Bartender with Benefits

by Mickey Miller

  “Hey,” he smiles.

  “Hey,” I say anxiously. “So where are we going?”

  “Since you seem bent on ruining the surprise, we’re going to a baseball game.”

  “Baseball game? Like what kind of baseball game? It’s October 1st.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s one more game tonight. The Chicago Jaguars are in town, and Jake Napleton is on the mound! It’s the last game of the season today.”

  I scrunch up my brow at him. “You want to drive all the way to the city for the game? That’s like three hours.”

  He shrugs.

  “You have something better you wanna be doing right now?” He arches an eyebrow. “I mean, you can get out now. I’m not making you go on this trip.”

  “Let’s go.”

  We stop at a gas station, and I change out of my homecoming dress and into shorts and a tank top for the game, feeling a little less ridiculous.

  We settle into the car ride, and though it’s mostly silent I feel comfortable, at ease, but there’s something on my mind that I have to ask.

  “Mason, I have a question and can you answer honestly, please?”

  “Sure,” he shrugs.

  “Why are all guys such assholes?”

  He squints at me.

  “All guys are such assholes including me?”

  “Well, I don’t really know you. I mean, you haven’t been an asshole yet—to me at least.”

  He laughs.

  “Nah, it’s okay. Honestly, I don’t know why guys are such assholes sometimes. I think probably because we want something that is out of line with the expectations of what the world wants to give you. I don’t know. Why are you such a nerd?” he asks with a smirk. “It’s just the natural order.”

  “Hey, that’s not funny,” I say.

  “I’m just kidding. I think it’s hot that you’re smart.”

  My stomach flutters.

  “Excuse me?”

  “What?” he shrugs. “Is that like a controversial statement or something like that? I think it’s super hot that you’re smart. I wish I was as smart as you.”

  “You’re smart,” I say.

  “Sure. But not as smart as you.”

  “Come on, you know it’s true. You’re in the honors classes. You’re doing it. You got skipped ahead a grade. Me? I can barely pull through with Cs.”

  My skin flushes and I dart my glance away from his muscular bicep. I laugh nervously.

  “Can we put on the radio?” I say, needing to change the subject.

  He nods and I turn the radio channel to put on some pop music. The Black Keys come across the radio to a song called ‘Lonely Boy’.

  “Oh, I like this song,” I say.

  “Have you seen the music video for this?” he laughs.

  “No.”

  “It’s just one guy dancing his ass off for four minutes straight. It’s hilarious. You should definitely check it out.”

  Then without hesitating Mason leans back and belts the words to the chorus, “Oh, oh-oh. I got a love that keeps me waiting. I’m a lonely boy. I’m a lonely boy.”

  I laugh, “So are you a lonely boy with a love that keeps you waiting?”

  He glances over at me and his eyes sear through me.

  “You could say that. Maybe. I don’t know. I try not to think about it too much. We’re young and I like things simple, you know? I think a lot of guys’ assholery comes from wanting too much, too soon.”

  I nod. “Wow. That’s wise. And I agree. I mean all love’s done for me so far is hurt my feelings, so I don’t see any reason to get into a relationship.”

  Three hours later—Mason drives fast—we pull up to the parking lot just in time to be 15 minutes early for the game. We stand in front of the ticket booth and mull over our choices.

  “We can sit on the upper deck,” he says. “Those tickets will be about $15. We can sit in the nice section right behind the dugout and that will be about, holy crap, $50 a seat? That’s nuts.”

  I sigh. “Well, it’s alright. I’m a cheap date anyways.”

  Just when we’re about to walk up to the counter and buy tickets, an older couple, maybe in their 50s, stops by us.

  “You two looking for some tickets?” the woman says.

  “Yeah,” Mason says somewhat suspiciously. “Why? How much are you selling for?”

  “Oh, I’m not selling them,” the guy says. “I’m giving them. Here are two tickets. The good seats. Take ‘em.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch,” the woman says.

