moves toward the bar, depositing the delicious smelling goods in front of me. “I guess I’ll set them here? I brought extra, in case—”

  “Do I smell coffee?” Paulie asks, walking back into the bar, probably expecting to see my sister changed her mind and retrieved breakfast after all.

  The new girl gives him a small smile and a wave, walking toward him with an outstretched hand. “Hi, I’m Avery.”

  “Paulie,” he says with a smile.

  Avery. I guess I can quit calling her new girl in my head now.

  Like he’s in my fucking head, Paulie quirks an eyebrow and adds, “I guess you’re the new girl.”

  “Guess I am,” she says with a light laugh. It’s not a horrible one. It’s airy and girly, much softer and prettier than we’re used to around here. And that also pisses me off. This is why I only hire men. It’s less complicated. Having a girl around makes things weird and uncomfortable and I don’t like having to worry about someone. This is a bar and things get rowdy from time to time. The last thing I want is to have to be concerned about one of my employees’ safety.

  “Coffee?” she asks, holding up a cup to Paulie, who takes it with enthusiasm. “Help yourself to a pastry.” When she offers him the bag, I snatch it from her and open it to check its contents. It’s rude and I know it, but I don’t want her to think she can buy us with some coffee and donuts.

  “What are these?” I ask.

  “Danishes—cream cheese and cherry. Oh, and a blueberry scone.”

  I snarl my disapproval. “Sounds like a bunch of girly shit, if you ask me.”

  Her demeanor immediately changes—the smile fades and is quickly replaced with an arched eyebrow and pursed lips. “Well, I guess you don’t have to eat them, then.” She snatches the bag back from me and hands it to Paulie, who’s very enthusiastic about these pansy-ass pastries.

  Fucking Paulie.

  Fucking new girl.

  Avery.

  What the fuck ever.

  “Before you can even start training,” I begin, deciding to get down to business and possibly weed her out early, “I’m going to need to see some identification and a social security card. You’ll also need to fill out an application.”

  She looks at me for a moment and I think I might’ve won the jackpot and she’s going to hightail it out of here, realizing this is a legit establishment and we don’t employ underage teenyboppers. “Will you need a blood sample too? Or a drug test?”

  Paulie snickers around his large bite of danish and I glare at him.

  “Don’t be a smart ass. That’s rule number one,” I tell her, walking over to the cash register and reaching underneath to pull out an application and get her a pen. Before I make it back over to where she’s standing, she’s already pulled out a driver’s license and a social security card and slapped them on the counter.

  I set the paper in front of her and she quickly starts filling it out, but stops, brushing her pale pink hair out of her face and looking up at me. “Um, I’m staying at a place a few blocks from here, but I’ll only be able to stay for a few more days. Should I put that address down for now and then give you a new one when I figure out where I’ll be after that?”

  “Fine.” With her looking up at me like she is, I can’t help but notice the faint bruise that’s still under her eye and the place on her lip that’s still healing. “What happened to your face?”

  With her eyes locked on mine, I see the war inside them—hesitation, indecision, and a fierceness that can’t be mistaken. Finally, she replies, “My boyfriend.”

  My back stiffens with that admittance and I feel a surge of anger. She must mistake my change in appearance as something it’s not, because she starts to ramble a further explanation.

  “He’s in Houston...I left him in Houston. So, you don’t have to worry about him showing up at your bar and causing problems or anything like that. I haven’t talked to him since I’ve been here, so I doubt he even cares I’m gone.”

  “I thought you said you’re from Oklahoma?” I ask, needing the distraction and a chance to redirect the conversation.

  “I am, but I moved to Houston...” she drifts off, probably realizing she doesn’t want to tell me—a virtual stranger—her life story.

  The sad thing is she doesn’t have to finish telling me, I can take a good guess. She probably moved to Houston with her high school boyfriend, maybe college, and he turned out to be an asshole and beat the shit out of her. It’s not unheard of and she comes across as a girl who wouldn’t go running home. She seems like someone who is independent and adventurous. Maybe it’s the pink hair? Maybe it’s the tenacity?

  After she completes the application, I take her driver’s license and social security card to my office and make a copy for my files. In the picture on her license, she looks considerably younger—blonde hair, freckles splattered on her nose, dark eyes full of life and naivety. I look at the date and see it was made a few years ago. She’s twenty-three. And like she said, she’s from Oklahoma, Honey Springs to be exact. Everything else on her application looks good, so I set the papers on my desk and head back out to the main part of the bar.

  Jeremy, my new guy, and Avery, my new girl, are laughing about something when I get there and for some reason, it doesn’t sit well with me. I guess, now that I have a female working here, I’m going to have to make a new rule: no flirting or fraternizing.

  “Ahem.” I clear my throat getting their attention and hand Avery her cards back. “I see you two have met.”

  “Well, not officially,” Avery says, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and grinning over at Jeremy.

