“Fuck!” He slammed his phone down onto the counter at the same time the chime on the door sounded.
“Screwup with the deliveries again, boss?” Trevor called out as he sauntered in and tossed his ratty backpack behind the bar.
Ryan tugged at the beanie on his head, wishing he could just go back to last night. A beautiful girl beneath him, listening to the entertaining nonsense coming out of her mouth. “No,” he ground out. “Vinny just got himself fired.”
“Ouch.” Trevor bent to retrieve a clean bar towel, the logo on his shirt, World’s Okayest Bartender, twisting into something unreadable. Truth was, the Alibi would never survive without Trevor and his ability to joke around with the customers. The people who came here loved him. The guy’s bartending skills weren’t half bad, either.
At least I haven’t had to fire Trevor.
“What’d he do this time?” Trevor asked, a chunk of his bright red hair falling into his eyes.
Ryan reached over the bar and filled a glass of water. He took a long sip, fighting the urge to spew out a number of words about Vinny. He swallowed, opting for something more professional. “Being a flake like every other busser I’ve hired in the last few months.” He set the glass down. “What is it with the position that I can’t get it filled with someone who has an ounce of reliability and common sense?”
“The pay?”
Ryan shook his head. “I’ve done my research. Wages I pay are 10 percent higher than the other bars in town.” They had to be to get people to come to this side of Boston and stick around for longer than a month or two.
Trevor shrugged, his scrawny arms reaching to retrieve a large bottle of Maker’s. He wiped it with the rag and returned it to the shelf, straightening the unopened one next to it. “Sounds like you need to stop hiring bastards that don’t give a rat’s ass about their job.” Trevor turned and winked. “Which I’m sure is easier said than done.”
“No kidding.” Ryan chugged the rest of his water and handed the glass to Trevor. “You have any friends who need a job?”
Trevor set the glass in the wash basin. “Nope. They’re all bastards I don’t want attached to my name and place of employment.”
Ryan ran a hand across the back of his neck. Christ, sometimes being the boss really blew. “I dropped our name a few times last night. Something about drink specials on Friday nights, so it might get busier than usual tonight.” One could only hope. “I’ll stick around. Help you out as much as I can.”
“Drink specials? What’d ya have in mind?”
“I’ll leave that up to you. Discount some of the domestic beers and maybe promote a two-for tequila deal.”
Ryan started down the hallway to the back office but slowed when the chime on the door sounded again. Afternoons were typically slower than a boat to China around here, and if he was going to try to pick up business, he needed to evaluate the type of customers who liked to start their nights early as fuck.
A woman wearing tight jeans and a bulky sweater strutted in, peeling off her sunglasses as the door swished closed behind her. Those eyes, that mouth—they were the same he’d been staring at last night. The same he’d devoured in Barf Girl’s apartment.
What was Sailor doing here?
Trevor greeted her as her heels clicked over to where he stood. She glanced around—her eyes ticking to each wall, the display of liquor behind the counter, the recessed lighting along the ceiling—more as if she were assessing the place than here to have a drink.
Had she come here looking for him?
His cock jumped at the thought. Or maybe from the memory of being inside her, her delicate hands all over him.
“What’ll it be?” Trevor asked her, dropping a napkin onto the counter. He turned on the charm like he did for all of the women who came in, though for some reason, the attention toward Sailor made Ryan feel like he’d just bitten into the bitter skin of a pickle.
Sailor splayed her hands on the bar. “A beer please.” The bulky sweater formed against her upper half with the movement of her arms, and Ryan eased a step into the room. His hands itched to caress those hourglass sides, his mouth watered at the idea of tasting her lips again.
Trevor tapped the counter. “You got it,” he said and turned for the taps on the wall.
Ryan cleared his throat and started into the room. “For a girl who doesn’t drink much, you sure are starting the night early.”
