by Loren, Celia
She glances over to me and I look back down. A moment later and I see her white t-shirt appearing over the top of my menu.
"Hey, welcome to Billy's Bar and Grill. I'm Jo. Do you know what you'd like to drink?"
"Jo."
"Yep…" she looks at me questioningly. Her gaze is so direct that I'm thrown off my game for a second.
"Short for Josephine?"
"Old-fashioned, I know," she replies with a little smile, though I can see a sadness in her eyes. I wonder if she's told anyone what she saw last night.
"No, it suits you. Sorry, I haven't had a chance to look at the beers…what do you recommend?"
"Why don't you try the IPA we're featuring this month," she suggests, grabbing a short glass and pouring me a taste from the tap. I look down at her left hand. No ring. "It's from Great Basin Brewing Company." She pushes the glass across to me and I take a sip.
"Never heard of them. Damn, that's pretty hoppy, but I like it." I nod and she fills up a pint glass for me.
"They're new. I started this thing where we feature a smaller brewery every month, try to help them out and get their name out there."
I lean forward. "So you're as smart as you are beautiful. I—"
"Excuse me," she murmurs politely, and walks away to help an older woman down the bar.
Fuck. I can't remember that last time a woman showed that little interest in me. Usually there's something, some kind of signal, but with her…nothing. Well, she is beautiful, so she must get hit on all the time, especially working as a bartender. Maybe I need to take a different approach. I flip the menu open, glancing over the food options since it looks like I'll be staying awhile.
I sip my beer quickly as I watch her work. She moves gracefully, but every now and then I see her stop and space out, her eyes glazing over. I wonder if she'd ever seen any kind of violence before last night. I shake my head at myself, remembering my response to Fish's challenge. Don't empathize with this woman.
She wanders back over as I empty my beer.
"Good, huh?" she asks. "Another?"
"You're probably gonna have to cut me off," I warn her. She eyes my wide shoulders.
"Somehow I doubt that…what're you, six foot five or so?"
"On the dot."
"I can't imagine how much it takes for you to get drunk."
"I'm no cheap date," I admit with a shrug. This gets a small guffaw out of her.
"I'll keep that in mind."
"I'm Holt, by the way."
"Holt. That your first name?"
"Last. That's what my…my friends call me." Almost said brothers. "Andy's my first name."
"Nice to meet you…Holt."
"So, what's good on this menu?"
"Honestly?" she asks with a smile. "The fajitas are safe. I'd go with the fajitas."
"Steak fajitas it is," I reply, closing the menu. She turns around to put in my order, and I find my eyes wandering down to her narrow waist, imagining wrapping my hands around it…
"So you've never been in here before?" she asks, with her back still turned to me.
"No, why?"
"Um, it just doesn't seem like your usual place," she says, turning to face me with a shy smile.
"What does that mean?" I say, raising my eyebrows at her with a grin. Guess my clean shirt isn't helping matters much.
"I mean you stick out like a sore thumb. Plus, you're by yourself."
"Ah. I was supposed to meet someone at this dive bar down the street," I lie, thinking of a place I drove by, "but they canceled at the last minute, and I was hungry. Not too many options around here."
She nods, accepting my story. "It's pretty quiet. Usually," she adds, her smile disappearing. Behind me, someone drops a glass and it shatters loudly on the ground. I barely flinch, but she jumps about a foot in the air.
"You alright there?" I ask, frowning as she leans over, bracing her hands on the bar.
"Um…no…sorry, I just…" she mutters. I bend my head down to get a look at her face. Her eyes are closed tightly, and it looks like she's having trouble breathing. I take her hand and it disappears as I cover it with both of mine.
"Stand up and take a deep breath," I instruct her, seeing she's spiraling into a panic.
"Can't," she replies, shaking her head.
"Listen to me. Are you listening?"
"Mmm."
"Tell me about your first kiss," I say, trying to distract her from what I know is going through her mind.
"What? That's…"
"What was his name?"
"Chris."
"Chris what?"
