by Mysti Parker
“I’ll bring my crew over Friday night — honest, hardworking men — and see if they can change the atmosphere,” Dwight suggested.
Gabriel was aware of their conversation, but being only inches from Harper was distracting. He had offered to pay because he’d been raised as a gentleman, and wouldn’t let a lady pay. She was classy, it was true, and her Southern lilt remained a turn-on, along with the good manners — manners had never been one of Rachel’s strengths. But he had been looking at her strong neck and envisioned himself leaning in to kiss it, and looking at her lips and wondering if they would taste like lipstick, as Rachel's always had? Or maybe they would taste like the sweet breaths of heaven?
“You’re adjusting all right to Brooklyn?” he asked as Sailor set the mojitos in front of them. The bubbling carbonated water gifted them with the pungency of the limes.
“I can’t figure out the subway lines,” she admitted. “Sailor told me, Dwight told me, and I still keep going on the wrong platform and heading the opposite direction, or getting off at the wrong stop. But I need to learn how to do it. I must stop driving. I already got three tickets for parking on the wrong side.”
“You just need to get in the habit of checking, and remember what blocks have what timing. You’ll get used to it. Oh, and don’t forget to move your car in the morning if it’s on the wrong side. Where are you living, what neighborhood?” Was that too intrusive a question, he wondered? He had been with Rachel so long, he’d forgotten how to chat with women.
“Williamsburg,” Harper said. She tasted her mojito. “Hey, deelish.”
"Yeah, that's a real hipster area these days. Good restaurants. I had some friends in that neighborhood back in high school.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, there was a guy I used to hang out with called Crunchy, because… Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, it’s kind of gross.”
“Gross is okay.” She offered a slightly naughty smile, and forked a strip of pizza into her mouth. “You know, if I’m a Brooklyn gal now, I have to roll with the punches, don’t I?”
“Good attitude,” Gabriel said. “You’re picking it up fast. Brooklyn’s about two things: rolling with the punches, and loving your neighborhood. Oh, and food.” He hadn’t realized he thought about those things — for a long time, since forever it felt like, he really hadn’t thought about anything except his parents, the sea lions, and his ex. Sitting next to Harper was pulling new and welcome thoughts out of his head. He changed the subject, hoping a work-related conversation would dull his excitement. "Hey, do you know who will be coming into the amphitheater? Are you bringing some kids' groups through? Or emceeing?"
"I might be. I'm a little nervous about that. I love kids, but that's a lot of people to perform in front of. How do you do it?"
"Well, I don't usually get that close. I'm really sort of talking to a lot of shadows and focusing on the animals."
Harper smiled. "Oh, I have an idea. I know you guys put kids' groups in the front couple of rows. If your mike reaches far enough, you can kind of walk poolside by the railing there and let them ask you questions."
"We have a ramp I can use to cross over. Yeah, that's a good idea. My dad just answered questions after the show." A burst of noise arose from the bigmouths across the way. Another Ted Nugent song blared from the jukebox. Sailor was over by the knot of loud men, apparently taking orders. The other bartender was delivering to a table.
"So what were you saying about this Crunchy guy?" Harper drew his attention back to her and consequently her tongue and how she licked at the sugar that lined the rim of her glass.
He cleared his throat and focused on his own drink. “Crunchy used to charge a dollar to eat any bug you brought to him. Two dollars if it was bigger than his knuckle. Then he’d spit out the wings.”
Harper inserted a plastic stirrer into her mojito and took a delicate drink through its narrow mouth. “So how much money did you give him?”
“Me? No, I just watched, but I’m a fan of animals, even bugs, so if I caught a bug, I’d put it in a jar with a hole in the lid.”
“Animal fan. Right, of course, you’re a seal trainer.”
“Well, I haven’t worked with seals that much. They don’t usually perform. It’s sea lions in most water parks.”
“Oh, sorry. I still get them mixed up. So you always knew you wanted to be an animal trainer?”
“Well, my dad, you know. He was always my role model. He was the strongest man I ever knew.” Gabriel looked away from Harper’s curious eyes toward a shouting match across the bar. "What the hell?"