  Mason and I eye each other, we’re both suspicious=.

  “Oh, we couldn’t accept that,” I say, and Mason nods.

  “I insist,” the man says. “There’s no catch. We just want to do something good today, and we have these extra tickets. We just ask that you pay it forward sometime when you’re fortunate enough to buy tickets.”

  He holds the tickets in front of our faces. “Come on. Just take ‘em.”

  Mason grabs the tickets and turns them over. “Alright. Thank you!”

  They both beam.

  “It’s our 30th anniversary today. And we met in this very stadium,” the woman says. “We just decided that we’re gonna give some tickets to the first young couple we saw and you two just look so in love.”

  “Ahem!” I choke. “We’re not-”

  “Surprised!” Mason cuts me off. “We’re not surprised at all that you thought we were like that.”

  Mason puts his hand on the small of my back and pokes me. “My girlfriend and I really appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

  My heart starts to pound like crazy. I lean into Mason’s shoulder, he feels so strong and safe. I love being able to feel his chest on my head. The man and woman smile and then take off.

  “Enjoy the game!” the woman yells from over her shoulder.

  I’m left with my heart pounding through the fabric of my tank top. When the couple is out of earshot, Mason and I turn our heads toward each other and his hand falls off from me.

  “Holy shit!” I yell! “You’re a little con artist!”

  Mason’s got a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “What do you mean?”

  “We just lied to that couple,” I say. “We’re not dating, we’re not in love.”

  “Oh!” He puts his hand on his heart in an exaggerated way. “You’re not in love with me, babe?” He starts a phony sob. “I think I’m gonna cry.” He sniffles.

  “Shut up!” I push him in the shoulder, rolling my eyes. “You’re so ridiculous.”

  “Look, there’s nothing wrong with a little white lie,” he says. “Did you see how happy that couple was to give us those tickets? Sometimes you have to accept people’s generosity. That’s just as important as being generous.”

  “You’re so wise,” I say. “Tell me again. How are you failing your chemistry class?”

  He sighs. “Look, let’s not get off subject. We’ll pretend right now.”

  “Pretend...what exactly?”

  “Yeah! We’ll just pretend we’re on a date. What’s the big deal with that?”

  “No big deal, but I…Okay fine. You got me,” I finally say.

  “All right, well, let’s sit in and catch the game.”

  He takes my hand and grips it as we head through the turnstile to enter into stadium.

  “What?” he says.

  “We gotta make sure, just in case we see them that we do a convincing job.”

  As we walk up the ramp, heat radiates through my chest and my hands tingle. I feel lightness in my limbs, weightless as I walk with Mason. There’s something about him that just makes me feel free and easy and happy inside. I’ll be his fake girlfriend any day.

  9

  Mason

  Hey, You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away

  Present Day

  On Friday afternoon, I’m meeting up with Clarissa at 3 PM at Nancy’s Diner so we can see the new property.

  There’s also the part
about how we have to go over our playbook of being fake boyfriend and girlfriend for the dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree, and Mrs. Hanks.

  No big deal, of course.

  But first, there is something else I need to attend to.

  I sit at a table at The Blackwell Pancake House, tapping a finger as I wait for my best buddy Cole to arrive.

  Cole and I have known each other for 20 years. We go way back to grade school.

  We made a rule when we were in middle school: no dating siblings.

  This rule was much easier for Cole, since my half-brother Carter and half-sister Allie grew up on the other side of town and attended the neighboring high school, not Blackwell High.

  I didn’t see them much growing up, to be honest.

  During our high school years, as much as I tried to steer clear of Clarissa, she always seemed to fly back into my life like a boomerang.

  I don’t know if me and Clarissa’s fake relationship information has made the gossip rounds in Blackwell just yet, but when Cole arrives, I see my answer plastered on his face.

  He opens the door, sees me waiting in the corner booth and bounds toward me like he’s a mother lion attacking an invader.

