George slid a bottle down the bar to her. “You need to pick a new favorite song, Liv.”
“Aw, you all love it and you know it,” Olivia said with a smile before chugging half of her beer. She always smiled whenever she looked at George. It was an involuntary, knee-jerk reaction to how incredibly hot he was. Dark hair, tan skin, the face and body of a Roman god—mmm, doggy! The man was sexual perfection.
She set the bottle down on the bar and danced around the room, clapping her hands in time to the music. As usual, Kenny Waters played the part of ‘Jack’ to Olivia’s ‘Diane,’ Lonnie Otts performed the drum solo, and the entire bar sang the choir. Most nights George came out from behind the bar to dance with her, but this time he simply watched her hips sway to the music.
When the song ended she perched on the stool at the end of the bar and pointed to her empty bottle. George handed her another one and leaned into her. The glorious scent of “sexy” filled Olivia’s senses, and she breathed deep, inhaling his essence.
He swatted her with the towel he always wore draped over his shoulder. “So, whaddya know?”
“Nuttin’, honey,” she said. “Same as yesterday.”
“Who’s the guy you were with last night?”
“Jealous?”
“Maybe.”
“Some guy, Ryan, that Izzie hooked me up with,” Olivia said with a roll of her eyes.
“What was wrong with him?” George asked.
“Dull, dull, boring, dull—the guy owns a cat, for goodness sake.”
“Ah.” George moved down the bar without another word.
“You really were jealous of him, weren’t you?”
George smiled and Olivia felt a rush of warmth. Damn, he was hot.
“So, when are you gonna grow a pair and ask me out?” she asked.
“Someday, Liv,” he promised with a wink. “Someday.”
She rested an elbow against the bar, and as she drank her beer, she surveyed the thin crowd. Kitty’s was packed on Fridays and Saturdays, but on a Tuesday night it was dead, save for a handful of alkies and other nightshift workers like her. The majority were holdovers from the previous owner of the bar, Helen Pochop.
When Helen had owned the place it had been called, appropriately, ‘Helen’s Place.’ Helen had been a bitch who had not-so-lovingly referred to her five, grown children and their spouses as “those greedy, bloodsucking leeches.” She had not only cut all of them out of her will, she had also specifically mentioned that they were not to inherit one red cent of her fortune. When Helen died, her fortune, after years of back taxes were paid, amounted to just under sixty-three dollars in cash, and the bar. She had left it all to her cat, Miss Kitty Cat.
Even though George couldn’t stand his Aunt Helen, he was the only relative whom Helen had tolerated, and she had named him executor of her estate. Out of some misguided sense of loyalty, he had volunteered to run the bar while the lawyers fought out the ownership rights in court, and he left a fairly good-paying job in Omaha in order to do so. As a joke, he had crossed out Helen’s name on the sign above the door and changed the name of the bar to Kitty’s Place. It caught on.
He changed a lot of things about the place, slowly turning a seniors’ hangout into a fairly-lively weekend nightspot for a little town like Juliette. Olivia knew George secretly wished he would be granted ownership of the bar, but she also knew he was not the type of person who would ever ask for it. Unless some sort of miracle happened, one day in the not-so-distant future, he’d be gone, and a bloodsucking leech would be manning the bar.
Olivia pulled her eyes away from George and smiled at Kenny Waters as he slid onto the stool next to hers. “Kenny G. My man.”
“Whuzzup?” Kenny asked in a slow drawl.
“Not a damn thing. What’s up with you?”
Kenny dressed and acted like a thug, but he was all heart under his wife-beater tee. He sent his wife flowers for no reason and bought her jewelry ‘just because.’ His kids were cute, always clean, and actually said “please” and “thank-you” without prompting. On weekends, he coached Little League and loved to throw a barbeque. He worked with Olivia at Garretson, but whereas Olivia’s quality job was a joke, Kenny’s maintenance job was very real. As the only maintenance man on second shift, the poor guy was solely responsible for ensuring the entire plant remained up and running between the hours of two p.m. and midnight, and he worked his ass off to make sure that happened. Of any of the Southers, Kenny and his family were the only ones who deserved to move to Northside, but he never would. He actually liked living in South Juliette. It was his only flaw.