Two of the loudmouths on the far side were leaning halfway across the bar yelling at Sailor, who was yelling right back at them.
“If you can’t say something nice, shut up or get out!” Posted up on her high heels, her straight blonde hair splayed across the back of her blouse, she was a picture of toughness and determination, but the men were increasingly belligerent. She kept her distance, but was obviously upset and unsure how to handle the situation.
“Yeah, baby, let’s get out of here and have some fun. Whaddya say?”
Gabriel could see a red embroidered ‘Mike’ on the guy’s shirt.
Sailor just glared then yelled over his shoulder at the drunk on the jukebox. "If you keep sitting on the jukebox, it will break! Do you want it broken?"
"It ain't gonna break any faster or slower if you keep naggin' me about it, bitch!"
Mike was eyeing Sailor’s body and licking his lips. He leaned into his friend, said something and made a squeezing gesture. His friend rubbed his palms together and snickered. She was trying to ignore them and went for some glasses below the bar where they sat.
“Dwight,” Gabriel said, elbowing his friend.
“I see it.”
Their eyes met. Dwight interlaced his fingers and cracked his knuckles.
“Excuse us a minute,” Gabriel said to Harper.
They walked side by side around the curve of the bar. Sailor stood up, glasses in hand. Mike swiped at her chest with a clawed hand. Sailor dodged, but Mike’s fingers brushed her arm. She dropped the glasses and stood over their shattered remains, mouth open in shock.
“I hope I didn’t just see you trying to grab this lady, because if I did, you and I have a real problem,” Dwight said. He cupped Mike’s shoulder in a firm grip.
The guy shook Dwight off, which was his first mistake. “Yeah, what are you gonna do about it, asshole?”
Second mistake.
Then he turned and spit on Dwight’s shoe.
Game on.
Dwight caught the back of his head and ran him face-first into the wall. Blood splattered and ran down the wallpaper and he slid to his knees. The other man who had been leaning in drew his fist back only to get caught by Gabriel’s right uppercut to the chin. He stumbled over Mike and fell to the floor across Mike’s lap, butt facing up like he was about to get spanked.
There were five mechanics in the bar. Two were stunned or out. One sat slack-jawed on the jukebox. The other two moved in. One threw a punch which missed Dwight by inches. Dwight shoved the man backward. He crashed into a bar stool and fell on his ass. The other man rammed into Gabriel and caught him around the waist, forced him back. Gabriel hammered the back of his neck, and the mechanic fell on his face and puked on the floor.
And on Gabriel’s loafers.
The fifth man slid down from the jukebox and staggered toward them with his fists up, saw two sober, ready opponents, and spread his palms to indicate he was backing off. He started to circle the bar in the opposite direction, making for the exit maybe, but Gabriel wasn’t sure. He rushed over next to Harper and stood ready for action, watching the staggering drunk for any sign of aggression.
“Ted Nugent sucks,” he called as the mechanic slipped out the door.
“Oh my God,” Harper said. “Are you okay?”
Gabriel inspected his hand, which was throbbing. He flexed his fingers, assessed the location and intensity
of the pain. “Nothing broken, but I probably bruised my knuckles.”
"I've seen a couple of bar fights before, but they were mostly pushing and shoving. You guys really know your stuff."
“I think that's just because they're so drunk, but I did take karate classes for a long time. I even used to compete. And this is hardly the first scrap Dwight and I have gotten into together.”
“I guess you… look out!”
The final drunk mechanic had staggered back in holding a tire iron and was swinging it overhead with skull-crushing potential. Gabriel, warned, just dodged it, crashed into Harper as she was retreating, and they both stumbled backward. The big drunk lurched toward Gabriel with his weapon held at about waist level. It gave Harper time to grab an empty pizza pan and swing it with real force at his temple. It bent at the impact.
"Flimsy pan," Harper said. She kicked him about where his balls were, assuming he had any.
The tire iron clanked to the floor. The man fell to his knees, holding his crotch, and after a single cough, barfed directly on Harper’s pink tennis shoes.
"Him again?" she said. This guy wasn't just one of the mechanics; it was the man who had been messing with her before.
