by Helene Laval
“No cop is gonna—”
“Stop. You got lucky and you know it.” I took a deep breath. “You need security.”
“I can’t afford security.”
“I’m usually here, anyway.”
“You usually drink, flirt with a gazillion girls, and who knows what else you do with them. You are not the guy to keep an eye on the bar.” She stopped working, shifted her stance and put her arms across her chest, waiting for me to counter that insult.
She really did think I was an asshole, fuck. “I haven’t taken a woman home in a long time, and I won’t drink. You can feed me a meal. I like those jalapeño poppers. Just have Cliff drop a few of those in the fryer, and I’m good. How about that?”
“No.” She turned to go back to cleaning glasses.
I turned and started walking toward the door talking over my shoulder. “Well, I’m doing it, anyway. I’m going to stand by that front door and card people coming in.” I turned to her again halfway across the floor and pointed at the door. “I saw those two underage kids last night you threw out. That’s been happening more frequently, and it’s got to stop. You can get shut down for Christ’s sake.”
“I don’t need help.” She raised her voice at me.
“The fuck you don’t!” I boomed back. I was a hot head, and stubborn as hell. Sometimes my temper scared the shit out of people, sometimes it just pissed them off. Annie didn’t flinch.
“Get out, Steve. Just leave.” Some of the fight left her voice. She sounded tired. I didn’t bother to answer, and I sure as fuck didn’t leave. The more I told her the reasons she needed help, the more I believed it myself. There was no way I was leaving. She’d have to call the cops to get me out of here.
I grabbed a stool from the bar and dragged it, screeching across the floor. It was obnoxious and petty, but I didn’t care. I sat at the front door, determined to stay. Hands tucked comfortable in my coat pockets, legs forward and spread out in front of me, I tried to appear relaxed without a care in the world, while my blood was still boiling on the inside.
“I’ll call the cops, Steve. Leave.”
“You go call the cops, Annie. I’ll tell them why I’m here. To prevent YOU from having to pull a SHOTGUN on your customers like you did last night.” I stared at the wall, trying to ignore her.
“You’re a stubborn asshole, Vega.”
I turned my head and smiled, knowing I won.
4
Annie
It was another busy night. Thank goodness Jimmy came back. I would’ve bet good money I’d never see that kid again. But here he was, filling drafts, filling the ice chest, and hauling cases up from the basement. A part of me was worried I’d put myself out of business last night after the shotgun incident, but we were busier than ever.
I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve had damn near every person in this town ask me if I kept a shotgun behind the bar at one time or another. I never answered the question. Well, the cat is out of the bag now. I’ve been comfortable with the “Don’t step out of line at O’Dell’s” for far too long.
The truth was, the town had moved on from the days of bikers and bad guys that looked after this place, to entitled tourists and college kids. My complacency nearly got me hurt last night. A year ago, nobody would dare to put a hand on me. Although I would never admit it, my heart nearly stopped when Steve jumped in and attacked the guy, and they went down on the floor. Steve moved like a street fighter, fast and cruel. It didn’t matter that I had no doubt he could take care of himself, and that drunk was going to lose and lose big. When he took a hit to the face, my hands went to the shotgun. It was out before I knew what I was doing.
I don’t know how I appeared on the outside holding that gun. Folks moved out of the way fast enough. I, however, felt like a big fat fake. I didn’t want to hold the gun. I wanted to run to Steve and make sure he was okay.
I looked over at him, at the front door, checking every ID of every single person he didn’t know. He knew enough people that plenty were striding through, but a line formed outside waiting to be subjected to his scrutiny. Michael was parked near the door too. He came up to the bar for a beer before heading back to look all broody and menacing along with Steve.
I didn’t know much about Michael. He was an enormous six foot three, well built, blond and bearded Viking looking guy. He rarely talked, and if so, it was with the fewest words possible. He’d come up to the bar earlier and said, “Annie.” Chin tip. “Draft. Large.” And I poured him a beer. He left me a twenty and was gone before I could ring it up. And the strangest thing? Women fell all over him. I’ve never seen him in an actual conversation, not even with his friends. But damn if the guy didn’t leave with a woman nearly every night he came in to O’Dell’s.
