by Shey Stahl
Can you imagine?
I definitely am.
1 part Tommy Bahama White Sand rum®
1 ½ parts vanilla vodka
1 ½ parts coconut rum
½ part Coco Lopez®
Shake twenty times in a cocktail shaker and strain. Garnish with toasted coconut.
My body is wound up. It’s as if I’m on fire—more than likely from the alcohol—but also this bartender who knows his goddamn way around a drink, and hopefully pussy. Sorry, I know, so crass. I’m pretty sure Jake went to school to be this good at sweet talking and drink making.
I watch carefully as he pours about four different liquors in a shaker and then begins shaking it. The way he keeps his eyes on me as he shakes that cup has me looking south and then keeping my eyes there. I’m not sure if he does it on purpose, but he has his hand about level with his waist and positioned slightly in front of him.
Oh, yeah, he does that shit on purpose.
He winks, and we find ourselves once again smiling at each other.
Jake shakes his head, as if he can’t not react. That’s when I notice he isn’t looking at me, he’s looking at my tits again.
I sigh. Actually sigh, and give him flirty eyes. Yep, flirty eyes are totally a thing. Noticing him checking me out makes me want to pull down my dress a little and give him something more to look at. Hell, at this point, with how hot I am, I wouldn’t mind taking it off. I feel like I’m burning up.
It’s worth mentioning here, I’m drunk. I’m sure you already knew that. Having said that, I want to be clear, I’m not throwing myself at this guy. I’m launching myself. Like street-style cat fighting. That kind of launching.
Sipping my drink a little more slowly, I keep having to wipe the condensation from the glass. It drives me mad seeing it pool around the glass. I also hate the drips when I take a drink and the water spills right down my cleavage. Actually, I don’t mind that part that much. It’s the water on the glass that’s bothering me.
Jake’s amused by my OCD behavior and even takes my napkins away to see what I will do if the water pools and I have nothing to wipe it up with.
It annoys me. “Do you get a lot of interesting people who come in here?” I ask to keep from punching him.
“Sometimes. A lot of crazy ones too.” Maybe he’s referring to me. Maybe not. He probably is. It was only an hour ago he had to convince me I still had my lips. Jake shifts his weight and leans against the counter behind the bar. “This one chick came in here last week and did a tequila shot off a dude’s dick.” He pauses, then winks with a cocky nod. “We’re always up for a good time here.”
I give him a look, you know, one that screams, seriously, dude? “Is that so?”
“What about you,” he asks, still grinning. “Are you a good time?”
Stepping forward, he towers over me, giving me a full view of his face. He’s so beautiful. And up close, his eyes are brighter, hair darker, skin so pretty, and I’m weak and helpless.
Take me. Take me now.
“I’m always a good time.” He quirks an eyebrow at me, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Can you say the same?”
He has me pegged. A little.
I’m also sick of being this way. I wanna have fun. I do. I wanna be as carefree as Island Boy. I don’t always want to be the girl who’s playing it safe because she doesn’t want to see what happened to her mom, happen to her. I also don’t want to be that girl who has a career and nothing else. There’s no fun in that, and I’m slowly realizing how true that is.
“Dude, I’m not even joking when I say I wrote the book on ‘controlling.’ If you’ve never read it, it’s in the section titled ‘Bitch-Lit.’ It’s right next to ‘passive-aggressive.’”
“Oh, right.” He laughs, nodding. “I know that section.”
I don’t know if it’s him or his drinks, but the way he laughs, the way he smiles, it gets me every time.
Jake leaves to help some others, waiting on girls who are all lingering so they can flirt with him, just as I’m doing. To my surprise, he doesn’t engage, and always comes back to stand in front of me, sparking up another conversation.
“What do you do for fun here?”
“Snorkeling, surfing, you know.” He brings his eyes back to mine. “Just laid-back shit, ya know?”
“Ugh,” I groan, throwing my head forward. “Screw you and your perfect island life.”
