by ML Nystrom
Fatigue hit Patrick as well. Last week he’d put in some seriously long hours working during the day. Up around six thirty to get to the job sites by seven, then knocking off around five to grab food and a shower before heading to Gallaghers’s. It had become a regular thing for him, and he liked it a lot, even when he got bone-ass tired.
Since helping out, Sloane insisted on paying him something, even though he’d told her he didn’t want it. They settled on a share of the tip jar. Truth was, he enjoyed being behind the bar instead of in front of it. He had learned a bunch of popular mixed drinks already and seriously contemplated going to bartender school. The parties and promotions, local brews, and the outgoing social atmosphere of the place suited him, almost better than construction. He still liked working with his brothers, especially since the money was outstanding, but he loved the pub atmosphere. Every time he walked into the bar, he got a second wind.
“Bow down, mere mortals! Patrick is in the hoooooooouuuuuuse!”
A deafening wave of yells and whoops greeted his ears. People knew him and some even came here just to see him work. A fan club of women already waited for him. He kissed them all with quick, dry pecks before slipping behind the bar. Tonight in celebration of the holiday, the featured drinks were margaritas in every kind of flavor. Lime, lemon, raspberry, coconut, pineapple, blue curacao, and for some reason, watermelon. Patrick shuddered at the thought, but Sloane claimed they were popular enough to include on the menu. Tequila sunrise also sat on the drink specials’ chalkboard, and of course, shots of Jose Cuervo.
“Hey, Patrick!” A blonde with hair teased out beyond normal capacity pouted suggestively at him. “You missed me?”
She’d been on the prowl there before with her posse of decked-out ladies. Tonight was no different.
“Just saving the best for last, darlin’,” he said with a wink. Adelaide, Abigail, Alanna, something like that. I think. He leaned across the bar with the intent of a quick peck like the others, but Alesha-Aleena-Alexa had other plans. She grabbed his chin with her long red talons and held him in place while she laid a big one on him. Her tongue pushed at his lips, and he let her in for a sweep. Well, if that’s what she wanted. He slanted and took over deepening the kiss. His tongue pushed hers away and thrust into her mouth, mimicking the act of penetration. She groaned at his dominance and let him plunder her thoroughly. He ended the kiss to catcalls and whoops from the on-looking patrons. Allyson-Alexandra-Amelia sat back and panted. Her face flushed with heat and her eyes glazed.
Patrick grinned and smacked his lips. “Raspberry. Want another one, love?”
The woman nodded, still dazed.
He winked again. “Coming right up.” He turned away from the group as one of them said, “Oh my God, Reese, that was soooo hot!”
Reese, eh? Damn, he needed to get better with names.
Sloane moved over and let him get to the mixing. He noticed her jaw flexing in irritation but didn’t know what caused it. “Something wrong?”
Sloane tossed a cherry into a Tequila Sunrise before answering. “Just surprised to see Reese so soon after her surgery. Last time she came in here, she had B cups. Those puppies are at least double Ds now.”
He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. “Double Ds, eh? Not that I don’t love a big rack to burrow into at night, but fake ones aren’t my favorite. Nice to look at but they don’t move right. Give me natural over size and I’m a happy man. Take you, for example.”
She stiffened next to him. “What the hell?”
He noticed her anger and spoke in his most soothing voice. “Now, Sloane, my precious, I’m not trying to be a dick, but I’ve got eyes. I know you’ve not been under the knife for a boob job, and I bet you’re not planning on it anytime soon. I’m just saying that if you were in my bed, I’d be just as happy with small or large as long as they’re real.”
Her eyes shimmered for a moment before a sharp bark of laughter came out. “As if that would ever happen.”
She turned to serve the drink and make a note on a tab. Patrick noticed her hands shook but let it go as Garrett, Bertie, and Rhyleigh showed up.
He beamed at them. “How’s it hangin’, brother? Bertie, my secret love, when will you leave this loser’s ass and come with me?”
“Maybe after he finishes building my new garden shed.” She accepted his cheek kiss and miraculously found an empty stool.