Steve was all business, and I kept catching glances of that swollen cheek as his head turned to look at an ID in better lighting. I should bring him a flashlight, I thought. Then I remembered I was pissed off and angry at him for barging into my life and my bar. I couldn’t pay him. I really needed a new bartender, not a doorman. And I didn’t like feeling indebted to anybody, and that made me angry.
Dad had been in so much debt, and when he went to prison, the debtors came to collect. Over the past few years I managed to pay off the not so legal people that threatened to take my bar, my virtue, or my sanity, but I still had the banks to pay off before I could even begin to start living again. O’Dell’s was all I had, and I’d be damned if I’d let a guy in a suit take it from me. Finally, now that I was actually making some money, by my calculations, I’d be free and clear in just about two months.
The night was uneventful for a crowded bar on a Saturday night and by the time two a.m. rolled around I was beat.
“Thanks for helping out, Jimmy. You did good,” I said, handing him his cut of the tip jar.
“Thanks, Annie. See you next week,” he said taking the cash, and heading home.
Traci and Jen closed out their banks at the register, and I wished them a good night too. They wisely never asked about Steve. They knew I was angry, and that pretty much kept them quiet about the whole thing.
I was on my way to the utility closet for a mop and bucket when Steve dragged his barstool back to the bar. “Annie? Can you pour one last beer?”
My first reaction was anger. He invades my life, and now he wants a beer? But I softened looking at his tired and bruised face. He helped me out and I should be a little more grateful. Damn it.
“Go ahead and pour your own,” I said and headed out to do the worst job known to man, cleaning toilets. People were disgusting, and you didn’t realize how much until you were tasked with cleaning a bar restroom.
Steve was seated at the corner of the bar nursing his beer when I got back. I tossed the cleaning supplies and latex gloves in the trash and washed my hands, then poured myself a glass from the tap and sat next to him.
I wanted to be next to him, and I didn’t. I wanted to thank him, and I didn’t. Instead I said nothing, and we drank our beer in silence for a long while, both of us staring ahead at the rows of liquor bottles ahead of us.
“Annie?” Steve asked, turning toward me. One elbow rested on the bar holding his beer. He looked serious, concerned. I hadn’t seen this Steve before. He was always laughing and flirting and generally having a good time Steve. This serious Steve? Never met him until tonight.
I studied him a moment. A mix of street fighter and Abercrombie model, his eyes were brown with impossibly thick dark lashes. His cheekbones, razor sharp, led into a strong jaw that pulsed when he clenched. He was doing that now, and it was doing things to me I wanted to ignore. Things like lick his naturally tanned skin from his neck to that ticking jaw. Stop it, Annie! His black as midnight hair was cropped short, slightly longer on top, and I itched to run my fingers through it. Damn it.
My eyes tracked down his muscular torso and to his hands. As mouthwatering as Steve Vega was, I fixated on his hands, both wrapped around the mug sitting in front of him
rubbing his fingers against the frosty glass. They were large and strong. Fat veins roped toward each finger. His nails were thick and wide, the pads of his fingers, coarse. I openly stared longingly at them. I’ve never touched them, but I could imagine how they’d feel on my body and things started to tighten between my legs. I wanted nothing more at that moment than to have those hands groping over every inch of me. Damn it, Annie! Stop it!
“Hmmm?” I asked, shaking myself out of my thoughts. I ripped my eyes away from the thumb that was rubbing little circles on the glass and looked at his dark brown eyes which shifted from soft concern to molten heat.
I was so busted. His mouth quirked, revealing his trademark smile and dimples form into a knowing grin. But then his expression changed back to serious, shook his head and snapped himself out of it. I wondered if we were both thinking the same things.
“I don’t know anything about you, is all,” he said, all humor gone from his face.
