by Olivia Myers
I picture the perfect bar in my head. One that’s probably never been done before—that’s a sure way to get people in here. Be the first of something. And not something shitty, something cool. I can already imagine the rock walls spanning the areas where, currently, there sits nothing. There’s definitely going to need to be more waitresses, and servers, maybe? Could this be more of a restaurant/bar than just a dingy little bar out in the middle of nowhere?
Yeah, it all comes to mind perfectly.
And I tell him so.
***
“I can’t believe I let some girl talk me into doing something to my own bar,” Blake says, looking at the outside of what used to be Shotguns. It still needs a new name, but we don’t focus on that right now. I look over to him, from where he stands by my side. His arms are crossed over his chest. He’s getting more and more like me the more time we spend together, and it makes me smile. I shake my head to myself, thinking about that. He hasn’t calmed down at all on the whole “protecting me from other guys” front, but I’ve given him some slack and haven’t been hitting on other guys…much.
What even are we?
Whatever. I don’t want to bother putting a name to it. It’s not my style.
I lean against him, putting my head on his shoulder for just a second. Then I jerk back and slam my elbow into his ribs. “I’m not just some girl, you asshole,” I tell him. I don’t know why I do, though; we both know that. I feel a smile on my face. “Have you got any more waitresses?”
“Yeah,” he’s stoic. “They should be coming tonight.”
“Good.” I think back to all the interviews we went through. I wasn’t at all of them, of course—they were too boring for my taste. Still are, and still will be, if people ditch and we wind up having to do them again. Most of it was just them demonstrating that they know how to rock climb. Because that’s our thing now: rockclimbing servers, going up to get plates and extra bottles of booze. Never plates full of food – too risky – and never drinks already in glasses, but, hey, you do you. “Remember that I’m the original, though.”
“You?” He snorts. “You can’t even climb.”
“Who says I can’t?” I give him a side eye.
“The fact that you’ve been staring at these walls with apprehension, like you’re scared they’re going to bite you or something.” He leans in. “They won’t bite. But I might. Come on, I’ll teach you.”
We enter the bar. Most of the renovations are done. The ones that aren’t should be finished by tonight, when the white cloths covering them will be removed to reveal them to the public. I look over at some of the higher rock walls, especially the one being added behind the wooden bar. That dumb tabletop had to be taken out and then rebuilt, so there was large enough space for the wall to be added. A headache, but it was worth it.
We start heading over there when Blake nods to the ropes hanging from the ceiling. The best rock climbers will swing down from those to greet the customers, especially the assigned greeter at the head of the bar. “You sure you don’t want to use those instead?”
“I know what you’re getting at, and that’s not going to happen.” I elbow him again. Not that I don’t want it to happen. I’ve considered it a few times. Could that change really be so bad? Probably. Blake seems dangerous, happy-go-lucky bastard that he is.
“If you insist.” He wraps an arm around me, and I swear under my breath. I squirm and buck against his side, but he doesn’t let go. So I breathe and deal with it, melting into his embrace under the excuse that he’s made me do it—even though I was just about to push myself up against him anyway.
We finally make it to the wall. “Put your feet up on one of those,” Blake nods to the multi-colored stones jutting out of the wall. I put my foot on the lowest rung, taking in a breath when I feel both of Blake’s hands at my waist.
“Are you sure I don’t need a harness for this?” The wall is pretty high. Not that I think I’m going to get up there on the first go, but…
“You aren’t going to get all the way up.” He grabs my hair and pushes it, adjusting it so it all falls over one shoulder. “Besides, I’ll keep you safe.”
I’m a few stones up when it happens. A clatter comes as his – our? – accountant comes on the scene, knocking over something. Like an idiot. Blake’s hands fall from my waist. I didn’t exactly need his support, but without it, I panic. My hands tighten on the holds and they’re already tired from the death grip I held. There’s no strength left, and I go tumbling to the ground, landing on my ass.
“What the fuck, Blake?” I shout at him. I don’t care how happy we were earlier.
He doesn’t seem to care, either. He sounds rough and pissed as he replies, “You were three fucking feet up!”
Oh. Oh, hell no. He’s blaming me for this?
“I’m the one with a scraped knee!”
His eyes fall down to my knees, concealed through my jeans. “You can’t even know if you’re hurt. You’re wearing pants.”
I glare back. “I can feel it, you asshole.”
Mr. Roe coughs. We haven’t seen him around in a while, and in my mind he’s the bringer of bad news. Blake raises a hand to me—like I’m supposed to obey him?—as he moves to go talk to this guy, and I slap Blake on the ass as he goes.
I see the muscles in his back tense as he walks, but he doesn’t stop. The men turn around a rock wall and talk to each other. When Blake comes back, there’s a twinkle in his eye and a spark to his step – but no smile on his face. Does he always have to be so grumpy? Goddamn.
“What was that about?” I finally break the silence.
“We’re doing good.” He doesn’t say anything else. He just stands beside me.
I can’t take it anymore.
I have commitment issues, but there’s that and then there’s this. And avoiding Blake because of my home life in the past just feels so wrong…and not even in a good way.
I look at him and then at the floor. I have to do this. I have to do this before I back out.
“The bar needs a new name,” I say, grabbing his arm and pulling him to look at me.
He grins, his eyes wide and open like he’s waiting for me to say what’s on my mind. “Okay?”
“I’m thinking Knots would work.”
He grabs my hand, squeezing it and pulling me to him again. I bite my lip, but don’t comment. I want his hand in mine, anyway. He finally speaks. “And why is that?”
“I’ll show you.” I’m doing this. Fuck. Why am I so nervous? “Where’s that staircase?”
“Over there,” he nods past a rock wall to a clear section of wall, where the door is still just barely visible. “Are you leading or am I?”
I take him by the hand and bring him over there, opening the door. I beckon for him to go in first. “Well, if we’re going for a repeat of last time…”
He laughs, pulling me behind him as we ascend the stairs. “Is this just because it’s opening night?”
“No,” I reply, squeezing his hand like he’s been squeezing mine. “It’s because I want you.”
It takes effort for me to say that, and it takes a moment for him to reply. I cringe inside, wondering what he thinks about it. We don’t exactly have the most functional work relationship, as it is.
“I thought you didn’t do relationships.” He spins me around, making me move so that I lean down in his arms. He bends his head to look at me, and it’s almost like we’re in the middle of some kind of fancy dance move. His mouth brushes against mine lightly, just lightly enough to tease me before moving away again.
I put a hand in his hair and bring his head back to mine. “I’ll make an exception.”
I kiss him. He pulls at my hair, too, bringing me into a deep passionate kiss. And then it’s over. Both of his hands go to my hips and he lifts me up. He carries me straight over to a wall, pushing himself down above me and kissing me. I touch him back, while I can.
There’s rope in a crate a few feet back. He stops kissi
ng me. He turns his head, looking back to it. And then he looks back at me with a raised eyebrow, moving to grab a spool of it.
I can’t think of a better way to start our relationship. And in the dim light of that room, I finally let go of one of my “not”s.
The End
A Message From The Author
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