Gabriel got to his own knees, then gave the man a firm shove sideways. That was all that was necessary after the nutshot.
“Seriously?” Harper said as she got up. “This is two pairs of shoes in two days.”
Sailor came over, holding her mobile phone to her ear. “Yes, the Hole bar. A group of disorderly men. I asked them to leave, but I wound up needing help from some patrons to subdue them. How soon?” She mouthed a thank you at Gabriel and Dwight. “And the worst part is, how will I get these jerkholes to pay their tab?”
“Well, at least these shoes are mine,” Harper added, looking at her vomit-stained pink sneakers. “Oh my God, Gabriel, he could have killed you! You sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Me too,” said Dwight as he approached. “Thanks for asking.”
Gabriel took a moment to look at Harper. Damn, the girl wasn't only smart and sexy. She could hold her own in a Brooklyn bar fight, too. Her chest rose and fell as she caught her breath from the fight. Her cheeks were flushed, and she held his gaze with one that made his head swim more than the drink had yet to finish. He could get used to that.
Oh, and they had one more thing in common, too: seemed like they couldn't keep their shoes clean.
Chapter Six
A black and white movie Harper didn't recognize played on Sailor's big screen TV over her mantle, the volume turned down to a murmur. Sailor was "slumming it" in what most people would call dressy clothes - a pair of black leggings and an oversized pink cashmere sweater. Her long, slender legs were tucked up neatly under her, while she rested her elbow on the back of the leather sofa, chin in hand.
Though the rest of her seemed relaxed, stress tightened her jaw and formed worry lines on her forehead. "I don't know what to do. I've tried hiring bouncers, but the good ones never stay. They usually go to the Manhattan clubs where they're paid more and don't have to deal with vomiting drunks and bar fights nearly as often."
Harper felt bad for her, even worse knowing what she'd done to Sailor's shoes. "I don't know how you've kept it going this long. Why not sell it and open a spa or something?"
"I don't know. I've put so much into the bar already; I don't want to give up so soon. My dad could start up a business and have it making six figures in profits within a few months, sell it for an even bigger profit, and go on to the next one. I need to make this work, even if I do end up selling it later."
"But why? Because you're afraid of disappointing your dad?"
"No, I mean, I realize he's dead and not coming back. He can't be disappointed in me. It's like..." She sat up, hugged a blue silk pillow to her chest and brought her knees to her chin. "...my dad never really cared about any of his work. He wanted to make money, and he did, but there was never any real passion for anything beyond that. Maybe it's silly, but I want to build a legacy. I want something that lasts and becomes a neighborhood landmark."
"That's not silly at all. My brother Jaxon is like that with his aerial tours company. Total nature geek. You have to love what you do if you want to keep doing it, or you'll just end up miserable."
"I think you're right." She unfolded her legs and sat on the edge of the sofa. "But loving what I do doesn't fix the problem unless I can get better help or get combat training."
"A good self-defense class isn't a bad idea."
"I'll look into that." Sailor stood, picking some invisible lint from her leggings. "I'm going to fix a martini. Would you like one?"
"Sure. I've never had those either, but tonight seems to be the night for trying new drinks."
Sailor glided to her big open kitchen at the other end of her living room. She fetched some bottles of liquor, two martini glasses, a jar of olives, and a stainless steel shaker and set them all on her marble island. "So, since you're a cocktail novice, here's your basic martini. First, cracked ice, not crushed." She went to her big stainless steel fridge and put the shaker under the dispenser. Ice clanged into it, filling it up. She brought it back to the island. "Now you pour in about a half ounce of dry vermouth. I only use Noilly Prat. Add two and a half ounces of gin. Put the lid on the shaker, shake for about twenty seconds." She proceeded to shake it, rattling the ice cubes while she hummed and tilted her head from side to side, swaying to her own music.
Harper smiled. One thing was certain. Sailor enjoyed making drinks. It was nice to see her happy after the crap she'd had to put up with at the bar.
"Now, you strain it into your glass." She flipped over the shaker and poured the drink. "And now for the olive." She took a toothpick, speared an olive with it, and plopped it into the martini.