Steve was the animated, fun-loving guy of his group. He never took anything seriously. When he first came to town, he came on to me, strong. I never gave an inch. Somebody that is so aloof on the outside, not having a care in the world, did not belong in mine. He seemed insincere and unattached. I, on the other hand, was not about to hand my heart over to a player. I knew if I gave Steve an inch of me, I’d lose in a big way.
“Nothing to tell.” I stiffened, then started to rise again out of my stool, clear that I was not going to enter this conversation. If anything cooled me off, it was this “Let’s talk about Annie” bullshit.
Steve picked up on that and wisely changed tactics. “Let me walk you out to your car.”
“I’m okay. I still have some things to take care of around here,” I said, trying to look busy.
“It’s three o’clock in the morning, let me walk you to your car.”
“I’ve been at three o’clock in the morning by myself for years, Steve.”
“I’m just trying to be a gentleman,” he placated.
“I don’t need a gentleman.” I sure as hell didn’t. “Go home, I’ll lock the door behind you.” I pushed myself off the bar.
Steve downed the last of his beer, walked behind the bar and cleaned his own glass in the sink. He walked next to me as I strode toward the door.
“Thanks for helping tonight,” I stammered out, back stiff, as if it cost me something to say it.
“I’ll be back. On weekends. I’m coming back.” And there it was: The Smirk.
I started to protest, but he interrupted. “Don’t even try, Annie. It’s been a long night. I’ll see you Friday,” he said with a wink and walked out into the lot. I said nothing and shut and locked the door behind him.
I let out a deep breath and walked down the hall to my office. It wasn’t a huge executive type affair, but it was a good size. My average wooden desk had neatly stacked piles of bills on the right and a computer on the center. A file cabinet leaned up against the far wall next to a small closet. A not too shabby sofa took the wall to the left. Beyond the sofa was a small bathroom with a pedestal sink and a tiny shower. I don’t know how many bars in the US had showers in their office, but I’ve silently thanked whoever built this place a thousand times for it. It was genius. I opened the closet and changed into comfortable sleeping clothes, pulled out the bed from the sofa, and went to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I was beat.
I let my apartment go last year. I just couldn’t make all the payments. It wasn’t exactly a secret I tried to keep, living in my office, I just never talked about it. I didn’t want to explain to Steve I didn’t need a walk to my truck because I had nowhere to go.
It was a simple transition. I made sure I was the last in the building for the night, and nobody ever questioned it. I was here at all hours of the day, so who would notice? Plenty of people went in and out of my office, and I kept my blanket, pillow, and clothes in the closet away from view. I don’t even know if anybody knew the sofa pulled out. I kept the bathroom door shut, and the space was always neat and tidy. It sure didn’t look like anybody lived here.
I snuggled up under my covers wearing only a tank top and boy shorts. I thought about Steve again and wondered why he took on the ridiculous mission to be my security. I mean, I was friendly to all of the Singer’s guys, as friendly as I’d allow myself to get. And I really liked Jesse’s girlfriend, Rina. We’d probably become closer friends if I ever got a chance to leave this place. Besides Rina moving to town this summer, Steve had only been in town about a year or so. From what little I gathered from bar side conversations, Steve did body work, and the guys thought highly of his abilities. I don’t know how much skill you needed to pound out a few dents and paint a car, but apparently Steve was a god at it.
Thinking about him being godlike, I bet he was just as good in bed. He was the first guy I was attracted to in a long time. From my side of the bar, I’ve seen a lot of good-looking men. Most lose their hotness after a few drinks by getting sloppy and loud. I had never seen Steve drunk. Sure he liked to have a beer or two, but he never got sloppy or slurred his words. I’ve never seen that particular “drunk eye” one learns to recognize after years of pouring drinks.
But boy the man could flirt. But, unlike those men that groped women the more the alcohol flowed, Steve always seemed genuine and interested. The way he would stare intently while the girl spoke, and not invade her space. He was always polite and smiled, even when he wasn’t interested. Not that I was looking. Nope.
