I’ve been working here since the beginning of my freshman year, but I was only promoted from bar runner to bartender about two weeks ago, so I’m not surprised Roger called me out to perform the runner’s task. Not that I mind. It’s Tuesday night, and the place is swarming with college students taking advantage of our drink specials. Our new bar runner isn’t bad, but he’s slow. The last I saw Greg, the thirty-year-old was meandering through the crowd, retrieving empty pint and shot glasses from tables while flirting with several college-aged girls.
I pull the ten-gallon bucket down from atop the ice machine. I tie my long, dark red hair back into a messy ponytail before I begin to scoop ice into the bucket. Management won’t be happy if a customer finds a strand of hair in their drink, and the unique color would easily identify me as the culprit.
In methodical fashion, I start to transfer ice from the machine into the bucket. I keep a constant rhythm and ignore when my shoulder begins to ache. I don’t mind the physical task, lord knows I’ve experienced worse as a busboy at the 24-hour diner near my high school. I’ve been working since I turned sixteen, and this gig is the best I’ve ever had. The hourly pay is below minimum wage, but the tips make up for the difference several times over.
Thanks to Uncle Eric and his sister, Aunt Julie, my tuition is fully paid for, but it’s not like my family is loaded. Going to school in New York isn’t cheap, and neither is living in the city. Uncle Eric hadn’t wanted me to leave Connecticut after graduating high school. He’d tried his best to convince me to stay, tempting me with the promise of a debt-free start to my adult life if I stayed and continued to live in my childhood home. It’d been hard to decline the offer, but I felt like I would suffocate if I stayed in Hartford. It was a city where I met so many but didn’t really know anyone. My soul yearned for life in a new, exciting city. Somewhere I could start anew. Hartford wasn’t where I belonged. I’m not sure how I knew that, but I did.
So, I moved to New York City, and Pascale came with me. Even though he didn’t agree with my decision to leave the city where I was raised, Uncle Eric continues to help support me. My school might be paid for, but I have to come up with funds for rent and food. Hence, I’m working as a bartender.
Pascale and I share a modest one-bedroom apartment. She pays about one hundred dollars more in rent, so she gets the bedroom while my “room” is in the main living space. My bed is lofted with a desk and dresser underneath, and the rest of the room holds a couch and television where Pascale and I spend most of our evenings when I’m not working. Some people might resent the lack of personal space, but I don’t mind. I’m just glad I’m out of Hartford’s stifling city limits.
In less than five minutes, I’ve filled the entire bucket. I close the lid of the ice machine and adjust my stance as I grab the handles on the plastic container. The bucket weighs a ton, but I manage to lift it six inches off the floor. Shuffling my feet, I make my way back towards the bar, using my hip to open the swinging door. I make it two feet before the new bar runner sees me.
“I’ve got that, Sera.” Greg takes the bucket from me, lifting it more easily than I had.
“Thanks,” I huff, shaking out my arms and twisting my back to release the tension. I promise myself to make good on my plan to go to the gym. I run outside on a regular basis, but I’m terrible about using weights for building muscle.
I follow Greg to the bar. Together, we move the ice behind the counter and unload it into the two drink bins. When that’s finished, I release my hair from the elastic band and throw the strands behind my shoulder, tucking the side pieces behind my ears. I’ve done research these past few nights, and I almost always earn more tips when my hair is down versus when it’s up. I grab the order pad from my back pocket and venture to the end of the bar where Roger and Lola, the other bartender on this shift, are not currently taking orders.
A group of glassy-eyed frat boys see my approach and immediately lean forward, practically climbing on top of the bar to get my attention. Their Ralph Lauren collars are popped. I thought that style died out half a decade ago. “Hey! Can you take our order?”
I force myself to smile despite the fact I’d much rather serve the two girls waiting patiently beside them. Pushy customers are always the worst, but I don’t want any drunk guys to cause a scene.
I step closer and shout above the noise, “What can I get you?”
“Four Dos Equis. Drafts.”