  “You’ve got some major explaining to do, Worthington,” Cole bellows as he arrives at the table.

  I stand up with an even expression on my face, acting unphased.

  “Hey man, good to see you too.” I stick out my hand and put a smile on my face.

  He shakes his head, expression tight, and waves away my hand. “I’m not gonna shake the hand of the man who’s dating my sister behind my back.”

  I purse my lips and nod. Usually it takes at least twenty-four hours for these sorts of stories to get around. Then again, Cole is certainly close to the source of this story.

  “Look, I can explain, okay? This will all make sense in a minute.”

  Begrudgingly, Cole takes a seat. We stare each other down across the booth like a couple of cowboys in the Wild West. Normally, Cole and I tell each other everything, and it doesn’t feel right to be holding out on him. The waitress comes by, breaking the awkwardness.

  “I’ll have the Denver omelet with potatoes,” I say, handing her my menu.

  “I’ll take the same,” Cole says, and abruptly turns back to me. “We’ve always been in the same wave of a wavelength, haven’t we? At least, we used to be on the same wavelength.”

  I roll up my sleeves and look him in the eye. “Look, give me a minute to defend myself. As a friend, can you grant me that?”

  His jaw is tight, but he nods.

  I give him the whole rundown about how Clarissa started working at the bar, and how she was giving me advice on how to get a loan. And how when Mrs. Crabtree assumed we were together, we both decided on the spot to just go with it.

  Cole cocks his head to one side. He seems uneasy.

  “Okay, so you’re telling me you’re fake dating my sister because it helped you get a loan from Mrs. Crabtree? Surely, you cannot be fucking serious right now, Worthington!” He slams his fist on the table.

  “I am serious. And don’t call me Shirley.”

  Cole massages his temples.

  “Dude. Fuck off. This is no time for jokes.”

  A smile tugs at the corners of my lips.

  “Right.”

  “Fuck you for making me laugh,” Cole shakes his head, and I can tell he’s holding back his laughter. He blows out a loud sigh.

  “Well,” he says, “Given that everything you’ve told me is true, I can live with this.”

  “Oh, thanks. I-”

  Cole cuts me off. “But you’re not gonna be like kissing and stuff, are you?”

  I take a deep breath.

  “We have to make it convincing for Mrs. Crabtree. The loan papers haven’t been signed just yet. And obviously we’ll have to keep the ruse up for a little bit afterward. And in front of anyone who Mrs. Crabtree might know.”

  “Which is like, the entire town!”

  I shrug. “What do you want me to say? Do you think I enjoy lying? Look, it’s been my dream for years to open up my own bar. Now that the wheels are in motion I can’t turn back.”

  Cole crosses his arms. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit.”

  “You don’t like it...but you can live with it. Right?”

  Cole rakes a hand through his hair. “I guess.”

  “Just do me a favor and for the love of God don’t say anything about the fake part to your mom.”

  “I have to lie to my mom for you?” he says.

  “I’m not saying lie to her. Just don’t bring it up, and if it is brought up, don’t say anything.”

  “That’s a lie, if I don’t say anything. A lie by omission. You know I have your back for anything. But you want me to lie to my own mother?”

  “Cole, man, look,” I plead. “I can’t be a bartender forever. I’ve gotta do something with my life. You get it.”

  His face looks a little crushed.

  Cole is going through his own interesting work and romance scenario right now.

  He sighs and shakes his head. “If this were anyone else dating my sister…”

  The omelettes arrive, interrupting him. He picks up a knife and fork.

  Before I can respond, he looks me dead in the eye, takes the knife, and makes a motion across his throat.

  “If it were anyone else dating my sister, I’d fucking kill them.”

  “You’d just, you’d-”

  “If they weren’t treating her well,” he continues. “And you might think I’m joking about the whole ‘kill them’ thing. I don’t know. Maybe I am. But, maybe I’m not.”