“Oh, yeah well.” He shrugs, handing a beer to Nash to give to someone. “You’re here when life is good. Off season, it’s fucking boring.” Reaching up, he scratches the side of his head and I love that I can see his bicep muscles in the process. “What do ya do for fun back home?”
I think for a second. “Hiking, concerts, shopping, spas… ya know, girl shit.”
He winks but says nothing more.
“Do you see a lot of bar fights?”
“No. We’re in paradise.” He smiles wider, like he’s exaggerating. “Unless the frat boys find us.” Jake rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed. “They can’t manage to have one night where they’re not fighting with someone.” And I think I sense some bitterness from him.
“Have you been in a fight?” A guy about six feet tall, with dark golden skin and black hair, sits down beside me. Jake acts like he knows him, gives him a nod, and then bumps his fist against his.
“I’ve been in one fight in my life, and that was with Nash.” He gestures to Surfer Boy at the end of the bar still trying to pick up chicks. “Believe it or not, neither one of us could tell you what the hell it was even about. Still don’t know. We were drunk.”
I turn to the man next to me. “Who are you?”
“I’m Zain.” He gives me this squinty but amused glance at how forward I am. “And you are?”
“I’m Kendall. I’m attempting to drink every cocktail on the menu.” You like how I emphasize cock? They do and both laugh. I turn back to Jake, noticing that any movement I make seems longer than the next as the alcohol begins to affect my body control. I’m amazed I’m still sitting on this stool. “I’m here to make bad decisions and regret them in the morning.”
Jake starts laughing even harder, as does Zain, and I can’t tell if they’re laughing with me or at me.
“What if you don’t regret them in the morning?” Jake asks.
“Even better.” I point my finger in Jake’s face. He tries to bite it. “So what happened?”
Jake looks confused. “With what?”
“The fight.”
“Oh that.” He goes on to explain as I attempt to follow along. It’s very difficult for me. “He said something. I said something. Zain, my buddy”—he motions to the guy seated next to me—“was there. He got up and walked away ’cause I think he knew what the fuck was about to go down. Once we were alone… shit got destroyed. We broke a shitload of crap and Nash’s arm.”
Looking at the size of the two of them, I bet they did. “How long have you two been friends?” I gesture to Zain and him.
Jake thinks for a moment and then raises an eyebrow at Zain. “Ten years?”
Zain nods. “Yep. He dated my sister a while ago, and then we just sort of started hanging out. She’s a crazy bitch though.”
“My best friend and I are like that too. I dated her brother.” I sigh, defeated that all my relationships turned ugly. “Then he joined the military to get away from me.”
Jake stares at me, then looks away without saying anything.
I clear my throat of the awkward silence that seems to take over. “So what, are you some kind of ladies’ man here, Jake?”
“Jake here’s a real ladies’ man,” Zain teases. “Gets all the pretty girls.” He gives me a long look, winking. “This dude once shaved half his chest and asked women what they preferred. Hair or no hair. Worked an entire shift with no shirt on that way.”
“Something about that doesn’t surprise me one bit.” I push my empty glass toward him. “I need another.”
Jake takes the glass and
laughs at Zain. “Well, believe me when I say I’m not the guy that gets ’em on their knees. I make them weak in the knees.”
“That’s so goddamn cheesy, and probably works like a fuckin’ charm too,” Zain says, bursting out laughing, his head falling against the bar dramatically.
“You know what keeps going through my head?” I ask, looking at Jake now, but fighting back laughter.
“What?”
“‘Where’s my drink?’”
His eyes twinkle. “Feisty, I like that.” He takes in my appearance, my cherry-red cheeks and obvious sway. “You sure you want more?”
“I want more.”
Chuckling, Zain pats my back. “It was nice meeting you, Kendall, but I must go. Hope you have a good vacation.”
My eyes sneak to Jake’s. “I plan to.”
Jake gives me another smile, and then nods to Zain. “I’ll see you at home, man.”
“You live with him?”