"Chris…Lewandowski."
"Where?"
"This tree, um, this tree by the school," she says, straightening up a little. I rub her palm gently. Her skin is so soft.
"What grade were you in?"
"Seventh."
"Was it a nice day out?"
"Yeah, it had just rained that morning I think, because the air still had that smell," she says, blinking as though she's just waking up.
"Was he a good kisser?"
"No, he was terrible. He kept darting his tongue in and out of my mouth like a serpent." She looks up at me and stares at my face for a moment, then down to her hand, realizing that I'm holding it.
"Everything OK?" the other bartender has noticed something is going on and is standing next to her looking concerned.
"Fine, Frankie," she says, pulling her hand away from mine. "Thanks, though."
"Alright," he says, glancing at me. "Let me know if you need anything," he adds before walking back down to his end of the bar.
"Thanks for that," Jo murmurs to me, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "I've, ah, just been really stressed out or something lately."
"No problem. And I promise not to tell Chris Lewandowski what you thought of him and his sub-par kissing technique." She smiles softly at me. "You seem like you could use a beer."
"I'm not allowed to drink here."
I grin. "I meant we could go grab one after your shift."
"Oh, right," she says, shaking her head as though dusting off some cobwebs. "Um…why not?"
Chapter Five
Jo
My stomach flutters as I walk with this relative stranger to a bar he knows down the street. I've never been before even though it's really close to work. Usually I'm eager to go home after a closing shift, but going back to my apartment and sitting there alone with my thoughts sounds awful right now.
Besides, I kept thinking I wanted something different, and Holt certainly seems different. I had to keep myself from staring at the man when he sat down at the bar. He's tall, his torso is thick as a tree trunk, and his hands dwarfed mine. His shoulder length, dark brown hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, and forms a widow's peak over his grey-green eyes. I tried to stay away from him at first, thinking a distraction like him was probably the last thing I need right now, but then he held my hand, and I found myself thinking that maybe a distraction sounded perfect.
We walk in silence, and I find that I don't feel pressured to make conversation. Music from the bar breaks through the quiet and when we get to the door, he opens it for me and places his hand on the small of my back to usher me inside. A thrill runs through me even at that slight touch. There's something so easily sensual about him, even though he's built like a linebacker.
The bar is packed and dark. I'm surprised to feel Holt take my hand again as he steps in front of me and leads me to an empty two-seater booth in the corner. The crowd parts in front of him like the Red Sea, and I wonder how long it would have taken me to cover the same distance alone. As soon as I slide into the booth he turns around and walks over to the bar. I study the back of his shoulders as the bartender beelines over to serve him. Every one of his back muscles are visible through his pale blue t-shirt as he shifts to pick up the two pint glasses, and I look down quickly at my hands clenched on the table in front of me so that he won't know that I was staring.
"'Nother IP
A alright? Well, I suppose it's your first," he asks, setting the beers down and sliding into the seat across from me.
"That's great, thank you," I murmur, raising it to my lips and taking a long sip as I glance around the bar over the rim. I can feel his eyes on me and it's making me nervous.
"You been working at that place long?"
"Mmm, almost a year," I reply. I take another sip of my beer, willing myself to come up with interesting things to say.
"Is it…I mean, don't take this the wrong way…but that place seems terrible."
"It is!" I say, breaking into a wide smile. "It's pretty terrible. Well, I like Frankie, that's the other bartender, and the servers are mostly nice, but my boss is a pig, and, oh, I don't know. It pays the bills…ugh, that sounds so depressing to say."
"What do you want to be doing?"
I shrug. "I have no idea. If anyone ever asked me, you know, when I was a kid, 'what do you want to be when you grow up?' I don't think I ever had an answer. I was too busy keeping everything straight in my head."
"Keeping everything straight?"
"About my mom—she's in jail." I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand, wishing I could take the words and shove them back inside. I never tell anyone about my mom. And I have no idea why I just told him. I glance up at him worriedly, prepared to hear him make an excuse and get out of here.