“And your number,” a guy in the back throws in. His friends chuckle along with him, thinking the pathetic flirtation is funny.
I ignore the comment and don’t even look to see who spoke, tucking away the order pad now that I know they don’t want food. “Four Dos, coming up.” I spin around and grab four pint glasses. I go to the tap and tip the glass as I pour the beer, careful to keep it from foaming up. I transfer two beers at a time, dodging Roger as he rushes around me to use the frozen margarita machine.
“That will be twelve dollars.” Our Tuesday night cantina-themed deals really are great.
The guy who ordered holds out a twenty. “Keep the change.”
Despite the fact I would rather walk away without saying anything, I can’t deny eight dollars is a pretty great tip. I smile, again, and say, “Thanks. Let me know if I can get you guys anything else.”
“I wasn’t joking about your number.” The guy who speaks steps forward, leaning his elbows on the bar. I can’t avoid looking at him this time. I take in his features, acknowledging his strong brow and bright blue eyes. I see he wears an expensive Rolex as he runs a hand through his intentionally-messy hair style. The guy is definitely cute, but I make a point to never pass out my number to people I don’t know.
I tell him as much. “Sorry. I don’t give out my number to strangers.”
His lips press together, looking upset, but he brightens as another line pops into his head. “Then how about we get to know each other? When is your break?”
I have other customers I need to serve. I don’t want to be rude, but something tells me this guy will respond to nothing less. “Sorry, not interested.”
I shift my attention to the same two girls who’ve been waiting this whole time, leaning closer so they can hear me. “What can I get for you?”
Before one of the girls can answer, the guy bumps into her and forces himself back into my line of sight.
“What do you mean, ‘you aren’t interested’?”
Is he for real?
The smile drops from my face. Who does this guy think he is? My disdain-filled eyes take note of his pricey shirt and expensive watch again. I bet he’s spent his whole life getting everything he wanted. With wealth and good looks, he’s probably never encountered a girl who didn’t succumb to his charms.
He’s in for a rude awakening.
Before I can deliver an ego damaging line, a familiar voice joins the conversation. “Sera, you’re needed at the other end of the bar.” A strong hand presses against my lower back. Electricity zips over my skin, and I know who it is before I turn around.
Glancing over my shoulder, I confirm my boss, Bass, stands behind me. He is staring challengingly at the guy on the other side of the bar. I look back at the stranger. His blue eyes shift from Bass’s face to the hand on my back. His eyes sharpen, and his jaw tightens. It’s clear he is unwilling to push the issue. Bass tends to have that effect on people.
The stranger walks away, but not after giving me a nasty glare.
Bass’s hand falls away, and I bite my lip to hide my mourning at the loss of his touch.
“Hey.” I’m proud I sound normal as I turn around. I haven’t seen Bass in over six months. He’s been away traveling with his band, but he makes a point to check in on his family’s bar from time to time. Which means I get the chance to ogle the man I’ve had a crush on since we met on my sixteenth birthday.
It was the night Pascale finally convinced me to use a fake ID to go to a concert in downtown Hartford. Despite her pleas for over a year, I’d been hes
itant to actually break the law just so we could go see bands she liked, but Pascale doesn’t take no for an answer. After months and months of hearing her complain about how cruel I was to deny her “one request”, I finally had enough. I’d caved, and Pascale winded up choosing my birthday as the day to drag me to a random concert.
I’d been standing in the crowd of punk-rock fans, praying for time to speed up so I could escape the air full of clouds of smoke, when I’d felt an arm brush against mine.
“Excuse me.” A melodic voice had murmured close to my ear.
My skin still tingles from the memory.
I’d looked in the direction of the entrancing voice, only to be caught in Bass’s equally entrancing stare. Strobe lights flashed around us, illuminating his black hair in different shades of blue, purple, and green. His eyes shined similar colors, accentuated by dark brows and long lashes. He was, without a doubt, the prettiest man I had ever seen. Pretty, but in a ruggedly handsome way. I don’t really know how to explain it. Everything about Bass was perfection.
