Page 16 of The Barkeep and the Bro

“In the supply closet of hell.” I laughed to myself.

“I’ll change it.”

He didn’t wait for me. I stood up and followed him into the closet. With surprising quickness, he found the right keg and rolled it to the bar. He squatted to get eye level to the keg hookups, his henley riding up to expose a golden lower back. And a hint of crack. Not gross plumber’s crack.

Smooth.

Golden.

Lickable.

He grunted a little as he positioned the keg, and I needed to get the hell away from there. Since he seemed to know what he was doing, I left him behind the bar.

Charlie hopped back up like his legs were pogo sticks. He swiped a washcloth from the sink and wiped the empty pint glass, then threw the washcloth over his shoulder, Sam Malone-style.

“Well done, fratboy.”

Charlie leaned over the bar, his eyes staring into mine with that cocky smirk. “What next, Boss?”

“Make me a rum and coke.”

“You got it.” He pivoted to the wall of alcohol bottles stacked behind him. He pulled a rum from the top shelf.

“What are you doing?” I folded my arms.

“What?”

“You’re giving me top-shelf liquor?”

“You deserve the best.”

“I didn’t ask for the best. What if I don’t want to pay for the best? Then you just wasted valuable merchandise.”

Charlie nodded and cleared his throat. “Sir, what kind of rum did you want in your drink today?”

I shrugged and waved off the question. “Eh, I don’t know. Whatever you got.”

Charlie turned to the shelf of alcohol, then back to me.

“C’mon, I have a train I need to catch.”

“How does Captain Morgan sound?”

“How much is it?” I barked out, giving him no mercy.

“It’s ten bucks?”

“Ten bucks for a drink?” I stood up, the bar stool angrily scraping against the floor. “I’ll just grab a drink at the train station.”

I walked away, then did a U-turn back to Charlie.

“Are all of your customers this cantankerous?” he asked me.

“Some of them, yes. People get crabby when they have to wait for alcohol. Only use the premium alcohol if someone asks for it by name or a drink requires it. Otherwise…”

I pointed at his crotch. Err, the bottles in front of his crotch.

“The well,” I sputtered out. “Well drinks.”

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