Then I ran to the bathroom because wetting my pants wouldn’t make a good impression on the people at my first table. I got a chance to tell Gloria, the lead waitress that I was trying to change over to bartending. She looked at my v-neck shirt and smiled.
“You’ll do great. You’re smart and fast. You just need a push up bra,” she said. I laughed. She didn’t. She was serious.
“Oh. Okay,” I said with a weak smile and hustled some Diet Cokes back to a table of women sharing barbecued chicken nachos with extra jalapeños. I loved their loud laughter, and their giant orders of appetizers with their small diet sodas. Just being around them made me feel happy. I found myself missing my college friends.
I finished out my shift and went over to the bar to talk with Jason, the lead bartender.
“Ben tells me you’re training tomorrow.”
“Yes, I’m really looking forward to it. I tended bar at an Irish pub near campus last year, but I have a lot to learn when it comes to more upscale, specialty drinks. Is that your primary crowd?”
“That’s our female after work crowd. Otherwise, we do a lot of craft beer and we run a lot of G&Ts.”
“I do a make a great lemon shandy, but that’s more of a summer drink.”
“It’s more of a tequila crowd than a vodka one, when it comes to mixed drinks. We’ll put you through the paces, see how you keep up,” he said.
“Thanks,” I told him.
I headed for my bus stop, hoping that both guys were home or neither, because that kiss with Brett had left a lot of unanswered questions. I felt kind of weird about it, about trying to walk the tightrope between being platonic roommates and wanting more. I was definitely better off staying just friends with both guys. I didn’t want hard feelings, uncomfortable silences, a rift between them even. So I decided I’d just try to quit being so nervous about it and act like nothing happened. I’d be casual, relaxed, not touch him at all. Ever. Not even if there was a giant spider on him and he was asleep on the recliner. That way I’d never have to worry about that zing I felt when my skin touched his.
Brett was on the phone, Derek was doing pushups, and I waved at them as I headed for the shower. I didn’t even stop to speak. I wondered who he was talking to, and I wouldn’t let myself ask or eavesdrop or generally act like a teenager. I turned in early, barely even Snapchatting Ainsley before bed.
Bartending turned out to be fantastic. Jason and Cammie, the two non-drummer bartenders who were staying on, were total pros and lots of fun. They were dating each other, so their flirting and their sarcasm were always targeted at one another, both sweetly and hilariously. When it came to instructing me, Cammie was a genius mixologist who had me tasting different types of sugar for rimming sweet drinks and comparing salts as well for margaritas. She asked me my favorite drink, then showed me how to make an even better version of it, so I was sipping a blood orange margarita with a rim of superfine vanilla sugar while I made notes on proportions and which infused vodkas and flavored simple syrups to add to make standard drinks into something special. A few days training with Cammie made me a much more creative and thoughtful bartender, learning to ask a patron if she liked black currant or cranberry, if she’d like to try something different or if she wanted the comfort of a familiar favorite. Those simple questions turned into conversations, and I started to learn the names of people who came in most evenings.
By the fifth day on bartending shift, I was confident that my trial period was going to turn into a full-time position. I was on time. I was making better tips than I had waiting tables, and I liked joking around with the customers, trying to get Mitch to try something other than his usual three Guinesses, hoping to make a drink that Jasmine couldn’t name every flavor instantly—she even picked out a splash of blackberry liqueur in a Singapore Sling.
One night, Jason made pitchers of his special white peach sangria with a swirl of local honey and some colorful berries. Brett and Derek came in to have a drink after their shift and see how I was doing. I promptly served them both wineglasses of sweet sangria garnished with a sliver of sugared peach on the rim. Brett grimaced at it and asked for a beer. Derek drank a huge gulp and said it was delicious.
“You bet your ass it’s delicious. He only makes it like twice a year. He only did it tonight because Peter and Cynthia brought him back a huge box of fresh peaches from their vacation,” I said.
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Peach people. People who like sangria. It’s some kind of a big deal,” I shrugged, “I’ve only been tending bar a week. But everybody’s acting like it’s Oscar night or the Super Bowl around here, and I’m all for it. We’re moving tons of nachos and artichoke dip and wings, and that means tips.”