Everything about Bass is perfection.
I fell under his spell from day one. The only problem? I’m one hundred percent certain he doesn’t feel the same way.
I remember trying to look away, knowing I gawked at Bass like some brainless chick who couldn’t do more than eat, sleep, and breathe, but his presence seemed to demand my full attention, forcing me to continue my perusal. I couldn’t control it even if I tried.
I’d let my gaze travel over his face, noting the faint five o’clock shadow framing his strong jawline. The muscle in his neck had flickered as my eyes moved to his broad chest and tattooed arms. The designs had captured my attention. Stars with different styles of shading were positioned against a swirling backdrop of silver and blue, reminding me of a winter night’s sky.
The tattoo reminded me a little of Van Gogh’s Starry Night, but other parts were totally unique, but equally as stunning, as the masterpiece. I’d never seen such a beautiful tattoo. It almost made me want to get one.
Almost.
I’m not a fan of needles but seeing the work of art on Bass’s arm nearly made me overcome my fear just so I could, one day, have something as beautiful permanently a part of my body.
I have no idea how long I had stared at the tattoo, but Bass eventually cleared his throat, freeing me from my unexpected trance. I’d snapped my head back and saw Bass’s smirk, accompanied by shining eyes, as if he knew exactly what I’d been thinking.
At the time, I’d never felt so embarrassed, and that included the time I started my period in seventh grade. I’d had no idea, and my male teacher was, unfortunately, the one who noticed. He promptly sent me to the nurse, but not before both of us suffered unforgettable mortification.
“Are you alright?” Bass had asked, no doubt noticing the color rise in my cheeks.
“Y-yes,” I’d croaked as another wave of embarrassment rushed over me.
“My name is Bass.” He held out a hand.
I’d stared at it in shock.
Again, Bass cleared his throat. Fumbling with my soda, I’d freed my right hand. “I’m Sera.”
I’d placed my hand in his, and immediately gasped when I felt a zip travel through my arm. On instinct, I tried to pull my hand back, but Bass’s fingers tightened.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sera,” he had said. And, lord knows, I will never be able to forget the way his smile brightened his face. He had gazed at me like I was the most exciting thing in the world, but I’ve spent years convincing myself his reaction meant nothing.
Pascale had shown up moments later, and she revealed Bass was the drummer in the band we were there to see. Rather than fangirling like I would’ve expected, Pascale had been polite and courteous as she spoke with Bass. It was very unlike my wild and crazy friend.
I still don’t understand how it happened, but Bass became our friend. Pascale and I went to more of his shows, and each time Bass would make a point to come speak with us during set breaks. Gradually, the hangouts moved from hip concert venues to late night dinners at the diner where I worked. Pascale and Bass would show up when my shift ended, and we’d stay up for hours, snacking on bacon and pancakes until the early morning.
Pascale and I used to be a duo, but for almost two years we’d become a trio. Until Bass’ band decided to go on tour around the Northeast. Now, our hangouts are nonexistent. Hence, I consider Pascale my only friend.
Unaware of where my thoughts travelled in such a short time, Bass grins down at me, stepping out of Roger’s way. I hear the lead bartender ask the two patient girls what they’d like to drink.
“That’s all I get after all this time. ‘Hey’?”
I cross my arms. “Whose fault is it that we haven’t seen each other?” I ignore the way his smile makes my heart race. There was a time I’d do anything to be the reason Bass smiled, but that was a long time ago. I’m no longer the starry-eyed sixteen-year-old from when we first met.
“What can I say,” Bass shrugs. “I go where the music takes me.”
“Poetic.” I shift my body so I can walk to the other side of the bar and take another order. I bend over and retrieve three bottles of beer, using the bottle opener attached to my jeans to open them.
I’m swiping their card at the kiosk when Bass steps up behind me. I know its him just by the way the shadow shifts over me.
God, I really am obsessed with this guy.
“I see you’ve settled into the new job well.”