Sailor craned her neck, her eyes widening at the sight of Ryan. Her mouth puckered, likely to ask what he was doing there, but instead, a moment of understanding passed and a thin smile stretched across her face. “And for someone who was out late last night, I guess you are, too.” A pinkish hue feathered the length of her cheeks. Her gaze dipped to his feet then back up, a quick once-over that made Ryan’s skin tingle like his blood vessels were opening.
Damn, he couldn’t help himself. In a few steps, he closed the space between them, took those pink cheeks in his hands, and brushed his lips against hers. “And what an amazing night it was.” The offer was there, hanging in the tone of his words, in the gentle way he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. Let’s have one more night.
Sailor drew in a shaky breath and flattened her hands on Ryan’s chest. “I came in here to do something important, and your mouth this close to mine is making it really hard to concentrate.”
A glass was lowered onto the counter beside them, and Trevor’s form retreated to the other side of the bar. His bartender had been working at the Alibi long enough to know this was Ryan’s style. Whether coming onto him or the other way around, the only action Ryan got these days was from the women in the bar.
It took a minute of her words bouncing around Ryan’s head, but then it hit him. Something important. Did that mean… “You meeting someone here?” Backing away, making just enough space between them to measure her reaction, his eyes narrowed.
Her hands fell away from him, and she reclined a few inches back. “No. Well, yes.” She mashed her lips together and blinked. “I don’t know… I guess I’m trying to.”
Ryan opened his mouth. Whoever told this girl afternoons were a good time to pick up guys obviously wanted her to stay single. The only men who frequented his bar this time of day were the vagrants who’d come across a few bucks and neighboring store owners closing up for the day. None of which he’d trust with someone as naive as the girl who’d brought a dead plant into a bar.
Before Ryan could sort out his words, a tight laugh squawked out from Sailor’s mouth. “I mean, not like that. I’m not here to”—she shifted on her seat, hands in her lap—“you know.”
Did he care that she’d so easily forgotten about last night? That she was already looking for someone else? “I don’t know,” he answered flatly.
Sailor met his gaze, something like uncertainty shimmering in the pools of brown. “Do what we did. I’m not looking for someone to do that with.”
Ryan shrugged, not budging from his position in front of her. “Not here to judge. Though if you are, I’ll save you the grief of finding someone and take you home right now.” Or into his back office. Without Vinny coming in tonight, that room would be empty all night.
Another jumpy laugh bubbled out of her, and a row of creases trickled down her forehead. God, she was gorgeous, especially when she flushed from his words. That he wouldn’t mind seeing over and over again.
“I came to see the owner,” she said with a small shake of her head. By the thin set of her lips, it wasn’t difficult to guess this meeting wasn’t something she was looking forward to. And the way she blurted it out so casually told him she didn’t know he was the person she was looking for.
“Oh?” he said, planting his hand on the bar and straightening to see her better. She wanted to see the owner, but not him. He didn’t know what to make of that.
She gnawed her lip, fingertips traced a line along the glass’s condensation. He didn’t know which look he liked better—the naive smile or the shy one. The moment pulse
d between them, and then she nodded. “For a business proposition.”
And that was where his eyes stopped watching her mouth and hands, and his ears decided to start paying attention. Business proposition? What the hell for? “Regarding what?” he pushed out, his attempt to sound cool and casual trumped by the interest he couldn’t keep tamped down.
Seconds ticked by, and she pulled her knees together. “Um…” She hooked a finger into her sweater’s collar and tugged, glancing from wall to wall as if it was the room making her uncomfortable and not his presence.
A crease pinched between his brows, but he stayed quiet. Whatever she was here for was clearly heavy enough to make this girl squirm. Which in turn made his feet feel a little like they were on stilts too brittle to hold his weight. No matter the troubles the Alibi had given him over the years—fixing it up, letting it pull him down financially—it wouldn’t ever be anything he’d sell. The bar was the only connection he had left to Marty. Hell would freeze up before he’d let that go.