“Saw your car out in the parking lot. Back into the movie drop-box again?” he asked with a teasing grin.
She rolled her eyes. “As if.”
Olivia’s car and the movie-return box at Movie Mania had an unnatural attraction to each other. She had backed into that stupid metal box not once, not twice, but three times. The poor box looked like crumpled, rusted soda can because of her. After she backed into it the second time, Charlie Wayne, the owner of Movie Mania, had Rogan and Sons Construction out of Allman Falls install thick concrete barriers around the box. But Charlie was an idiot and wouldn’t let the Rogans bolt the barriers through the concrete of the parking lot. The third time Olivia backed into the drop box she not only bent the frame of her car but also managed to shove one of the concrete barriers through the side of the box. Olivia had paid for the damage, but Charlie had pocketed the money and left the barrier impaled through the box. It wasn’t her fault the movies got wet when it rained, but Charlie sure did love to blame her for it.
“I backed into a pickup at the Get n’ Go,” she said.
“You know that little mirror on the windshield is for more than putting on lip gloss.”
“Seriously?” she asked with mock surprise. “Huh. Who knew?”
“How bad’s the truck?”
She shrugged. “I have no clue, but I’m sure I’ll find out when my rates go up again.”
“Your insurance guy must absolutely love you.”
“Oh, Reggie hates my guts. He’s dying to drop me, but I pay my premiums so he’s stuck.”
“He could drop you if he wanted to.”
“I know.” She poked his arm. “I heard you’re gonna be a daddy again. Congrats, man.”
“Thanks, Liv.”
“Maybe you’ll get your boy this time.”
Kenny crossed his fingers as he took the last drink of his beer. With three little girls already, the poor guy was drowning in pink ribbons and baby dolls. “I’m gonna head out, catch some z’s. See you tomorrow, Liver.”
“Same time, same place.” She watched him make his way to the door, pausing to talk at every table along the way.
George picked up Kenny’s empty. “Last call, Liv.”
She held up two fingers as she downed the last swallow in her bottle.
“You know you can’t do that.”
“The other one’s for Kenny,” Olivia lied.
“Fine,” George said with a sigh. “You’re lucky Kenny’s still in the bar.”
“And he will be for the next twenty minutes. He’s just starting to say his goodbyes.”
“Then he can drink his own beer.”
“Don’t mess with me.” Olivia cocked an eyebrow, giving George her best impersonation of Sam’s intimidation expression. “Hand ‘em over, bucko.”
George laughed and handed her both beers. “You know if you quit spending so much money here every night you’d have been able to move to Northside a long time ago.”
“So you’re saying I should quit tipping you?”
“When have you ever tipped me?” George asked.
“Start bartending with your shirt off and I’ll start tipping you.” She wiggled her eyebrows as she threw some money at him to pay for the beers. What she really wanted to do was tuck the dollar bills into his underwear, after she ran her hands all up and down his oiled, muscular body. But, alas, he was fully dressed
. It would seem weird.
“You’re too much sometimes, you know that?” His tone played irritation, but he winked at her. Oh, yeah. He liked it.
The patrons slowly trickled out, each of them calling out a goodbye to Olivia as they left. Bar regulars are a bit like family—you can’t pick ‘em, you can’t get rid of ‘em, and if you ever make the mistake of borrowing money from one of them, heaven knows they’ll lord it over you for the rest of your natural-born days. For the most part Olivia liked her bar family better than her real one. They actually talked to her, and seemed to care if she were still breathing.
After the last customer left, George turned the chairs onto the tables then headed into the backroom to get the mop bucket. “Time to go, Liv.”
“But I haven’t finished my beer yet.”
“Drink faster!” he called out over the sound of running water.