"Fuck, that's tough," is all he says, shaking his head sympathetically. "My dad went to jail for a bit when I was a teenager, but that's different I think. And my mom was still around. How old were you?"
"Um, well the first time, I was eight. That was in Florida. She sent me out here to live with her mom." It feels good talk about. Even Elise only knows the barest outline of the story. I drain the rest of my beer and keep going. "She was a con artist. She got caught on some insurance fraud stuff. When I moved out here, I told my classmates she was a spy and lived in Europe. I'd buy these little trinkets at the dollar store and bring them into Show and Tell and say that she'd sent them to me. What'd your dad do?"
"International spy," he says straight faced, and I almost spit out my beer with laughter. "No, he was a small time pot dealer. Did a few months. So you're an only child too, then."
"Yep. So don't ask me to share my Legos. Your parents still around here?"
"No, they moved to Oregon. They're living on some medical marijuana farm. They're either hippies or anarchists. Seems to vary week to week."
I lean back against the booth and consider him. He's surprised me more than once tonight. I can't get a lock on this guy. I feel the beer start to hum pleasantly in my head.
"You've never come to this place before?" he asks, leaning forward. "What do you normally do around here at night?"
"Um, if I'm not working, maybe just hang out with my friend Elise, or some of my other friends from high school." Or just go to the gas station and witness a murder. You know, whatever. "How 'bout some shots?"
"You want to do shots?" he asks, raising his eyebrows at me.
"You don't?" I start to stand up to go to the bar, but he stops me.
"I got it."
I bite my lip nervously as he stands and walks away. The slight buzz from the beer and the hum of the voices and the music around me are building and carrying my mind away. I want to keep the feeling going. I smile up at Holt as he walks back over with a tray.
"Wow," I say, my eyes widening at the four shots and two additional beers as he sets the tray on the table.
"Don't worry, you just have what you want. I'll take care of the rest."
"Cheers," I say, picking up one of the shot glasses. He clinks his glass against mine and we throw them back together. I wince as the tequila burns my throat and pick up the new beer eagerly to chase it down. "So what do you do?"
"I own a landscaping company," he says, placing his empty shot glass upside down on the tray.
"No way. You're a coal miner, or, I don't know, an ice fisherman, or something. You being a landscaper is like you eating at Billy's," I reply, pursing my lips.
"It's true," he says with a smile. "Evergreen Landscaping. Have the decal on the side of my truck and everything." He leans forward and takes my hand. "You are very suspicious, you know that?"
"Sorry," I say, blushing. "Maybe I'm a little out of practice at this whole thing." He looks at me questioningly. The feeling of the pads of his fingers lightly brushing my palm is exponentially increasing my intoxicated state. "I, um, got divorced last year."
"High school boyfriend?"
"How'd you know?"
He lifts my hand up toward his lips and I stop breathing. "You don't look more than twenty-five. It was just a good guess. That what's got you so stressed out lately?" He laces his fingers through mine.
"Hm?" Oh my, it is getting hard to concentrate.
"At Billy's, you mentioned something had you stressed out?"
"Oh." I pull my hand away, the spell breaking unpleasantly. "Just work stuff. I'll get the next round, OK?" I ask, reaching for another shot. The tequila is hitting my lips before he has a chance to pick up his glass. I feel jittery again. Where'd that pleasant state from a minute ago disappear to?
Chapter Six
Holt
I probably should have suggested she stop at that last round. But she was really opening up, and I thought a little more alcohol might do it. But I think we've officially overshot the mark. I can't help but grin as she wobbles a bit in her seat. She's a hilarious drunk.
"If I were an international spy," she slurs, "I'd do only, like, one job every few months, and then I'd just travel, you know? Otherwise, what's the point? You gotta travel." She raises her arms to emphasize this point with a random gesture.
"I think that it's probably time for you to get home."
"No, Holt! Let's stay out," she replies, spreading her arms across the booth as though she's claiming it.
