“Got it. Thanks.”
On my way back down to the other end of the bar, I stopped to refill a beer and made change for someone. The music was just so loud and distracting, and I was feeling a bit overwhelmed, so by the time I grabbed glasses and started to make the ladies’ drinks, I wasn’t sure I remembered it correctly.
Was it ginger ale, beer, vodka, and lemon? I looked down to the other end of the bar. Tia had a shaker going in one hand and the other was pouring a beer. The bar was also starting to get backed up.
“Did you forget about our drinks?” Mule lover had an attitude.
“Coming right up.” And don’t blame me if it tastes like crap.
I whipped up my best impersonation of the stupid cocktails and poured them both into a fancy glass.
Everything tasted better in a swanky glass anyway. After I rang them up, I moved on to the next customer.
“I’ll take a mudslide,” the guy with the pastel pink polo said.
“Umm. Okay.” I glanced down to Tia. She was still busy. I couldn’t interrupt her for every customer.
“That’s with Kahlua, right?”
The guy gave me a look. What was with everyone at this place? “Maybe you should get a job at the ice cream store down the block if you don’t know how to make a mudslide.”
“Maybe you should drink beer instead of a ladies’ drink,” I countered.
“It’s for my girlfriend. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Oh.”
I walked to the recipe book. Why aren’t these things in alphabetical order? Mudslide was second to last. Vodka, Bailey’s Irish Cream, Kahlua, Milk—all in equal parts.
Two other customers ordered their drinks as I mixed the cocktail. I needed to learn not to make eye contact until I was ready to take the next order. Because of the interruptions, I’d inadvertently put in Bailey’s twice and forgotten the milk.
While I rang up snotty mudslide guy’s drink, the foursome of women I’d served returned to the bar.
They pushed their way to the front and slammed two glasses down on the bar. The liquid from the drinks splashed all over.
“These aren’t right. I don’t know what you put in them, but they taste terrible.”
“Okay. Give me one minute, and I’ll remake them for you.”
The woman at the forefront of the bitch brigade rolled her eyes.
I took the twenty-dollar bill from mudslide guy over to the register and returned with his five dollars in change. Fifteen bucks. What a rip off.
“Here you go.”
The guy had a milk mustache as he lowered what I’d just concocted. “This isn’t right, either. Do you know what the hell you’re even doing back there?”
“No!” I yelled back in defense. “I’m helping out a friend. You don’t have to be so rude. I’m doing my best.”
I took my time remaking all three drinks and had the snooty patrons taste test them this time before walking away. I’d felt someone watching me from the end of the long bar, but had to work my way over.
It wasn’t until I’d finished taking care of two more customers that I got a quick look at the eyes I’d felt following me. I did a double take. This guy was gorgeous. Drop dead gorgeous, but he also stood out like a pit bull amongst a sea of poodles. Black leather biker jacket, sun-kissed skin, scruff on his face, dirty blond hair that stuck out all over in a messy way that looked like maybe he’d just had sex.
Really good sex. My eyes caught with his deep green ones, and his intense stare made me nervous.
“I’ll be right with you.”
He nodded once.
After I finished with the guy next to him, I turned my attention to the rebel in the middle of a sea of pastel polo preppies.
“What can I get for you?”
“What do you know how to make?” God, the voice matched his face. Sexy, deep, and intense.
Apparently, he’d been sitting there for a while and figured out I wasn’t the best bartender. “Beer,” I grinned. “I know how to make beer.”
I caught a glimpse of a lip twitch—I thought. “The owner realized when he hired you that you only knew one drink recipe?”
“Actually, he didn’t exactly hire me. I’m filling in for a friend, and I honestly don’t have a clue what I’m doing. I think I might’ve even given the last guy the wrong change.”
The guy was quiet. He seemed to be studying me, and it made me uneasy. I didn’t know many actual badasses, and this guy was clearly a badass.
“So…what can I get for you?”
Rather than answer, he stood and took off his leather jacket. I gulped getting a look at the muscles bulging from the plain white T-shirt he wore. Tattoos covered his arms, coiling around like ivy to cover every inch of skin. I had the craziest urge to examine them up close—ask him what each of them meant.
“What’s your name?” He hadn’t taken his eyes off of me, yet I didn’t really feel like he was checking me out. It was confusing and intriguing at the same time.
“Gia.”
“Gia.” He repeated after me. “Tell me, Gia, what would the owner think if he knew you were behind that bar giving out wrong change and pissing off his customers?”
This guy might’ve been sexy as hell, but his sudden change in tone had warning bells going off. Yet, I didn’t walk away or call Oak. I stood there answering like an idiot. An idiot who vomited truth when
she got nervous. “I’m thinking the owner would probably be pissed off. He wouldn’t see it as me doing a good deed for a friend who had to leave in an emergency.”
“And why is that?”
“Well…I heard he’s a prick.”
He cocked a brow. “Yes. I’ve met him, and he is a prick.”
Even though he’d agreed with me, it didn’t sound like he was on my side at all. I needed to extricate myself from this bizarre conversation. “So…would you like my specialty…a beer?”
“Sure.”
“What kind?”
He shook his head slowly. “You pick.”
Relieved to escape for a few minutes, I walked over to the tap, pulled a beer mug from the crate under the counter, and started to fill it with the local beer that Riley had told me to push. Still feeling those eyes on me, I glanced back over my shoulder at my rebel customer and found him staring. He didn’t even have the courtesy to pretend he wasn’t when I’d caught him.
“That’ll be six dollars,” I said setting down the full mug.
“Eight.”
“Pardon?”
“The beer, it’s eight bucks, not six.” He seemed a bit annoyed.
“Oh. You’re correcting me so you can pay more?”
The bouncer-manager-tree walked up to the bar and stood next to my customer. “Liquor delivery came late and was short four bottles. Receipt is under the cash drawer, boss.”
It took a minute for what I’d heard to sink in. My eyes widened. “Did you say…boss?”
Badass glared at me. “That’s right, Gia. I’m the prick. I own this place.” His mouth curved into a smile that was anything but happy. “Now, get the fuck out of my bar and tell your friend she’s fired.”
Shit!
He was the boss.
I figured this guy for some kind of drifter passing through town on his bike, not the owner of the entire establishment.
Everyone was staring at me as I scrambled to find the right words.
“You can’t do that. You can’t fire her. Don’t blame Riley because I can’t make drinks to save my life.
That’s not her fault. She was trying to do a good thing by having me step in because of her family emergency. She could have just left you high and dry. Don’t punish her for my incompetence.”
When the bouncer approached again, the prick held out his hand without breaking his stare, which was firmly directed at me. “Not now, Freddie.”
“Sorry, boss. I have to let you know that Elaina just called out. She’s not coming back to work at all.
Decided to head to the City with her boyfriend. They both got auditions for some play. She said she’s really sorry but that she quit.”