She ignored him and grabbed the broom from behind the bar. She wasn’t ready to go and he wouldn’t force her out. He gave up trying to enforce Kitty’s posted hours on her months earlier. As they did almost every night, Olivia swept and George mopped, then they both washed the last of the glasses. He handed her another beer, grabbed one for himself, and they went into the office so he could do the books. She flipped through his CDs until she found The Killers and slipped it into the stereo, cranking the volume up. George frowned. She turned it back down, one bar at a time, until he stopped frowning.
George started sorting the day’s receipts and asked the same question he always asked, “How’s your dad?”
She gave her standard answer, “He’s good.”
George and her father, Eugene, had sat on her deck drinking together once. Neither man had spoken a word to the other while George polished off a six-pack of Bud and Eugene nursed a two-liter of Coke and chain-smoked Camels, but apparently the experience had bonded the men for life. Guys were weird like that.
Olivia’s tummy growled. “Do you have anything to eat around here?”
George opened the top desk drawer and pulled out a half-eaten granola bar. He tossed it to her and she finished it off in two quick bites.
“Got anything else?” she asked.
“No, but I hear the grocery store does. It’s that big building on the highway with all the lights, and tons of food on shelves.”
“Hardy har.” She stretched out on the saggy, plaid sofa in the corner of the office. It smelled like an ashtray dipped in rancid fryer grease from living in the bar for the past twenty years, and was still harboring stray tufts of Miss Kitty Cat’s fur under the cushions, but it was comfortable.
“I also hear they have stuff you don’t have to cook. Why don’t you go check it out?”
She lit a cigarette. “I’ll have you know I’m a very good cook, thank you very much. I just choose not to do it.”
“Warming up SpaghettiO’s doesn’t count. And put that out.”
She rolled her eyes and took a drag. George hated when she smoked in his office, but she didn’t see why. It wasn’t like one cigarette’s worth of tar was going to further ruin the upholstery. “You got any job openings?”
“No.” He waved futilely at the ribbon of smoke drifting his way, but returned his attention to the stack of receipts in front of him without another admonishment.
“Not even for me?”
“Especially not for you.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
George looked up at her with a sigh of exasperation. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
“As a matter of fact, it is.” Olivia smiled. “You wanna come tuck me in?”
“Go home, Liv.”
She watched him punch numbers into his adding machine, his fingers dancing across the buttons like child’s play. He could type words blazing fast as well. She was more a hunter and pecker of the keyboard herself. He’d told her once what he used to do for a living when he’d lived in Omaha, before he’d moved to Juliette to run Kitty’s, but she couldn’t remember what he’d said. Insurance, or sales… finance, maybe. Whatever it was, she was sure he’d been really good at it. Try as she might, she couldn’t picture him wearing a suit and tie to work every day, but she wondered if he missed it.
“Hey, George?”
“Hmm?”
“What did you think of that Ryan guy from last night? He texted me this morning and wants to go out again.” She tapped her ashes into the mouth of an empty beer bottle sitting on the end table. “Do you think I should say yes?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t like him,” George said.
“How come?”
“No reason.”
“Izzie thinks he’s perfect for me.”
“Izzie’s wrong.”
Olivia smiled. They’d known each other for less than a year, but George knew her better than anyone else in the world. It was almost instinctual.
They fell into silence as George concentrated on his bookkeeping and Olivia finished her cigarette and sipped her beer. It was late, the time most people were tucked tight into their beds, fast asleep, but Olivia was a bundle of energy. The longer they sat without talking, the antsier she became. Her knee bounced, her tongue clicked, her fingers drummed anxiously. Before long, every molecule in her body was buzzing and hopping and popping and dancing the Watusi.
“Oh, my gaaawd, I’m bored,” she cried to the ceiling when she couldn’t take the Killers-laced silence any longer.
“Then go home.”
She hopped off the sofa. “Dance with me.”
“Not tonight.”