“How ’bout you, Rhyleigh? He grinned, proud of himself for getting her name right. “Wanna walk on the wild side?”
The tiny yoga instructor blushed. “Um… no, thank you. Have you seen Angus?”
“Not since we quit work for the day. He left the house before I did. Don’t have a clue where he went.”
Her face fell, and Patrick felt sorry for the girl. She obviously had a crush on his twin, and he had thought Angus might be in the same frame of mind. They had rented a small month-to-month two-bedroom house while staying in Asheville long term. For years, they had partied together, but Angus had started going out alone and not saying where or what he was doing. Patrick spent more time at the bar and rarely noticed his brother’s comings and goings. He knew Angus hadn’t brought any women back to the house, so there was that, but he went out early and came home late several times a week. Patrick assumed he was doing Rhyleigh, but perhaps not.
“Watermelon margaritas? Those are either fantastic or terrible. Make me one when you get the chance, please?” Bertie trilled, bringing him back.
He chuckled and flipped a coaster off his knuckles to place in front of her. “Your wish is my command, my queen.”
The night wore on with more drinks, more laughter, more singing from the karaoke stage, and lots of fun. Gordon left at ten to go be with his family, leaving only Sloane and Patrick to run the bar. Garrett, Bertie, and Rhyleigh left a few minutes after.
Reese led his nightly harem of women and kept up her plays. She sat teasing the straw with her tongue and hunching her shoulders to draw his attention to her ample cleavage anytime he brought her a new drink. Another woman made a point of stroking his hand anytime he handed her a glass. The air got heavier when Reese and three of her posse got up to do Niki Minaj’s “Anaconda” on the karaoke stage. They more or less shrieked the rap lyrics to the avid onlookers, but the crowd lost it completely when they turned around, squatted, and twerked in tandem rhythm.
Patrick watched the row of shimmying butts and let out a huge whoop. “Twerk off!” he yelled at the top of his lungs and climbed on top of the bar. The entire place shifted their attention to him as he lifted a shot to his mouth and threw it back. Then he turned around, bent over, and proceeded to pump his ass in the air. The noise rose to deafening. Fuck, he loved it here. It was a place he felt truly at home. A place where he belonged and fit in like the perfect mitered piece. He was… he was… fuck… he was so goddamn happy it made him high.
His eyes rose from his bent position to meet Sloane’s scowling face. Any other time, he might be taken aback at her anger. She’d been prickly all night, and he had no idea the cause of it. Just behind her, he spotted Claudio with a fresh beer in front of him. The man took a drink and grimaced at the taste. If beer wasn’t his thing, why was he here? Only one reason. Sloane.
Maybe it was the excitement of the big party atmosphere. Maybe he was too hyped up from adrenaline. Maybe it was the sudden surge of jealousy at Claudio’s focused attention on Sloane. Whatever it was, he gave into it. To the screams and hollers of the people and the shot of liquid encouragement, he hopped down off the bar and grabbed Sloane and pulled her off her feet against his body.
“What the fu—” she started, and he ended it with his mouth on hers.
He never expected it to happen.
Lightning struck from his spine to his knees and he nearly dropped her. The noise faded as his entire being concentrated only on the woman in his arms. His tongue speared into her mouth and he tasted mint. Altoids. He remembered her habit of chewing them to keep her breath fresh when she s
poke to customers. His brain registered the sharp flavor as it shut down and the blood from his head pooled into his groin. His dick shot up and pulsed behind his jeans zipper and the heart in his chest beat overtime. Christ, he had wanted to do this for so fucking long.
The second strike hit him harder.
She kissed him back.
Her stiff body relaxed, and her arms came up around his shoulders to anchor herself there. He sensed rather than heard the moan from her throat and a maelstrom of desire flamed in his gut. Never had he experienced this kind of reaction to a woman. It was addictive, and he wanted more. Her head slanted and their tongues dueled to see who dominated. Her heady taste filled him to the brim, and he wished he could bury himself inside her and stay.