“Yep.” I tear off the receipt and pass it to the customer with a pen. “Thank you,” I smile flirtatiously at the guy. He blinks, surprised by my sudden enthusiasm, before returning the smile.
I saunter away, hopeful my act may earn me another buck or two for the tip.
“You’re really settled into this job.” Bass is right behind me. I peer back at him. He is still wearing a cheeky grin. The sight is almost painful. I find him just as devastatingly handsome as I did that fateful day more than three years ago.
Who am I kidding? Bass’s absence hasn’t done anything to cure me of my adolescent crush. I’ve got it bad for him. Even after all this time. Even after he disappeared on me.
I lean forward and address another customer, pointedly ignoring Bass’s last comment. “What can I get you?”
I continue to feel Bass’s lingering gaze. Then, while I’m in the middle of helping a different customer, it’s suddenly gone. A chill washes over me, no longer kept away by the warmth of his attention.
From the corner of my eye, I see him talking to Roger. The bartender speaks emphatically as he mixes a drink in a shaker. The pair laugh, and the sound causes a pang of envy. I wish I could get along with people as easily as Bass and Pascale do.
Thanks to Pascale, I know I’m not crazy. The creatures I glimpse from time to time are real. I’m normal. I can make friends. But that’s easier said than done. A lifetime of hiding what I can see has left its mark, and I’m not sure it can be erased.
Bass laughs again, and the sound bounces around in my chest, warming me with its deep, soothing tone.
Get ahold of yourself.
I finish the order I’m working and then walk into the back room. I need a break before I do something stupid like throw myself at Bass...
Again.
3
“What did you put for analysis question four?”
I swallow my sip of coffee and look at the paper in front of me. “Eukaryotic ribosomes are 80s, while prokaryotic ribosomes are 70s.”
“Same.” Andy nods, takes a bite of his muffin, and continues to scan through his lab report. We’re sitting in the café next to campus, and we aren’t the only students using the space to work. I glance at the tables around us. Laptops and textbooks are scattered around, and the students wear varying expressions of fatigue and boredom. I take another sip of coffee. My shift ended at two last night, but cleanup lasted until three. I’m exhausted, but I’m determined to earn an A on this lab report. I can sleep
once I get into nursing school.
“What about the last one asking about antibiotic resistance?”
I return my attention to my paper and read, “Transformation by plasmid DNA.”
Andy smiles wide, showcasing bright, white teeth. “Are you sure you need my help? You already know all the answers.”
“I’ve been studying my tail off.” Besides working and going to class, all I do is study. I know it’s obvious, but college really isn’t as easy as high school.
“So this wasn’t some elaborate plan to get alone time with me?”
I nearly spit out my drink. “What? No.”
His eyes gleam. “Are you sure? I’m starting to believe your friend missed lab on purpose, and you talked Tran into putting us as partners.”
It takes five more seconds before I realize he’s teasing me.
I shake my head. “You’re absurd.” I take another drink, using the cup to hide my pink cheeks.
Andy laughs. “Hey, even if you did come up with an elaborate scheme, I’m glad you did. I enjoy hanging out with you.”
My eyebrows lift. “I’d hardly call this hanging out.”
Instead of being deterred by my abrupt statement, Andy’s smile grows. “You’re honest. I like that. I get the vibe you don’t play games.”
I’m assuming when he says “games” he means emotional manipulation. I saw girls and guys at my high school mess with the minds of people they liked, trying to obtain assurance that they were liked before they would put themselves out there and pursue anyone. It’d been sickening to watch. “I’m a fan of being honest.”
His eyes trail over me, lingering on my lips. “Me too.”
I fight the urge to chew on my bottom lip. It’s my go-to nervous habit, but Pascale accuses me of looking flirtatious when I do it. I look at the paper on the table and fumble as I close the notebook, almost sending it flying onto the floor. “I better get going. I need to catch up on my history reading before class.” I slide the chair back and stand. “Thanks again for meeting me. I really do appreciate it.”
Shadows and Sorcery: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 136