  He takes a nice big bite of his omelette and stares me down.

  “Nothing. It’s nothing,” I shrug. “We’re not involved in reality, man. Don’t worry. We might have to do a few kisses for the cameras—you know, if the local newspaper covers it—and that’s that.” I wink at him.

  But despite my intended sarcasm, it’s also quite possible we’ll have to take this ruse a little bit further than Cole might be comfortable with.

  He holds a hand up. “Look, man, I appreciate your honesty,” Cole says, blowing a breath of frustration. He marks every word in his sentence with a forkful of omelette as he speaks. “In lieu of recent events, AKA you getting turned down by all three of the other banks, I can see why this is important to you and I give you my permission to fake date my sister. You have my blessing.”

  I smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  And I do. Cole’s not always the easiest guy to get through to. And he’s not huge on expressions of emotion--similar to me.

  He scrunches up his face and squints at me.

  “Hey, though. Would you have went through with this if I’d said ‘no’?”

  “You said yes, though.”

  “Just, I wanna know.”

  I lean in a little. “How long we’ve been friends man? Long time. I hope you know I would never do anything to hurt your sister. This is an act. If I actually fell for her, I’d be breaking the golden rule.”

  “The golden rule? You mean treat others the way you wish to be treated?”

  I shake my head. “No not that one. I mean the rule about not hooking up with co-workers or customers at the bar. She’s both.”

  “How about the golden rule of not hooking up with your buddy’s sister?”

  I smirk, and I’ve got to fuck with him a little bit. “Hey, not my fault your sister is a smokeshow. She’s so hot-”

  Cole waves a hand. “Fuck you, Worthington. That’s not funny.”

  I lean back in my seat. “Come on, have a little damn fun. Realize that I have this all under control.”

  “You better.” He gives me a death stare as he takes a bite of his omelet.

  I wonder if I should tell Cole about the little kiss between Clarissa and I yesterday. I decide against it. Best not to focus on the imagery of Clarissa and I together. What Cole doesn’t know can’t hurt him
. Instead, I shift the focus back to him, because he’s been engaged in his own taboo romance lately.

  “Hey,” I say. “Aren’t you the one who is dating a student even though you’re a professor at Blackwell University? What gives with that?”

  He swallows hard and takes a drink of his water.

  “Now that,” he holds up a finger. “Is a whole other story and I’ll be happy to tell you.”

  “Enlighten me, man. I’m all ears.”

  He launches into the story whirlwind summer romance with Rose, the Dean’s daughter. My jaw falls open as he tells me how it all went down. It’s quite a telenovela.

  If the Blackwell newspaper even knew half of this stuff, they’d have some juicy drama on their fingertips.

  I’m happy to hear the details of someone else’s drama right now.

  Because I have a feeling my own love life is about to get very complicated.

  10

  Mason

  It's Anastasia

  After brunch with Cole, I head to the property to meet with the real estate agent. Clarissa is already there. I see her from a distance before she notices me, standing with her back to me as she chats with the agent.

  As I approach her from the other side of the street, I honestly wonder if she has a secret trick. Because somehow, she gets hotter every day.

  Or maybe it’s the just the fact that I can’t have her that makes her so tempting?

  I stop and stare for a moment, taking advantage of the fact that she hasn’t seen me yet to look at her as if she was just a hot stranger. She looks sinfully sexy today, wearing tight white pants and a shirt that has some shreds in the back so I’m able to see how sexy her back looks. Her long brown hair trails down almost reaching the small of her back and the curve of her sexy behind.

  My mind wanders off to a place I desperately try to stop it from going.

  But I can’t help it. There’s just something sexy about visualizing taking her from behind, her hips slapping against me as pleasure sears through both of us. I slide my hands over her beautiful naked back, grab a few strands of her hair, tug, and...

  Fuck!

  I am not picturing my best friend’s sister naked right now. It’s definitely not happening.