“Sounds like you’re having fun,” Derek said, “Can I trade this in for a beer?”
“Absolutely,” I said, “How was your day? Any breaks in the case?”
“We’ve got a new witness to question tomorrow, or rather we tracked him down and the detective on the case will question him,” Derek said.
“Well, that sounds like progress if you can turn it over to the detective. So are either of you going to try to become a detective?”
“Well, I’ve thought about taking the exam, but that would mean a new partner and less patrol work,” Derek said.
“I’m staying on the streets. I don’t want the paperwork a detective has to deal with when I could be out in the trenches stopping assholes from beating up their wives and selling drugs,” Brett said.
“So it would basically be a promotion that broke up the band,” I said, “I can see how that would be a big decision.”
“It’s not worth the sacrifice right now. If I had a situation where I needed to go up in pay grade or I wanted more of a desk job and less time behind the wheel, that would be different,” Derek said. I wondered if he really wanted to be a detective, though, and that he just didn’t want to hurt Brett’s feelings by going for it. I didn’t want to pry.
I went down the bar to fill some drink orders while Jason gave out samples of his sangria and people raved about it. Gloria came to the bar to deliver a plate of sliders to a customer. I slipped her a sample of cold sangria. She threw it back gratefully, leaned over to me, “Thanks, sweetie. Go get yourself a decent bra this week,” she said. I laughed, but I wondered if she was right. I got good tips. Cammie garnered way better ones. Either it was because she was obviously a better, more experienced bartender, or because she had her jumbo boobs out in a scoop neck tank top. I decided it was time to listen to Gloria, who had a pretty impressive rack of her own in that v-neck.
I was busy slinging refills and laughing at jokes, but I managed to snitch a couple of chips off the guys’ artichoke dip platter.
“That’s coming out of your tip,” Derek said.
“Right, whatever,” I told him, stealing another bite, “it’s not like you’re gonna leave a tip anyway. We’re family. You know I’m buying your drinks.”
“No way,” Brett said, “We’re paying customers.”
“Crap, then I better quit eating off your plate,” I said, “But I’m totally buying your drinks tonight. I owe you more than a couple of beers, I can tell you that.”
I smiled at them, slowing down for a second, dropping my sarcasm and letting them see the genuine fondness I felt for them, the gratitude for their friendship, even as I bit back an attraction I didn’t want to explain. Derek said, “Get over here,” with an eye-roll that told me he wasn’t a big fan of sentimental displays.
I rounded the bar and he slung an arm over my shoulders, “Don’t go thinking I’m gonna watch Hallmark movies and crap with you, but we like you, and you don’t owe us a damn thing,” he said.
“I bet you buy drinks for your friends, right? So let me. I’m not saying I can afford to do it every time you come in, but tonight, because I know you’re only here to check up on me and be sweet—don’t roll your eyes, you’re being sweet whether you admit it or not—I’m covering the tab.”
I
cut my eyes to Brett who gave a sigh, “Fine, just this once, and we’re leaving a tip. It’s good to see you happy at your job. Did they give you any more shit about the schedule?”
“No, it’s working out just fine. Thanks for the idea.”
“The idea?” Derek said.
“Didn’t Brett tell you he was the one who suggested I should try for a bartending job? Since the hours weren’t working out for me as a waitress?” I said. I was surprised he hadn’t mentioned it, but this was obviously the first Derek had heard of it.
It occurred to me at once that maybe Brett hadn’t mentioned that conversation to Derek because it was the same night I kissed him. I wondered if Brett had told Derek about that, and why I felt relieved thinking Derek didn’t know. It was like, in my crazy mind, I’d lose my chance with Derek if he knew I kissed Brett. Like I had any intention of getting involved with either of them. They were totally off limits. They were my roommates. My first friends in the city. I wasn’t about to screw that up just because I felt a pull of attraction, a tug low in my belly whenever I was around them. Derek still had his arm around me. I shrugged away, trying to ignore the fact that my heart pounded from his touch, and an answering pulse throbbed in my panties. I swallowed hard.