Plain and simple, he wasn’t a dick. And how did I know that? For all the women I’ve seen him flirt, smile, and occasionally leave the bar with, I’d never heard words spoken against him. Like George Clooney, not one woman ever said a bad thing.
Sometime during my thoughts, one hand made its way between my legs, while the other circled my nipple over my tank. As much as I tried to deny it, my body wanted him. I closed my eyes and imagined those large veiny hands cupping my breast. His wide thumb brushing my lips. Then that same thumb rubbing circles around my clit.
Tonight, I allowed myself to see who Steve really was, and it only made me want him more. The way he kept checking in on me at the bar, making sure I was okay. The quiet conversation at the end of the evening. My brain had finally caught up with what my body had been trying to tell me all along. This man could be good for me, in more ways than one.
I imagined his strong broad chest hovering over me as he entered inside me. I slid a finger into myself, still circling my clit. I let out a soft moan when I imagined his lips teasing my nipples. I stroked myself faster and faster until I claimed my release and went to sleep thinking of him lying beside me.
5
Steve
Even though she didn’t want me to walk her out, I’d be damned if I’d let her leave without an escort. I backed my black Camaro into the spot in front of the rear door of O’Dell’s, near where her truck was parked and waited. Damn it was cold outside. It took a while for the engine to heat up, but soon the interior filled with warm air. How long had it been, twenty minutes? Thirty? What was taking so long? Leaning my head back onto the rest, I needed to close my eyes just for a minute while I waited.
I woke to the sun peeping out over the mountains. Fuck. I must’ve fallen asleep. I checked the clock, six thirty-two a.m. My car, I was in my car, and it was still running, thank god. It pays to always keep your tank full. I could’ve frozen to death. Seriously, temps were at freezing level, and although some might fare okay, I’m from El Paso—my blood doesn’t do great in the cold.
The grogginess fading, I scanned the lot and saw Annie’s truck sitting where it had been all night. Surely, if for some reason she went home, came back, and parked in the exact same spot within the last four hours, she would’ve seen my car with me sleeping inside. Annie was hard, but she wasn’t cruel. She would’ve woken me.
There was only one explanation; she never came outside. Christ, was she living in there? “Fuck,” I groaned and leaned forward resting my head on the steering wheel.
I was so stupid.
Why didn’t she tell me she wasn’t leaving? I stared at that back door for a long time, trying to wrap my brain around my feelings. I could feel my jaw working itself tense and stiff. I wanted to check on her to see if she was okay. I wanted to check on her and ask why she didn’t tell me she was sleeping inside O’Dell’s. I moved to open the car door and stopped. I took a deep breath, checked myself and my irrational emotions. Why would she? What does she have to explain? If I barged in there, she would be angry. I reluctantly put my car in gear and drove home.
I was only going on three and a half hours of sleep, but I was wired. When I got to my tiny apartment, I changed into sweats and running shoes and hit the road. I needed movement to blow off steam. Back in Texas, I was a member of the local boxing gym. There was no such gym in the immediate area, so running it was. I had to blow off a lot of steam back then. My life had gotten unbearable to the point where I had to beat the shit out of a bag every day, or I was going to start hitting people. And that was not an option.
While none of us would call Annie part of our crowd, it genuinely surprised me that none of us realized she was sleeping in the bar. We frequented regularly enough, and she and Rina were really friendly. Sometimes they’d huddle at the end of the bar. Two other locals, Betsy and June, both in their mid-thirties, were like older sisters to Annie and Rina and would often join them.
Annie was surrounded by rumors of her family and motorcycle gangs and local folks were generally wary around her. Subsequently, she was well armed with a prickly exterior and a scowl. Nobody got close, because she wouldn’t let them. So, why was I so upset about this? I was attracted to her, sure. She made it clear she wasn’t interested, so I backed off. It didn’t mean I cared about her any less. Fuck. I didn’t know what I was angry about. Maybe because I didn’t like that she was so alone. She had people, people like me that would help her. I ran harder and faster trying to allow my body to let out some of the worry and tension.