“Come on, George, just one little dance. Please, please, please.”
Olivia was in love with George for many reasons, but numero uno was the way the man danced. His ass was hot when he stood still, but when his hips were tucked up against hers and her hands were on those amazing cheeks and their bodies gyrated together… mm, mm, mm. She was horny just thinking about it. She should’ve put in a little Missy Elliot or a slow jam instead of synthpop. He’d have been out of his chair and wrapped around her body without her even having to ask.
“It’s never one dance with you,” George said. And he was right. Dancing with George was like eating potato chips—once Olivia got the taste of his body in her mouth, so to speak, she couldn’t stop until she ate the whole bag. If they started dancing now they would dance until dawn. He looked tired so she changed tactics.
“Then take me for a ride in your truck.”
“Go home.” George picked up a pile of cash. He rapped it on the desk twice, then licked his thumb and forefinger and started counting bills just as fast as he had tapped buttons moments earlier. The man had mad skills.
“Come on, George.” She bounced around to his side of the desk. “Come out and play with me.”
“I’m busy. Go home.”
“Let’s go TP Louise’s house.”
“No.” He let out a whispered curse, and started counting the cash over again from the beginning.
“Come on, Georgie. When’s the last time you threw a roll of toilet paper into a tree?”
“Not since I was eleven, and I don’t plan to do it again.”
“Come out and play with me.” She leaned over his shoulder and gave him a cheeky grin. “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”
He set the money down with a sigh and scrubbed his face with his hands. “You don’t know how to behave.”
“Sure I do.” She pulled his chair away from the desk and swiveled him around until he faced her, then grabbed his hands and tried to pull him to his feet. But he wouldn’t budge. She pulled and tugged and grunted and pulled some more, but he stayed glued to his chair and glared at her.
“Are you done yet?” he asked.
She shifted her grip and pulled harder. “Nope.”
She grunted and tugged, putting all her weight into it this time until she was practically sitting on the floor, but he remained solidly seated in his chair.
“God, you’re a pain in the ass.” He gripped her hands and jerked back on his arms so hard she popped up off the floor, and slammed into his chest with an audible oof! He locked her in tight with his arms as his lips came crashing down onto hers.
Oh Lordy-be, he was an amazing kisser. She couldn’t help but whimper out in wanting when his tongue slipped inside. He responded immediately, intensifying the kiss until her insides dissolved into liquid fire.
When he finally pulled away for a jagged breath, she smiled. “You love me anyway.”
“Heaven help me, I do,” he whispered, his eyes dark with wanton lust.
Her lips returned to him to nibble and tease his neck as his hand slipped under her shirt and blazed along her skin. He tasted so good he was like candy—hot, sexy, melt-in-your-mouth, man-candy. When her lips settled on the sweet spot below the square corner of his jaw, he breathed out a heavy sigh that turned into a groan of un-masked pleasure. It vibrated under her lips and undulated throughout her body.
Her lips worked a little magic on him. His hands worked a lot of magic on her. He got hot. She got hotter. His lap got quite crowded. And then, when she least expected it, he shoved her off his lap, and onto the floor. She landed square on her rump with a solid thud. Damn.
“Now, go home. I’ve got a ton of shit to get done and you’re bugging the hell out of me here, Baby Girl.”
“One of these days you’re not going to be able to stop kissing me.” She bounced back up to her feet and leaned over him, the tip of her nose kissing his. “And I won’t stop you either.”
“Go home, Liv.” He was still breathing a little hot and heavy, but he didn’t make a move to take her back into his arms. He was done for the night.
Olivia let out a sigh of disappointment as she straightened. “See you tomorrow.”
“Same time, same place.” He winked and turned his chair back around to face his desk.
Olivia left Kitty’s with George’s kisses still hot on her lips and perpetual disappointment in her heart. She only had herself to blame for the lovesick feeling. No matter how much she wished otherwise, she knew George would never go beyond kissing her. She wasn’t his type.
Olivia Page 2
