Page 77 of Behind the Bars

I might’ve been a recluse, but with whiskey, my notebook, and Jason, I was never reallyalone.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jasmine

Isaw him first,but he’d argue that was alie.

He kept to himself, sitting in a corner booth at Daze. A pencil balanced behind his ear as he flipped through a tattered notebook and sipped on whiskey. He’d been sitting in that corner booth since I’d arrived two hours ago and hadn’t once looked up. The only person he took note of was the bartender, who wandered over every now and then to top off hisdrink.

I sat in the booth across from him, glancing over every now and then, sipping on my drink of choice for the night:vodka.

I used to drink tequila, but it made me tooemotional.

I once tried bourbon, but it made me toosick.

So, vodka was my safestbet.

He was different in almost every way. He was huge, built, fit, and shredded. His black T-shirt clung to his body in all the right places, and his lips didn’t have a smile on them, but thoseeyes…

Those sweet, sad, hazel eyes were exactly as I remembered, except now they weren’t hidden behindglasses.

Many drunken women wandered up to Elliott’s booth, trying to grab his attention, but he never gave it to them. He just nodded them away and kept his head down, focused on his notebook. Every once in a while, he’d take his pencil from behind his ear and write somethingdown.

“You sittin’ alone?” a drunken man said, stumbling to my booth, sliding in across fromme.

“Oh, well,actually—”

“Let me buy you a drink,” he blurted out, reaching out to touch my hand, his covered in oil and grease. His white T-shirt was stained with the same filth, as if he’d lived under the hood of a car for the past tenyears.

“No, it’s okay, really. Thank you,” I said, trying my best to keep calm while I pulled my arms closer to mybody.

“Co-come on,” he begged pitifully, reaching out even more. “Let’s get a drink and have a good timetogether.”

My lips parted to speak, but I stopped when another voice spoke up. “Jimmy, move on.” I looked up at the corner booth, where Elliott was still marking up his notebook but speaking toJimmy.

Jimmy sat back a little and groaned. “Come on, Elliott, don’t bea—”

“Jimmy,” he said, his voice even sterner, still looking down. “Moveon.”

Jimmy grumbled but stood and walkedaway.

“Thank you,” I said toElliott.

He nodded once, still looking down. “Jimmy means no harm. He’s just landed on hardtimes.”

“Haven’t we all at some point?” I lightlychuckled.

For a split second, he glanced my way, then he returned his stare back to hisnotes.

Then, hepaused.

He sat upstraighter.

Narrowed his hazeleyes.

Then, he closed thenotebook.

When his head rose and his body rotated toward me, my heart started aggressively pounding against my ribcage, uncertain of what would happennext.

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