He gives another nod, his eyes on the bar. I notice he bites his bottom lip when he makes drinks. Sometimes. But then it gets me wondering what else makes him bite that lip. I bet he does it in bed. I’ve always found that sexy. And I really hope he doesn’t have a monkey’s asshole tattooed on his belly.
I should ask him.
Nah.
Setting a shot glass on the bar, Jake reaches behind him, getting some Kahlua, Bailey’s, and 151 rum, along with another bottle, although I can’t tell what it is. Never measuring, he takes the Kahlua and pours it in the shot glass. He then takes a spoon, turns it upside down and drizzles the Bailey’s over the Kahlua. He does the same with the other bottle of what I can see now is Grand Marnier. Finally, he adds just a drop of 151. And then, with the wickedest of grins, he pulls a lighter out of his pocket and lights the liquid.
My eyes widen. “Oh my God, you light it on fire?”
“Well, that’s the general idea.” He pulls the shot glass away about a foot, arching his eyebrow. “Should I trust you with fire?”
His brow raises further when I don’t say anything. My vexation is evident. He knows it.
“Shut up.” Blowing out the flame, I make a wish. It seems appropriate. Then I down that motherfucker without a second thought. Only problem is, I suppose it’s not designed to be drank that way. Burnt my damn tongue.
He holds up the straw a little too late. “You were supposed to use a straw so you didn’t burn your lips and not blow it out.”
“Why wouldn’t you blow it out? You can’t drink fire. Now my lips are on fire,” I cry out, rubbing them with the back of my hand.
“I’d say I could put the fire out… but my kisses are hotter than that.”
“Do you get your lines from a bartenders’ pickup book? I’m really disappointed in you,” I tease.
He gives a shrug, amused, I’m sure, but something tells me his words are true. His kisses are probably hot. Look at that mouth. They totally are.
When I think about it, Jake is a lot like Rylee. Maybe that’s why I’ve been sitting at his bar for what, like seven or eight hours now and feel so comfortable around him. Though he pissed me off and I want to shove that fire drink down his throat, I’m still intrigued by him.
Nash walks by again and gives me a funny look.
“Why is he always squinting? Or is it me that’s squinting?”
Jake chuckles. “No, it’s him. There’s two reasons for that. He smokes too much weed and he’s fucking blind. He refuses to get glasses.”
“Oh, well there’s that, huh.” I shrug, taking a mannerism from Jake. With a flick of my wrist, I motion around the bar. “What do you do in here?” I keep jumping from one conversation to the next.
“It’s a bar. People drink. Drinks I light on fire.”
I glare, touching my fingers to my lips. “Do they play drinking games?”
“Drinking games are for losers and college frat boys.”
“Okay, then. What’s this one?” My lips wrap around the straw, pulling in a small drink. I let my eyes wander to his, blinking slowly. I’m trying to be sexy.
“It’s just water. Finish it and I’ll make you another drink.” His stare is bold and more on my cleavage, which is surely on display for him. I love that his stare makes no apologies. It’s like he wants me to know he’s interested.
Once I’m done with my water, and I use the restroom for like the hundredth time tonight, Jake makes me another drink, this time with whiskey and Seven-Up. I don’t care for whiskey all that much, but I try it anyway because Jake made the drink.
As the taste of the drink swirls in my mouth, I ruin the moment by saying, “That tastes like a hobo’s nut sack.”
Jake grins and raises an eyebrow at me, and then beckons me forward with two fingers. “How the fuck do you know what a hobo’s nut sack tastes like, Kendall?”
“Eh. College was a bit of a blur.”
“Nash!” a girl screams from behind us.
We both turn to see Nash buttoning his pants.
“Are you sure he only smokes weed? Something’s not right with him.”
Jake glances over his shoulder at Nash again. “No. Did he really just pull down his pants?”
“Yep. Looks that way.”
“Goddamn him. He has no class.” Jake’s gaze flickers around the bar a few times and then returns to me, landing on my face. “I don’t know what his deal is, but he gets to a certain point in the night when he’s had too much.” He points at Nash. “Like right now. And he starts showing people his dick.”