Sailor cleared her throat, tucked her hair behind her ear. “This used to be my father’s bar.” Her words were so quiet Ryan had to lean in to hear them. Or maybe it was the utter shock of them that had him doubting what he’d heard.
Father’s bar, father’s bar, father’s bar.
No way. It couldn’t be.
Ryan opened his mouth to tell her she must have the wrong place, because this had been Marty’s bar, and he only had one daughter. Jenny. And that girl was a complete fuckup who’d chosen drugs over her own family. Before he could get anything out, Sailor continued.
“He died a few years ago and willed it to some money-hungry a-hole who’d weaseled into his life for the very purpose of stealing all his things.”
The room stilled and a fiery flush burst through Ryan’s chest. Money-hungry a-hole? Stealing Marty’s things? He stepped back and swallowed, ready to defend his bar in Marty’s honor, but stopped. Sailor obviously had the wrong place. The wrong owner.
“I wasn’t around when that happened.” Sailor stood from her stool and ran a hand through her hair, throwing her shoulders back to stand taller. “But…now I am. So I’ve come to take it back. Return it to my family where it belongs.”
Air grew harder to suck in, as if Ryan’s head had been shaken like a can of paint at the hardware store. Some of what she said matched up—willing the bar, father dying, her not being around—but…it didn’t make sense, not the name. Unless Marty’d had another daughter Ryan hadn’t known about?
“Let me see your ID,” he demanded, his hand outstretched.
A crooked smile lifted one side of her mouth, and the tension in Ryan’s chest loosened a tad. He’d never before been around a smile that could crack him so quickly. The feeling was both foreign and disconcerting. “Are you the bouncer here?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.
Bouncer, right. As if he had a surplus of customers to need one of those. He flattened out his fingers and thrust them closer to her. “You could say that.”
Hesitantly, she reached into her purse and pulled out her driver’s license, handed it over to him. The words all blurred together… All except one.
Carlson.
A sickly buzz started in the pit of Ryan’s stomach. Deepening as each word fell into his line of focus. Jennifer Sailor Carlson.
And just like that, every ounce of attraction he’d felt for her fizzled away.
“Your name is Jennifer.”
The tiny dimple in her left cheek gave away the wince that accompanied his last word. “I go by Sailor now.” She must’ve recognized a change in his stance, the tighter tone of his words, because her body quickly seemed to mirror his.
“The owner…” she said, gesturing to the vacant bar tables in the room, her voice growing watery thin. “Do you know where I can find him?”
This could go a million different ways, and his brain had no idea where to start. He steadied his position, digging his heels into the wooden floor and spouted, “You mean the money-hungry asshole? Sure do. He’s standing right in front of you.”
…
Was that a whistle screeching out of Sailor’s mouth? Or the squawk of a dying bird?
Sailor grasped the edge of the counter, unable to tear her eyes from Ryan. “You’re…the owner?” Luckily, those were the words that came out of her mouth instead of the others she was thinking. I freaking slept with the owner?
He said nothing, just tossed her ID onto the counter like it was poison he didn’t want to touch and crossed his arms over his chest.
Words were still trickling out. “Of this bar?”
His eyes narrowed on her, the Caribbean blue morphing into something icy and arctic-like. “Let me see if I have this right.” He flicked one finger into the air. “You disown your father.” Another finger shot up. “Abandon him while he’s sick and dying.” He extended his thumb and his face hardened even more. “Now you want to take back what’s yours when he’s finally gone and you don’t have to face him anymore. Sound about right?”
Sailor was already shaking her head. “Sick?” Her father hadn’t been sick. Cause of death had been ruled… “He died of a heart attack.”
“While he was battling cancer.” Ryan rolled his eyes. “Of course, you wouldn’t know that, because you left him.”
The walls, they suddenly felt too close to her. How did he know this? And why did his words constrict like he was doing more than simply stating the facts? “Who are you?” she pushed out, her words stuttering. Walking in here ten minutes ago, her plan had been set—find the owner, tell him who she was, and convince him to sell the bar back to her at a reasonable, family-discounted price. Easy-peasy.