When I took my break later, they were gone. I went to use the bathroom, wound up leaning against the stall door panting, my eyes shut against a vision of Derek and me crowding into that metal cubicle. My throat tightened and my nipples hardened at the thought. His hand tracking up my side, pushing up my shirt, his mouth hot and wet on my neck. I felt a surge of desire pool in my belly, my breath catching as I imagined Derek’s palm on my breast, his fingertips plucking at my ready nipple. My hips twisted. I slid my hand down my stomach, into my jeans. I wondered what it would feel like to have him grip me behind the knee and hike my leg up, open me wide for him, to plunge himself deep inside of me. Sweat came out on my upper lip, along my hairline as I rubbed, unable to stop myself as the arousal built.
I gave myself over to it, helpless in the grip of desire. I bit down on my lip to keep quiet, eyes shut, rubbing my fingertips insistently in the wetness between my legs, finding the knot of throbbing nerves and massaging it. As my pleasure built, I could almost feel Derek nudging between my thighs, moving inside me. As my head fell back against the stall door, my fantasy kicked up a notch as I imagined Brett behind me, cradling my back against the wall of his broad chest, his hands working my bare breasts, his tongue flicking at my ear. I pinched my nipple, needy and shaking, furiously rubbing until the pleasure burst behind my eyes, rippling down my thighs and making me jerk and grunt. I sank against the door, panting. I withdrew my fingers from my wet panties, feeling ashamed. I’d never done that before, not at work on a break, not like some promiscuous girl with uncontrollable urges.
Living with those two was bringing a side of me out that I never knew I had.
7
I was loving my internship at Envy, and I even went for drinks with the staff writers on my day off from the bar. The style department offered me some free samples of top brand cosmetics, and I scored a pair of foldable flats when a bunch of free ones were sent to the office for a review. I loved my cute turquoise flats, and I had learned to contour like a boss. I’d thought I was good with makeup, and I’d watched my fair share of YouTube tutorials, but I’d learned which Insta influencers were on the cutting edge and which techniques worked for women with my lifestyle and complexion. It was like a master class on looking my best. I hung out with the product reviewers for tips when I had any free time and learned a lot.
I’d sold my car to pay for the repairs and had managed to bank almost five hundred bucks on top of that, which gave me a safety net on my bills. The only real hazard to being at the magazine was the constant temptation to splurge on designer boots or a handbag, whatever the must-have of the week was. I kept my head down and didn’t open any credit cards. I was a responsible girl, and I wasn’t going to get my head turned by pretty things.
I spent most evenings working at the bar, my new black uplift bra doing its job under my v-neck and earning me fabulous tips. I was more efficient and comfortable with the clientele and knew most of the regulars’ orders. I looked forward to work and looked forward to going home to ‘my boys’ as I called them. Most nights they were watching ESPN in their recliners when I returned. Once when I was running late, Brett and Derek were waiting at the bus stop three blocks away, acting like they were going for a late-night jog. I liked knowing they waited up for me. Living with a couple of cops definitely made me feel safe.
Maybe that was why I wasn’t worried when I left too late to catch the bus one night. I figured I’d walk a little ways. The cool breeze made me wish I’d brought a jacket, but it was a nice night otherwise. I figured walking would warm me up. I had my phone in one pocket, my tips in the other, and my keys hooked to a belt loop. I didn’t carry a purse to the bar, so I had my hands free to text the guys, let them know I was running late. I didn’t want them having to go on a fake run to check up on me.
I didn’t see him until he had hold of my ponytail. I cried out and dropped my phone. When I reached for it as it fell, a foot came down on the small of my back, pressing me onto the empty sidewalk. I cried out because it hurt, and because I was terrified. I tried to push up with my hands, but he had me pinned.
“Give me your money and I’ll let you go,” he said. I was crying, tears and snot on my face, fear turning me shaky and weak. I reached back and took my tips out of my pocket.