“Really?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
The girl apparently didn’t appreciate the show and hauls off and punches him. Right in the dick. “Stop showing me your dick, asshole!”
Nash walks by, shoulders slumped and looking shameful.
“Why you gotta do shit like that?” Jake shoves Nash forward as he stumbles around the bar. “Stop flirting and showin’ girls your fucking dick, man!”
Nash could barely stand up. He was just punched in the dick. I bet it knocked the wind out of him.
Nash takes off behind the bar into the kitchen. Probably to dump ice down his pants.
Jake nodded toward the girl who’d punched Nash. “If he does it again, just pull a lip out.”
“What?” She stares at Jake, alarmed.
Jakes doesn’t miss a beat as he pulls a towel from under the bar and rings out the water. “Make it even for him pulling his dick out.” He smiles, wiping down the bar with a rag. “Pull a vag lip out.”
He did not just say that? My wide-as-saucer eyes move from Jake to the girl, and it’s her look of horrification that makes me burst out laughing. I’m not sure if she wants to laugh or gag at the thought. “I swear to God, Jake, he does that shit to me again, and I’m going to chop his junk off!”
“I’ll give you the scissors,” Jake tells her, taking the money she hands him as she stands next to me at the bar. I don’t look at her. Well, I do, but I try not to stare. She’s so freaking pretty. All the chicks here are. It’s like California and Florida had babies together and sent them to live in the Bahamas because they were too pretty for the States.
Then the tan goddess hangs her arms around Jake’s shoulders. “When are you going to marry me, Jake?”
Okay, so I’m clearly not the only one taken by Island Boy. Jake’s entire body tenses. With an annoyed laugh, he reaches up and untangles her hands from around his neck. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not marriage material.”
She gazes at him like she wants to eat his face off. Or maybe his dick. I bet if he had been the one showing his dick, she wouldn’t have punched him. Stepping back, she winks at him. “Your loss.”
He kind of gives her that look like, yeah, right, and glances over at me, rolling his eyes. As if to say, he’s not interested.
The dick-puncher/Jake eater cashes out and departs, leaving me and a handful of others in the bar.
Watching her walk away, I can’t help but notice how fucking skinny she is. Seriously, s
he turned sideways, and I lost her in the wooden posts of the deck.
“She’s so fucking skinny,” I blurt out, watching her walk down the beach until she’s lost in the fading light from the bar.
Jake snorts. “That’s ’cause she only eats dick.”
I maintain my composure well, other than my giggle. Jake notices my amusement and smiles too, beaming and bright, like he enjoys the sound of my laughter. “That’s nice. I hear there’s at least protein in that diet.”
Jake angles his head, as if to agree. “I hear that too.”
1 ½ parts Uncle Val’s Botanical Gin
¼ part Aperol
2 parts grapefruit juice
½ part simple syrup
Combine all ingredients with ice cubes and shake in a Boston shaker. Pour into a sugar-rimmed double rocks glass and garnish with a rosemary sprig.
“Seriously, Jake. I am twenty-seven and single. It must be for a reason.”
“It’s not like you’re old, for Christ’s sake. You’ve not even thirty. You’ve got time.”
He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s a baby. “And what are you… eighteen?” I stare at him, wanting to know more about him. He seems guarded in a sense. Maybe he’s been hurt before. Or maybe he doesn’t want to give his life story to some drunk chick in his bar. There’s that.
“I work in a bar….” He laughs, but it fades as he hands a man two stools down from me a bottle of what looks like their version of Corona. “So I have to be at least twenty-one.”
“It’s the Bahamas. They probably don’t have child labor laws.”
“This isn’t China.”
“True.” I smile. The man with the beer smiles too, the whites of his eyes standing out against the darkness of his skin. He leaves the bar, returning to a table of about four women.
Jake leans into the bar, our eyes on one another. The heat from his body is damn near intoxicating. I swallow, unsure what else to do. “How old do you think I am?”