He let her slide to her feet, and she arched to keep as close to him as possible, sucking and licking at his lips, until he felt like he would burst. The whoops, catcalls, and whistles kept going. Fuck, these people have to go, Patrick thought as he raised a hand with the intent of running it through Sloane’s colorful hair. I have a woman I need to take care of. My woman.
She jerked away, breathing heavily and putting some distance between them. In one heartbeat Patrick saw passion and desire reflected back. The promise of something extraordinary. The next heartbeat, she shut it down with a resounding crash.
Her hand whipped out and cracked across his cheek to the roaring laughter of the observing crowd.
“Ho no! You got owned!”
“Crash and burn!”
“Don’t fuck where you eat!”
For a moment, Patrick had unfamiliar emotions hit him. Disbelief, denial, embarrassment, and above all, pain. Not the physical pain of his stinging cheek. Pain in his heart from Sloane’s rejection. Never in his life had this happened to him. Women loved him. Young, old, big, small, it didn’t matter, and they surrounded him in droves. His entire life had been one big smorgasbord of women ever since he lost his virginity. He never had a girlfriend or any kind of serious relationship. He didn’t have to—his roaming lifestyle didn’t work for long-term commitments—and he hadn’t met a woman yet that he wanted for something more.
Until Sloane.
He straightened and met the eyes of the woman who occupied his thoughts. Unshed tears shimmered in her eyes. Her lips quivered, and she shook like she was coming apart and the only thing holding her together was her arms wrapped around her middle. Patrick saw the war taking place inside her. Anger, confusion, and sadness raced over her face, one after the other. Patrick didn’t know what to expect. She could have thrown him out. She could have screamed and cursed him. She could have flown into his arms for round two, three, and four. Instead, she did the last thing he expected.
She fled.
Straight past the bar to the back office.
She left him alone in a bar full of people laughing hysterically at the show. He swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to face the music. He put aside the maelstrom of emotions swirling in his head and did what he did best. His mouth spread in the biggest smile he could fake, and he made a courtly bow to the amusement of the screaming masses.
“Put some AC/DC on that machine, Pete! Let’s rock this hoooouuuuuuse!” He raised his arms with pointed horn hands to the ceiling.
Pete had a solemn expression on his face but nodded and complied. “Thunderstruck” poured from the speakers and the entire bar sang along.
“Jesus, we’re gonna need to start wearing earplugs or be deaf by fifty.” Gordon sidled up to Patrick. His hair was sticking up in a few places and his clothes were wrinkled. “Sloane woke me up and told me she got sick to her stomach. I’m supposed to finish out the night. She said she needed to take a rest. Sam over there said something different. Which one is right?”
Patrick pulled a beer and handed it to a customer. He recognized the protective brother mode and didn’t blame Gordon for it. More than once as kids, he and his brothers had scrapped with other boys that bothered Eva, their only sister. Sure, he had picked on her and played pranks on her until one of them turned dangerous, but when it came down to brass tacks, he’d mess up anyone who tried to fuck with her. “Both. If he’s saying I kissed Sloane, yeah, I did. She’s not happy about it, but I’m not sorry either.”
Patrick fully expected Gordon to take a swing at him, adding a broken nose and bloody lips to the meager damage Sloane gave him. Another shock hit him as a huge grin broke out over Gordon’s face. “It’s about damn time. By the way, what the fuck is that asshole Claudio doin’ here?”
Patrick glanced over at the seated man. A short blonde woman had pulled him into a conversation, even though his body language said he wanted to be alone. “Been in a couple times. I think he comes in just to talk to Sloane. Orders beer he never finishes and stares at her like she’s a cake and he wants a slice. Annoying as shit, but she told me they used to be tight.”
Mild-mannered Gordon sneered as he pulled a beer from the tap. “Not just tight. They were engaged. Fucker dropped her like a hot skillet when—”
“When what?”
“When life sent… challenges. If someone can’t stick around when the goin’ gets tough, they don’t need to come sniffin’ around when things are good. She’s not thinkin’ ’bout takin’ him back, is she?”
The unfamiliar green-eyed monster tapped Patrick on the shoulder again. “I don’t think so.” She better fucking not!