  “Jeremy,” I say, pointing to the kid. “Avery,” I say, pointing to her. “Now,” clapping my hands together, “let’s get to work. We’ll have customers in just a couple of hours, so there’s no time for goofing off and mingling. You’ll have to do that on your own time. When you’re at the bar, that’s my time. I’m paying you, so you’ll be here on time and do what I say. Is that understood?”

  Avery nods her head and replies, “Yes.”

  I’m glad she didn’t add a sir to the end of that. I know it’s polite and proper, but this is a bar and I don’t ask that of any of my other employees. “We’re all on a first name basis around here. Paulie, who you met earlier, is my second in command. If I’m not here, he’s who you’ll report to and feel free to ask him any questions. He knows this place better than I do.”

  She nods again and I catch Jeremy staring at her. “Don’t you have something better to do?” I ask him, catching him off-guard and making him jump a little. One thing I’ve learned about the kid is he’s a nervous little fucker. It actually pisses
me off most days, because if I had to guess, I’d say he’s the way he is because someone’s beat on him, kicked his ass more than once. Maybe he came from an abusive home?

  Maybe he and Avery have a little in common?

  Although, unlike Jeremy, Avery comes off as a fighter. Probably a fighter or a flier, and I’m guessing when things got bad between her and her boyfriend, she chose flight and that’s how she ended up here.

  Jeremy scurries off back down the hallway and I hear Paulie putting him to work, so I continue showing Avery around the bar. She seems to pick it all up quickly, showing she knows her stuff. She wasn’t lying about being able to carry her weight. I would never admit that to her, but I’m relieved to know I didn’t make a complete mistake by hiring her. At least, not yet anyway.

  “How much will I make?” Avery asks with a directness I appreciate.

  “I’ll start you out at eight bucks an hour and you can keep your cash tips, under the table. All your other tips will be paid on your check.”

  I watch as her wheels start turning—her big, dark eyes shift to the side and she pulls her lips between her teeth, thinking. “Okay,” she finally agrees with a nod, like she’s done the math and it works for her.

  I can’t help but wonder if that’ll be enough for whatever she needs and I also wonder how long she’ll be around. “If this is a temporary place of employment for you, I’d like to know that upfront. It doesn’t mean I won’t hire you, for now, but I’ll keep my eye out for someone to take your place when—”

  “I’m staying.” Her words come out strong and sure.

  The defiance I’ve seen from her rears its head making me believe this girl can and will do whatever she sets her mind to.

  Chapter 5

  Avery

  Strong hands grip my hips and push me up against a wall. The lights are dim but I can still see his dark eyes as they pierce into mine and then he kisses me—hard, passionately, strong.

  My hands grip his strong arms, roaming up to his shoulders, and then finally find purchase in his thick, dark hair. He groans and the flame burns stronger, hotter—straight down into the pit of my stomach making me want—this, him.

  “More,” I plead.

  “Say please.”

  “Please.”

  “Please what?”

  “I...I,” I stutter, falter on the words, on what I want. I know, but I can’t say it.

  “Say it,” he demands, reading my mind, or maybe he’s just reading my body.

  “I want...more.”

  “More what, Avery?”

  Hearing my name come out of his mouth so seductively practically has me coming, without touch or the friction I desire, and it gives me courage. “I need to feel you. Touch me, please.”

  His hands slide around my backside, squeezing hard and making me moan out the pleasure I feel. “Like this?” he asks. “Or like this?”

  When he uses his knee to spread my legs and pushes his hard length against my center, I see stars and the wanton pleas fall. “Yes, please. That. I want that.”

  “So responsive, Avery.” The tickle of his beard as he kisses along my jaw and down to my neck sends shivers up my spine. It’s foreign, something I’ve never felt before and I love it. The added friction and sensation brings an awareness I didn’t know was missing from my life. I didn’t know he was missing from my life, until now.

  Unbuttoning my jeans, he slips a finger under the edge of my panties...

  Oh, God.

  Oh, God.

  My legs are tangled in the sheet when I wake and there’s a throbbing ache between my thighs.

  What the hell was that?

  Shaw. And me. And...

  “No,” I groan, covering my head with the pillow. “Ugh.” He’s such an asshole. Why would I have a dream like that about him? And why was it so hot?

  My pulse is still beating rapidly as I try to tame my breathing, but the need for a release isn’t going away. After a few moments of trying to get the vision of me and Shaw out of my mind and failing, I slip my hand under the waistband of my sleep shorts and give in to the need, mimicking the moves from my dream. I can’t help that when I close my eyes, I still see him.

  It doesn’t take long to get myself off, which is no surprise, seeing as how I haven’t had sex in a long freaking time. Brant and I haven’t been intimate in forever. With him working and spending most evenings at dinner meetings, we haven’t had a chance. On the weekends, he was always tired or in a foul mood from the week. The fact that I woke up to a sex dream about my new boss is disconcerting, but I’m not hating the release.