"No, you're done for tonight. Trust me." The irony of that request doesn't hit me until after it's crossed my lips. She smiles up at me innocently.
"OK, Holt. I trust you," she replies, and obediently stands up and starts walking to the front of the bar.
"Hey, slow down there," I say, picking her purse up and running after her. I place one arm around her to steady her as she sways, and push the door open in front of her. We walk out into the night and she immediately trips over an uneven piece of sidewalk. I step in front of her to stop her from falling over.
"Whoa, be careful," she says.
"Right, I know," I reply drily. "Come on, up you go," I say, scooping her up into my arms.
"You're very strong," she remarks, nestling her head into my neck.
"Thanks." I catch a whiff of her hair as we walk. Or rather, as I walk. Citrus. She rubs her nose against my skin just above the edge of my shirt. I almost trip myself as an electric buzz spreads through me. She feels so warm against me, and her breath is hitting my neck…
I make it back to the parking lot without falling over and stop at my truck. She probably drove here, but I doubt if she'd even be able to turn her car on in this condition. I tip her feet down onto the pavement and then lean her against the hood. I unlock the car and she gets the idea, climbing in herself. I shut the door behind her and walk around to the other side. This night hasn't gone exactly like I thought it would. But then, Jo isn't exactly like I thought she'd be.
I slide behind the wheel and pull toward the street.
"Where do you live? Jo?" Her eyes are closed and she's leaning against the window.
"53 Eastern Drive," she mutters. "Left here," she adds, opening her eyes as I turn out of the parking lot.
She tells me to make another turn in a couple miles and then another after the next stoplight. I see the bright glow of a gas station appearing on the corner and realize this must be the one. There's crime scene tape on and a cop car out front. It'll probably take another day before they're open for business. I watch her out of the corner of my eyes as she stares at it across me.
"Everything OK?"
"No," she murmurs. "Not even close." She begins to laugh, and then a dry sob escapes her mouth before she clamps her hand over it and turns to her window. "I'm sorry," she gasps out. "This is so embarrassing."
"It's alright. I'm a good listener," I offer.
"Thanks, but no." We pull up to her apartment building.
"Can I walk you up?"
"Um…" I watch her glance around nervously. Maybe she's worried the gunman is still lurking around. "Yeah, that would be good, I guess, thanks."
I pull up to an empty space in front and hop out, meeting her on the sidewalk. Seeing the gas station seems to have sobered her up and she walks without problem to the main door and unlocks it. I follow her up the stairs to the second floor and down the hallway. She fumbles in her purse for her keys. She looks so…tired. Tired and scared.
I find myself reaching my hand up to her face. She stills as my fingers brush against her cheek but doesn't look up at me. I slip my thumb under her chin and gently tip her face up and she blinks, her wide-eyed gaze settling on mine. I bend down and ease my mouth onto hers. I feel her lips open tentatively to mine. I slide my tongue into her mouth and when she flicks hers against it, it's like a switch goes off in me.
I wrap my arms around her tiny waist, picking her up off her feet and pressing her against the closed door. I feel her breasts squeezed against my chest. She gasps and I work my tongue deeper inside her mouth, tasting the beer and tequila and something sweet all her own. I slide one hand down, stroking her thigh and then pulling it back and around my lower back. Now I have both hands free to finally grip her ass like I've wanted to all night. It's as firm as it looked, and I hoist her up a little higher and break away from her mouth to work my way down her neck.
"Holt, Holt, wait…" she murmurs. I pause. Did she really just say that? "I can't…I can't do this right now. I'm sorry." I feel her unhook her leg and I loosen my grip on her so that she slides to the floor. She looks up at me, biting her lip, then down at her purse and starts rummaging through it. She pulls out a pen and an old receipt and begins to scribble down her number, using the door for pressure. "I don't know, I…" she stammers as I frown down at her and she pushes the piece of paper at me. "Here, if you want…I…it's hard to explain. Thanks for tonight." She turns around and unlocks her door, looking back at me quickly before closing the door in my face.
