Say You're Mine

by Alexis Winter

  Fuck. That. Noise.

  Nope, I love my life in Chicago. My sister and nephew are here. I have great friends. And I now manage Perks since Annabelle left to go teach art at a local gallery.

  Every day I serve people happiness in a cup. Think about it: when has anyone been mad after a hot cup of coffee on a cold day, or a refreshing iced macchiato during the summer?

  Plus, where we’re located, in the middle of businesses and bustling Chicago foot traffic, there is always plenty of eye candy stopping in for a mid-afternoon pick-me-up.

  Including the man who just left who absolutely knows how to wear a suit.

  Yup, I’ll take my life in Chicago. I’m sure Billy found a perfectly good Stepford wife.

  As the afternoon rush dies down, I take the opportunity to make myself a sandwich and head to a table to go over the entertainment schedule for the month. When Annabelle was here, she started having live music a few times a week. It was a huge success, which means we kept it going after she left. Now it has fallen to me to make sure all the nights are booked up.

  I’m halfway through the month and my turkey sandwich when I hear the sweetest two words I’ll ever hear.

  “Aunt Tori!”

  My nephew, Grant, comes barreling into the coffee shop and leaps into my lap. I might give Scarlett a lot of shit about her choice in men—specifically the man who can only call himself Grant’s father because of his DNA—but this boy has me wrapped around his finger. I love him to death, so I guess I do have to thank the asshole who knocked up my sister for giving us Grant.

  “What are you doing here, buddy?”

  My sister plops down across the table from me, looking as tired as I’ve seen her in a while.

  “Mommy needed caffeine because some little boy thought it was Christmas morning, so he needed to wake me up at 5 a.m. to ask why Santa hadn’t come.”

  I have to stifle my laughter, because that shit is funny. But of course, it’s only funny because I’m the aunt who gets him hopped up on sugar then sends him home. I’m sure that later in life, I’ll also be the one to buy him his first beer and take him for a tattoo at 16.

  I look at my nephew, who all of a sudden finds the bottom of his T-shirt fascinating.

  “Buddy, why did you think today was Christmas? You know that before Christmas, we get a tree and visit Santa.”

  He looks up at me with the most precious puppy-dog expression on his face.

  “I thought we forgot.”

  This kid. He’s too much.

  “Well, it’s not Christmas, but how about we go make your mom some coffee and you can pick out a treat from the window?”

  Before I can finish my sentence, he’s off my lap and racing behind the counter. The kid might only be 3, but he knows where to find the chocolate chip cookies.

  I make Scarlett a large iced white chocolate mocha with an extra shot—because I think my sister could use it, grab a glass of milk for Grant, and sit back down at the table.

  As Grant gets lost in his cookie and a coloring book, I look at my sister once more. Yes, she’s tired because her day started a few hours earlier, but I have a feeling it’s more than that.

  “Are you okay? Seriously, other than fake Christmas morning. You look exhausted.”

  She sighs, taking a sip of her drink. “I am. I love my son, don’t get me wrong. He’s the best thing I’ve ever done. But some days . . . it’s just a lot. And some weeks are more than I think I can handle. And sometimes those days and weeks just catch up with me all at once. This is one of those weeks.”

  I could never do what my sister does. Being a single mom, working full-time, and still being there for her son? I don’t know how she does it. I just know I never could. Nope. I am just fine with my life the way it is: carefree, no serious relationships, and a whole lot of fun along the way.

  I look at my watch, realizing that the afternoon has flown by.

  “How about this? I’m off in about an hour and don’t have to come in tomorrow. How about I take the little man for the night? You go to Target. Get your nails done. Just sleep. Do whatever. He can stay at my place and I’ll bring him back after you’re off work tomorrow.”

  Scarlett begins to shake her head, readying to turn me down, but apparently, Grant wasn’t as distracted by the coloring book as I thought.

  “Stay with Aunt Tori!”

  I smile. “See? Grant wants to stay with Aunt Tori. It’s settled.”

  “I can’t let you. You already do so much for us.”

  I wave her off. “Nonsense. You are my sister. That is my nephew. And this is what family does. Now go. Leave his bag. I have clothes for him at my place. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  With a little more prodding and reminders about his sleep schedule for the 80 millionth time, Scarlett is out the door.

  “So, what do you want to do tonight, little man?”

  After biting his lip, which is his way of showing that he’s thinking very hard, he says the most perfect words a girl can hear.

  “Pizza! Movie!”

  Who needs a relationship when I have a three-year-old whose perfect night consists of pizza and a movie?

  4

  Kalum

  I learned a long time ago to never take a meeting on someone else’s turf. Either neutral or your own, but never walk into a snake pit. Especially if you have to go in unarmed.

  Which made the dive bar a few miles from the shop the perfect meeting place for the very unpleasant meeting I just had. Luckily, nothing shocking or unexpected went down, but it’s a weekly meeting I dread, so after it ends, I usually stay for a bit, have a beer, and decompress.