  Throwing the covers back, I roll out of bed, feeling somewhat pissy for post-orgasm. Normally, I feel lighter, blissful. But I’m supposed to be at work in a few hours for my first official shift at Come Again, and the fact that I can’t get Shaw’s gruff voice or the feel of his facial hair brushing my skin out of my head is a problem. After a dream like that, I’m afraid all I’ll be thinking about today is me coming again, and that’s just wrong and bad...and WHAT. IS. WRONG. WITH. ME?

  My phone ringing from the nightstand where I have it plugged in causes me to jump, pulling me out of my lusty haze. I know it’s not my mama. We spoke last night when I called to tell her about my new job. She was happy for me, of course, but still leery of my new location. Also, she mentioned Brant has been calling and that I need to reach out to him. Leaning over to grab my phone, I freeze, my hot blood turning ice cold.

  Speak of the devil.

  Brant’s name flashes on my screen again and my stomach drops. My palms immediately begin to sweat and I have to swallow a lump. I didn’t think I’d have this reaction to seeing his name. I honestly thought all I would feel is irritation, but this feels a lot like fear. I drop the phone with a thud back on the nightstand and back away from it like it’s a burning flame.

  Eventually, the ringing stops and I peer over at it to see if a voicemail shows up. After what feels like forever, and I’m convinced he’s not going to leave one or call back, I back away and into the bathroom.

  Quickly, I shower and dress, needing coffee and a clear head before I go to work. Hopefully, after a walk to Jackson Square and a stop at Neutral Grounds, I’ll be all better. No thoughts of Brant. And no thoughts of Shaw. Or the dream. Coffee fixes everything, right?

  Wrong.

  A few hours later, when I step inside the bar, I’m immediately hit with visions of my dream causing my cheeks to flush. When Shaw clears his throat to get my attention, I practically leap out of my skin.

  “Jumpy, are we?” he asks in his typical grumpy way. “At least you’re not late. I’d hate to fire you on your first day.”

  See, I don’t like him. Why would I? He’s not nice.

  We stand there for a moment, him glaring at me and me trying to avoid eye contact with him so he doesn’t see the awkwardness that’s creeping into the situation. There’s nothing to worry about. It was a dream. He doesn’t know what I’m thinking. He has no clue that right now, if I closed my eyes, I could feel his firm grip on my hips.

  No, Avery.

  Bad Avery.

  “Ahem.” I clear my throat and take a few steps toward the bar. “What would you like me to do?”

  He narrows his eyes and I feel the scrutiny, but I don’t know what I did to deserve his ire. Maybe just being here, being me—a girl? Well, he’s the one who agreed to hire me, and I think I proved yesterday that I can follow through on my promise of carrying my own weight.

  “Go to the storage room and get a bottle of all our bottom shelf liquors. The list is on the wall beside the light switch for reference. After that, the bottled beer needs restocked. Paulie will be in later and he’ll have some other things for you to do. Until then, that should keep you busy.”

  “Okay,” I reply with a dip of my chin. Walking past him, I head down the hall, appreciative of the task to distract me and the reprieve from his glare. The storage room is small and dark, but cool, which is nice since the summer heat is still in
full force in New Orleans. Thankfully, unlike some of the bars on Bourbon, Shaw keeps the doors of the bar closed, which holds in the bought air, as my grandpa used to say.

  Shut the door, Avery! You’re gonna let out all the bought air.

  With that thought, I make myself busy checking the list by the light switch and filling the crate beside the door with the liquor bottles marked for restock. When the crate is full, I muscle it up, thankful for my days on the farm and that my daddy taught me to lift with my legs, and carry it into the bar and behind the counter.

  Fortunately, Shaw is nowhere to be seen, so I go about my job in peace, letting the dream fall to the wayside.

  “Hey,” Jeremy says, walking in from the hallway.

  “Oh, hey. I didn’t know you were here,” I reply with a smile. He seems like a nice guy and it’s great having another newbie to take some of the pressure off me. Jeremy told me yesterday that he just started working at the bar last week. So, we’re kind of learning the ropes together.

  “Shaw’s letting me stay upstairs,” he says, nodding his head back down the hallway. “Just until I can get on my feet or find somewhere else to stay.”

  His statement kind of catches me off guard. I mean, I know Wyatt said Shaw helps people, but I just assumed he meant give people jobs. “Wow, that’s really...nice,” I tell him, unable to hide the hint of shock in my tone.

  Jeremy smirks and chuckles. “He’s not as bad as he seems.”

  “Well, he did give me a job, so I guess I can’t complain.” I return to the shelves and continue to rotate out the bottles, bringing the opened ones to the front and putting the unopened ones in the back, giving the shelves a good cleaning as I go. Two birds with one stone. I like to work efficiently, never putting off until tomorrow what can be done today. There’s no sense in that.

  Work smarter, not harder—more words of wisdom from my daddy.

  “So, what’s your story?”

  Turning my head toward him, I smile, unsure of what he’s asking. “Umm...I don’t know. What do you mean?”