While she made the second drink, Harper wandered into the kitchen. Sailor handed her the first martini. She took a sip. It was crisp, dry, and had a distinct evergreen flavor. "Not bad. Tastes a little like Pine Sol."
Sailor laughed. "That's the gin. It's Hendrick's."
"You know, you could say it's McGillicutty's and I wouldn't know the difference."
Sailor poured her own martini and flashed a smile. "It's distilled in Scotland and made with juniper berries, infused with rose and cucumber."
"Gotcha. Ask me about Maker's Mark or Jim Beam, and then we've got something to talk about."
Crossing one arm over her middle, Sailor sipped her martini with the other hand. "I'll have to repay Gabriel and Dwight for stepping in tonight. Since we had to close early thanks to those jerks, they didn't get their food. Can you tell Gabriel that he and Dwight can have dinner on me next time they come in?"
"I guess so. You could tell them yourself, though."
"Oh no, I think you should. I saw the way Gabriel looked at you, and you looked at him. Definitely some sparks happening there. Besides, I think you owe me some shoes."
Harper almost choked on her drink. She coughed, trying to clear the burn from her throat without gagging. "Um..."
Sailor laughed. "It's fine. Whatever happened, I'm sure it was an accident. I have a few dozen pairs for backup anyway." She took a sip of martini, winking at Harper.
Clearing her throat one last time, Harper decided it was confession time. "I'm so sorry about the shoes. I never meant to get chum all over them."
It was Sailor's turn to choke on her drink. She set her glass down on the island and covered her mouth with one hand. Even her coughs were premium quality, not too loud and not at all gaggy.
Harper realized Sailor probably didn't know what chum was, so she most likely had mistaken the word for chum without the h. She burst out laughing. "No, not that. Fish guts!"
Now Sailor grimaced and shivered. "I'd say that was better, but..."
"Yeah it's pretty nasty. The cleaner assured me he'd do everything he could."
Sailor still looked skeptical, but she rested her elbows on the counter and shook her head
sadly. "They were some of my favorites."
Geez, it sounded like they were talking about a critically ill patient rather than a pair of luxury high heels. Harper finished off her martini and popped the olive in her mouth. "I better go. Early day tomorrow. It's my first time guiding a tour."
"Okay. I need a nice soak in the tub and a good night's sleep."
"I hear ya. G'night."
Back upstairs in her apartment, Harper opened her laptop. She wanted to spend a few minutes researching seals and sea lions so she could better answer the kids' questions without having to bother Gabriel. She clicked on the first result in the Google search, but she didn't really see the words. She kept picturing Gabriel getting between her and that disgusting mechanic. He was so protective, but why? He barely knew her. They'd spoken maybe for a combined five minutes total. He'd shown up there with Dwight - that was weird too. But dang, he was strong and brave to take on a gang like that. She felt the blood drain from her face. They could have had weapons. Sure, the bouncer was supposed to check everyone on the way in, but as flaky as Sailor said those guys were, someone could sneak in a small handgun or pocket knife easily. Yet, Gabriel had been willing to take them on anyway without flinching. He had this fire in his eyes, like he'd do whatever it took to protect her. Thankfully she'd seen and been in plenty of fights growing up in Kentucky. If you survived a whole year riding the bus without witnessing or getting drawn into a fight, you were lucky. She was only a little sore from straining herself swinging the pizza pan. Totally worth it. She and Gabe had made a good tag team.
Harper warmed in places she had neglected for too long. For the brief moment their bodies had come into contact, she'd noticed his solidness and his musky scent, heightened in the heat of battle. What she'd give for just a few more moments with him without drunk idiots ruining everything! He seemed kind and smart, a little uptight, but she'd seen a spark of mischief in him. She bet he'd be really fun if he let his guard down.
She opened Facebook to search for his name and had only typed Ga- when A Facebook notification popped up on her laptop screen. Her jaw dropped. Gabriel had sent a friend request. Did he sense she’d been thinking about him this whole time? She moved the cursor and hovered it over “accept.” It probably wasn’t wise to get involved with a coworker over social media, but she’d already been up close and personal with him in a bar fight. So why not?