  Usually, if I need to get something off my chest, I go to Maverick or Jaxson. Those two have listened to more of my shit through the years than anyone should have to. And in return, I’ve heard theirs. We have a friendship that was forged on the South Side, where we saw constant violence all around us. We swore that we’d never end up like the other guys in our neighborhood.

  But we were young and dumb, and life happens.

  Like right now. Life is happening in ways I never saw coming, but this time I’m bound and determined to keep my brother out of it. I already let him down once. The fact that he’s been in prison is my fault. I’m going to make sure he never has to pay for my crimes again.

  As I flag down the bartender for one more, something—or more specifically, someone—catches my eye at the door. This place usually isn’t busy on Mondays, so anytime someone comes in, it makes people look.

  I just never expected to see her walk through the door.

  Tori, in jeans I’m pretty sure she had to paint on, enters the bar, and I’d bet that each guy in here is adjusting himself as she walks in. Luckily for me, I’ve mastered the art of mentally talking myself down when it comes to looking at her.

  I try to look away, but it’s too late. A smile slowly forms on her face as she walks over, taking a seat next to me at the bar.

  I don’t look at her as she situates herself on the stool. The bartender comes right over, wipes down the spot in front of her, and asks what she’s having to drink.

  “Light beer. Whatever you have on tap. And get this guy next to me another round on my tab. It looks like he could use one.”

  “She doesn’t need to be buying me a beer,” I say, making sure there’s an edge to my voice. “Though I will take another, since you decided that she needed to be served before I did.”

  The bartender stares at me like he can’t believe I’m not bowing down at the feet of the goddess next to me.

  “No can do, my man. A beautiful woman comes into this bar, she gets served first. And whatever she likes, she gets,” he says with a smile as he goes to pour our drinks. I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes at the man. Yes, Tori is hot, but it’s not like the queen of England is in his presence.

  I take a healthy chug of my beer after he sets it down, trying to do anything but talk to Tori. It’s not that I don’t like the girl—it’s just that
she is a girl.

  When she told me she was only 25, I think I nearly choked on the chicken wing I was eating. Granted, I’m 34, so not exactly geriatric, but when I was 25, I was serving time in prison while she was still learning algebra in high school.

  Plus, the more time I spend with her, the more I realize she’s the female version of me. Oil and water don’t mix, and neither do two kinds of oil. They’re just begging to get set on fire.

  “Would it be super cliché of me to ask what brings you to a place like this?” she asks, finally having enough of the silence between us.

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  She stares at me for a second before deciding to respond first. “I was dropping Grant off with Scarlett after he slept over last night. She picked up a job waitressing a few blocks from here. I decided that I wasn’t ready to go home yet and that a beer sounded good.”

  So she’s here by herself? Doesn’t she realize she walked into a virtual snake pit?

  “Do you make a habit of that? Going to strange bars alone where anything could happen to you?”

  She rolls her eyes before responding. “No, Dad. I’m a grown-ass woman who can take care of herself. But thanks for the concern.”

  See? That. Right there. That’s why I stay away from this girl. Doesn’t she realize how dangerous it is for a young woman to go to a bar alone? What could happen to her? That every fucking man in this place is thinking about how to get her naked?

  “It’s not safe for you to go to an unfamiliar place alone. You should know better. Hell, do you need to be reminded of what almost happened to Annabelle? If Jaxson hadn’t been there when she decided to go out on her own . . .”

  I hate to play that card, but maybe it will get through her thick head that the world isn’t a safe place. Annabelle was attacked one night walking home alone from work. She suffered a few bruises and a fractured rib, but it could have been much worse if Jaxson hadn’t been there to teach her attacker a lesson.

  So yeah, it’s a low blow, but I don’t give a shit. We might not be together, and I might act like an asshole around her most of the time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about her safety.

  I probably care about it a little too much if I’m being honest.

  She takes another sip of her beer, setting it down before turning her barstool to me. Her demeanor is calm, but I realize that her rage is about to hit me at 100 miles per hour.

  “You don’t need to remind me about what happened to my best friend. I was supposed to close the coffee shop with her that night. I left her to go on some fucking date with a guy I barely remember. Because I didn’t stay there, she was by herself. So no, Kalum, I don’t need reminding, but thank you for doing it for me.”

  She finishes off her beer, signals the bartender for another, then looks me straight in the eye again.

  “I do appreciate your concern, though. It’s sweet, even though I’m pretty sure half the time you hate me, so I don’t get why you care what happens—”

  “I do care what happens to you, Tori. Just because I don’t want to sleep with you doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

  She laughs loudly, throwing her head back in a way that pushes her chest out, and I hate that I’m staring.

  “Oh, Kalum. You couldn’t handle me even if you wanted to. An old man like yourself? Please. You’d be begging for mercy before I even had your pants off.”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh—just a short chuckle because this girl is ridiculous. “Old man! Girl, I’d show you things you didn’t even know existed and make other guys you’d been with seem like boys.”

  Our words hang heavy in the air. We both know it’s not going to happen, but if she’s thinking what I am, then we are definitely picturing those scenarios playing out.

  “How about I make you a deal?” she asks, cutting the tension with her words.