He faced the bar to take an order. “What’ll it be, man?”
Patrick faked his exuberance until he thought he’d puke. By the time the bar emptied, he was totally drained and ready to melt into the floor. Gordon and the waitresses did the majority of the cleanup while Patrick took stock.
“Sloane will come down tomorrow morning and run the reports off the register. She's the one who knows how it works.” Gordon finished sweeping and put the broom and dustpan back in its place. “I don’t know what we would’ve done if you hadn’t stuck around and helped us these past weeks. I owe you for that.”
Patrick stood up from where he crouched in front of the cooler. “It’s no trouble at all. I like being here. A lot.” He looked around the bar. “I fit in. The people, the party, the music, all of it makes me feel like I belong here. I don’t remember ever being a part of something like I am here. Weird, isn’t it?”
Gordon reflected. “Not really. I believe we all have places in life where we belong and people we’re supposed to be with. It’s rare to find them. Every day, you see people on the streets or the internet searchin’ for somethin’, somewhere to be, or someone to be with. There’s people who end up settlin’ for less and end up gettin’ mad and bitter about it. Others spend a lifetime searchin’ and never findin’. It’s the lucky ones that click into that happy place wherever it happens to be.”
Patrick chuffed and grinned. “Fuckin’ philosopher as well as bartender, eh? What if you’ve had a good life even if you hadn’t found that special place?”
“I said happy, not good. You can make good money, drive a cool car, have a nice house, pretty wife and kids, and still not be happy. Think about all them rich dudes out there who have all that shit and cheat on their spouses all the time. Hell, you met Maggie, the cougar. If she and Sean were happy, they’d do everything in their power not to fuck it up.”
Patrick emptied and started counting the tip jar. The agreement was that waitresses could keep all the personal tips from serving the floor and they would divide the jar tips amongst the working bartenders. He liked his carefree life, but was he happy? He always thought so until lately. Connor had found his other half in Beverly and being stepfather to four brilliant kids. Anyone who saw them said they belonged with each other. Melanie and Owen, two opposite people who should have never got together, fit like perfect puzzle pieces and had their own growing family of children. Patrick contemplated Garrett’s past situation with the bitch from hell who sucked the life from his brother and how his woman, Bernadette, had filled him back up again. They’d found their places. Happy places with wome
n who loved and supported them while Patrick still played and drank and fucked. He liked to play and drink and fuck, but did that make him happy? Truly happy?
One of the twenty-dollar bills caught his eye with some red coloring. A big lipstick kiss smeared across Andrew Jackson’s face along with a note penned in the corner.
Call me, baby, and I’ll give you more than a kiss.
Shit, what was her name again? Began with an R? He’d gotten notes like this before, scrawled on napkins or the backs of receipts. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t take up a few of those offers, but if he admitted it to himself, the encounters were stale. The woman got off, and he got off, but that was all. The one-night sex marathons he’d done for years had become dull and unsatisfying. He hadn’t been with a woman since just before he’d started at the bar, and counting back, realized he didn’t miss it much.
The biggest joy in his life was coming and working at the pub and seeing Sloane. Christ, I hope I didn’t fuck that up.
That thought followed with another. Which do I want? The pub or the woman? One more than the other? Fuck!
He placed the lipstick-coated bill in his pile to hide it and called to Gordon, “I got you and Sloane’s cash over here. Nice haul tonight.”
“Glad to hear it. You heading out?”
No, I’m heading up to Sloane’s apartment. I need to see her. Would she open the door? Probably not tonight. “Yeah, I’m done.”
“You gonna be back tomorrow?”
“If Sloane will let me back in, yeah.”
Gordon nodded. “She will. Remind me to show you the shelves in the storeroom.”
“I already saw them. I don’t have a day I can schedule until the week after next, but I’ll put it on the calendar for me and Angus. Cool?”
“Cool.”
Patrick left to let Gordon finish locking up. He opened the door to his truck and craned his neck backwards to look at the top floor of the building. A light shone in the third-floor window and another one on the roof. Patrick clenched his jaw. Please, God, don’t let me have fucked this up.
