Page 4 of Missing Pieces

It is at that moment a gloriously beautiful hunk of a man walks over to me. I cannot take my eyes off him. He is muscular all over, his chest looks like it is made of armor, grown out blonde locks hang just off his forehead. He is tall and tan and has burning sapphire eyes that freeze me in place, literally, my shot glass is stuck at my lips. Before I can even sip that sweet whiskey nectar, the jerk ripped it from my hand and set it on the bar. “I think you’ve had enough of these for today Harper.”

I stare in shock. How does he know my name? Did I meet him last night? I think I would remember a Greek god talking to me last night. He tears his eyes from mine and calls over to the bartender, “Jack, please get Harper here a water and put in an order for a burger, a big one. She needs to eat. Then, we will talk about over-serving our guests.”

Jack looks at me and then the god of the south and then back at me then mumbles something that sounds like fucking hell and runs off toward the kitchen. I curl my hands into fists suddenly nervous around this man, who must be the owner or manager of this place. A sharp pang of guilt and embarrassment starts eating at my stomach over whatever it was I did last night that put me on a first name basis with the owner.

“I take it you don’t remember me by the look on your face.”

I try to shake off whatever “look” is on my face, but he starts talking again. “I’m Trace. I own this place. I met you last night at closing.” The look of confusion on my face forces him to continue. “I take it you don’t remember.”

I try to play it cool. Well, as cool as someone on the verge of being shitfaced again would play it. “I-ugh, no-I totally remember…”

“Well, you were shitfaced last night. Fell off your bar stool twice.” I palm my face with my hands and lean on to the bar. “Hey,” Trace says gently placing a hand on my shoulder, “it happens to the best of us. If it makes you feel better, one of those times is because some douche from the next town over tried to touch you and you leaned back and fell right off. Easiest way to get that creep off your back I suppose.”

I try to put my face as deep into my hands as I can to hide the embarrassment that is spreading onto my cheeks. “And the other time?” I dare to ask.

Trace just chuckles as he says, “That was when you tried to leave. Said you had to get home to your pupples and fell right off your stool as you stood. That was when I gave you the courtesy of walking you back across the street to your hotel room and making sure you made it into bed okay.”

“I am so sorry,” I squeak. “I really should not have drunk so much. I have just had a very bad couple weeks and then yesterday was the cherry on top.”

A deep laugh erupts from him. “Oh, I know. You told me all about it on our short walk back to the hotel.”

I slam my head into the bar, shaking it with distaste. “God, I am such an embarrassment to myself and you.” Lifting my head, I remember about the tab Jack had talked about earlier. “Jack mentioned a tab, how much do I owe you for this mess?”

Jack comes over with two big glasses of water and a gigantic burger with a colossal plate of fries on the side and sets them down in front of me. Trace shakes his head. “How about you eat all that food, drink the water, then go home and sleep it off and we’ll call it even.”

I hate to admit it, but that pile of food looks mouthwatering. When was the last time I ate a real meal that wasn’t a gas station snack and coffee? “I’ll throw in forty dollars too.”

“Make it twenty. Drinks are cheap here.” With that, he pats me on the shoulder and walks off behind the bar. I eat the burger, which turns out to be delicious, and every last one of those fries like I would never have a meal again. I drop forty dollars on the bar and head back to the hotel, thinking I would have everything figured out tomorrow.

Boy, was I wrong.

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