Ryan clenched his fists, tightening his muscles all the way up his arms. “Apparently, I’m the prick who weaseled into your dad’s life so I could take his things.” He stepped back and gestured to the door. “I’m also the prick who’s asking you leave my bar immediately.”
Leave?
No. Wait. She couldn’t leave without making a deal.
Black spots trickled into the corners of Sailor’s line of sight, squeezing and shrinking her focus onto Ryan’s hard-edged face. She opened her mouth to protest, to get him to just hear her out—that this bar was the only thing she had left of her father—but he cut her off before a single word could transfer from her brain to her mouth.
“My bar’s not up for taking.”
Hands—the base of her throat constricted as if hands now gripped it. This was the last connection she had to her father. Tears started to prick in her eyes. “Please…just give me a chance to explain.”
“No need to. I know exactly who you are and how you destroyed your father.” He wrapped his hand around her upper arm—not tightly, but not in a gentle way, either—and spun her to face the door. “I also know that if he were here today, he would want nothing to do with you.”
Her legs reacted to his words at the same time her brain untangled them, and she stumbled, her body lurching against the hold he had on her arm. Her father had wanted nothing to do with her.
Of course he hadn’t. She’d abandoned him.
To stabilize herself, Sailor fisted the front of Ryan’s shirt. Fire burned in his eyes—the angry type that made her blood run cold. He was going to kick her out, probably ban her from ever setting foot in here again, and if he did that, she’d lose her father forever. Never feel the connection to him she’d had when she was a little girl.
“Ryan, wait.” She dug her fingers into his shirt harder, tears blurring his face into a muddle of tan and brown and blue. “I made a mistake when I was younger, didn’t put family first—or…at all. But I’m here to make that better.”
“By taking something from someone else? How the fuck does that make anything better?”
Okay, obviously coming in here, thinking someone would simply hand over the bar to her was stupid. And if Ryan kicked her out now, there was a pretty good chance she wouldn’t be able to talk her way back in.
He took a step toward the door, and the racing of her heart jumped into overdrive. “Please, please, maybe you can just…” Just what? Let her hang out in here a little while longer? Explore the back office and bathrooms and behind the bar to see if she recognized anything that reminded her of her dad? “I’m…I’m…” Think, Sailor. Think! “I’m looking for…a job.” She swallowed hard. “I mean”—she tamped down the burst of words threatening to explode out of her—“I’m looking for a job. Surely you have something available. A bartending position, maybe?”
At this, he laughed, harsh and exacting. “Bartending?” He loosened his grip on her arm, though he didn’t let go completely. “The girl who served me Jameson and grenadine last night?” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t survive one night in here.”
Yeah, she didn’t exactly have anything to say to that.
“What about a waitress? Every bar can always use an extra one of those.” The pleading tone of her voice should have embarrassed her.
Should have.
But there wasn’t an ounce of embarrassment inside her. Only pure, unbridled panic that the moment she walked out of here, her father would be lost forever.
A single tear slid down the side of her nose, catching in the corner of her mouth. “I just want to know my father.”
“And that’s my problem how?”
“Because you can give me that chance. Being in his space—”
“Not his space anymore.”
Ouch. A cringe tightened through her core. “Right,” she said, grinding her heels into the floor in an attempt to steady herself. “But it used to be, and that’s more than anything I have right now. Please.”
An eternity of a moment passed—silent and digging into her skin. His face’s hard features remained unmoved. Finally, he squinted at her, parting his lips just a sliver, and though it wasn’t the reaction she was looking for, it was better than the mask that had been staring her down.
He muttered something under his breath and then said to her, “Any other day, I would’ve said no, but my weekend busser just got himself fired, and I need someone to take his place.”
A Moment of Madness (Boston Alibi) Page 5