  “What’s that?”

  She looks to the side, eyeing the pool tables lined across the back of the bar.

  “If you win, I won’t come back or go to another random bar alone. But if I win, you have to do me a favor.”

  I grew up playing pool. Before I was boosting cars, I was hustling grown men at pool.

  “Fine. What happens if you win?”

  A sly grin breaks out across her face. “You have to be my date. For my class reunion. In Wisconsin.”

  5

  Tori

  “How are you having a class reunion already? You graduated like, what, last year?”

  When I offered my side of the bet to Kalum, I honestly didn’t think he’d go for it. I caught him off-guard for a second before he composed himself. But there’s something in his eye that makes him think this is a surefire win for him.

  Little does he know the tricks I have up my sleeve. And I’m not even talking about the cleavage I plan to show as I lean over my shots.

  “My town is so small that the classes weren’t big enough to do individual reunions,” I say as I finish racking the balls. “Plus, our school was so tiny everyone knew everyone. This is a combined reunion with a few classes above me.”

  I flip the rack around in my hands after lining up the balls perfectly tight. Kalum looks appreciatively down to the triangle of balls on the table, then up my body, lingering a few seconds too long on my chest.

  “Nice rack.”

  I take a step away, grabbing my pool stick.

  “I know. You’ve been staring at it since we first met.”

  He shakes his head as he goes to line up his shot to break. I apply some chalk to the top of my stick, watching him . . . waiting to see what I’m up against. If I had to bet, this man has been around a pool hall more than a few times in his life. You can just tell by the way someone experienced approaches their shots. How they lean into them, the concentration on their face . . . the way his ass pops out in jeans that are just tight enough for me to develop dirty, dirty thoughts.

  I hear the sound of the cue ball hitting the others, but I can’t make my eyes turn away from the man before me.

  “Who’s the one staring now?”

  I shake away his comment, only to find him giving me a knowing smile.

  Bastard.

  He goes to line up another shot. Apparently, he’s stripes. He makes the easy shot and I realize I might have to pull out the big guns earlier than I thought.

  Luckily, we picked a pool table next to an open high-top with a few empty stools. I make my way over and take a seat. He’s directly across from where I’m sitting, so he has to look in my direction when he’s lining up a shot.

  It’s like taking candy from a baby.

  Just as he leans down, I take that opportunity to recross my legs before taking off the jacket I’ve been wearing, showing more of the sleeveless button-up blouse I wore today. It’s snug exactly where I want it to be, and I can tell he notices as he gives himself a little shake before missing his next shot.

  I grab my pool stick and walk around to find my best shot. Luckily, I distracted him just enough that he didn’t bother trying to block me.

  I line up the seven into the corner pocket, easily making it before setting up my next shot. Unfortunately, I’m at a bad angle to make anything after that, but I can bury the cue ball behind a few of mine, leaving him nothing.

  I give him a knowing smile as I play defense, which is the key to a good pool player. All he can do is shake his head as we cross paths for his turn. He slightly brushes against me, which sends a zing through my entire body.

  “Where did you learn how to play?” he asks as he figures out how he can take a shot without accidentally hitting in one of mine.

  “Like I said earlier, I grew up in a super-small town. There wasn’t much to do. But one of my friends had a pool table, so we spent hours down there messing around. Then when we were teenagers, we realized it was a great way to impress guys.”

  He chuckles as he barely taps the cue ball surrounded by my trio. It was his only shot.

  “Well, you’r
e impressing me. Here I thought I was going to have to be nice and pretend to almost let you win.”

  I laugh as I take my shot, easily tapping in another one of my balls.

  “My dear, sweet, naïve Kalum. Don’t you know that those are the people who are always the easiest to hustle?” I throw a flirty smile at him before banking in a shot from the side rail down to the far corner pocket.

  Apparently, though, I’m not the only one who’s ready to break out the big guns. Just as I go to line up a shot that I could make in my sleep, Kalum stands right in my line of vision, and not-so-subtly adjusts himself. And if the outline of his pants says anything, our little game of cat and mouse is affecting him just as much as me.

  With thoughts of Kalum’s dick in my head, I miss my shot. Badly. But before I can move away from the table, I feel Kalum behind me. He’s not touching me, but he might as well be. The heat between us is just that intense.

  “You’re not the only one who can be distracting, gorgeous.”

  From that point on, we probably pay more attention to flustering each other than playing pool. And he might be grunting and acting like he’s pissed off every time he misses a shot, but for a few minutes here, I’m getting a glimpse of the Kalum I first met. The one who wasn’t an asshole all the time.

  And as I line up my shot on the 8-ball, pull back my stick, and send the cue ball down the green felt—watching in slow motion as it connects with the 8-ball, sending it on its way to the corner pocket—I hope that when I take him home to Wisconsin, he continues to be the guy I first met.

  6

  Kalum

  With one last twist of the wrench, I slide out from underneath the ‘68 Mustang. These cars are classic, but not that hard to get going again if you know what you’re doing. And while I spend most of my days in my office, every once in a while, I like to get my hands dirty. Literally and figuratively.