I had the presence of mind to throw them away from me so he’d have to go get them. When he took his foot off my back, it came down first on my phone screen, stomping it, and then on my hand. I screamed and he went after the money. I wasted no time scrambling to my feet. I cradled my hand in my other palm as I staggered toward the bus stop. I got on, flashing the bus pass I kept in my bra, and sank onto a seat. I cried, sniffed, swallowed hard. I had to get myself together before the boys saw me. When I reached my stop, I tried to smooth my hair but I was shaking too hard. I made my way to the loft and fumbled, couldn’t get my keys loose from my belt. I knocked on the door, and Derek opened it.
I must’ve looked a wreck because his face registered fear. He hurried me to the table, got a dishcloth, and started dabbing what must’ve been blood off my cheek.
“What the hell happened? I got your text, but you didn’t answer when I texted back.”
“He stomped—stomped my phone,” I managed, my teeth chattering with terror still. I held out my hand to show him what had happened. He got a package of frozen vegetables out of the freezer and covered them with a dishcloth, laying my hand gently on top of it. I shivered.
Derek got me a blanket, put it around my shoulders, and squatted down by me.
“Did he hurt you?” he said. I knew what he meant, and I shook my head emphatically. I’d been lucky.
“So you missed the bus and got mugged,” he said, “Some guy took your tips, shoved you down, trashed your phone, and stepped on your hand.”
I nodded, grateful I didn’t have to talk. He gave a grave nod, got up, and made coffee. Soon, I had a mug of the hot, sugary liquid on the table before me. When I couldn’t hold it without shaking, Derek held it for me, tipped it gently so I could take a small sip. I nodded gratefully and took another before he set it down.
He sat across from me, “You need to make a report. I’ll take you to the station.”
I nodded and sniffled. “Can it wait until the morning? I just want to go to bed.”
He got up from his chair, came to me and stroked my hair. I flinched, remembering the man grabbing my ponytail. Derek rubbed my back, soothed me.
“Of course.”
I lifted my face and met his eyes. They were warm, furious, and protective at the same time. I blinked back tears. He was being so gentle with me. I shook my head, feeling like an idiot. I had, I thought, been careless. I had talked too long to Cammie and missed my bus, hadn’t called the guys for a ride, or even b
een paying attention to my surroundings. It was my own fault I’d gotten mugged.
I think he must’ve seen all that play across my face, because he shook his head at me . He kissed my forehead, kissed the scrape high on my cheekbone, then brushed his lips to the corner of my mouth. I turned my head so my lips met his, warm and alive and safe. I wound my arms around his neck. He kissed me slowly, softly. I would’ve let him take me to bed right then, but he drew back gently and smoothed my hair.
“Do you want to have a bath or just go to sleep? I think you need to call in tomorrow, have a day to recover.”
I nodded, “I just want to go to sleep,” I said. It wasn’t true. I just wanted to go into his bedroom and let him make love to me beneath his hockey posters until I was sure I had survived it all.
Still, when he walked me to my room, I leaned on his arm. I toed off my shoes and sank onto the narrow bed. He pulled the blanket over me as I curled up on my side.
“Want me to leave the door open?” he said.
“Yes,” I told him. I wanted to see the light from the living room, to hear Brett come home, to know they were awake and moving around in the loft. That I wasn’t alone.
“Are you okay?”
“No. But I probably will be,” I said, my resolve starting to falter. “Listen, it’s not like we’re going to find the guy who mugged me. It was dark and I barely saw him. Are you sure making a report will even do anything? I don’t want to waste your time.”
Derek looked at me as if I’d sprouted a second head. “Yes, you need to make the report. You never know what little thing you might remember that will help find the guy. And even if we never do, you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you stood up for yourself in whatever way you could. And, for the record, you could never waste my time.”
“You really do take your job seriously, don’t you?” I asked him.
“I do. It’s really my calling to help people,” Derek told me.
“That’s very noble,” I said. “But once my dad finds out I’ve been mugged, he’ll insist that I move back home. I just don’t want to have that fight.”
One Lucky Girl Page 4
