Page 23 of The Barkeep and the Bro

“Your hair looks good, too.” I stumbled on my tongue, wondering what his hair would feel like under my fingers for a second too long. “I mean, just…”

“No dating co-workers,” he said.

“Exactly.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” He moved her drinks to the waiter station for her to pick up.

“I don’t?”

“I’m not looking to date anyone at the moment.”

“Oh.”

“I need to focus on getting my life in order. Besides, I’m not exactly boyfriend material, as your daughter can attest.”

My daughter. Who he used to date. Whatever thoughts were circulating in my head about Charlie, I told them to buzz off.

“I’m glad we understand each other.” I wrapped my knuckles on the bar as Penny stopped by to pick up her drinks. Then I headed back upstairs before I could embarrass myself further.

* * *

While upstairs,I enjoyed moments of calm. Penny and Charlie hadn’t run up to my office with a problem or emergency I needed to help with. This was what it felt like to have competent staff. This was what it also felt like to have few patrons.

I’d hear Charlie schmoozing with a customer while fixing drinks, his affable voice filtering up through the floorboards. I laughed to myself. The kid sure had the gift of gab.

I finished gathering together receipts and numbers for my accountant. It was never fun. It was like a lottery where I usually lost. Margins were slim in the restaurant game. I was proud that I’d been able to keep the lights on and provide a home and education for my daughter.

Later in the day, I ventured back to the main floor and had Charlie pour me a ginger ale. He put down a glass with ice and picked up the soda gun.

“Which one is ginger ale?” he said to himself. He pressed a button, and Diet Coke came out. “Shit.”

“It’s the one beneath,” I said, but he was busy tossing that drink in the sink and prepping a new glass. He pressed another button, and seltzer filled the glass.

“Now it’s a process of elimination,” he said with a smile, never flustered. “Only one button left.” He quirked his eyebrows and licked his lips, hitting a button inside me.

He prepped a third glass with ice. Ginger ale flowed from the soda gun.

“Thanks.” I grabbed the glass and gulped down half my drink. “How’s it been?”

“Slow. Good time for practice. I’ve been studying this in the downtime.” He pulled the mixology book from under the bar. It was stained with liquid, and several pages were dog-eared.

“Good work. So tell me, what’s in a Greyhound?”

“It is vodka and…” He bit his lip in thought, sending another one of those funny feelings into my stomach.

What the hell, Mitch? It’s like you’ve never seen a twenty-something fratboy before.

“Tomato juice?”

“No.”

He pressed his hands into the bar, making his triceps flex. “Give me a hint, Boss.”

He was objectively cute, but I could see objectively cute straight guys on any porn site I wanted. No big deal. I pinched my face, willing myself not to be turned on.

“Grapefruit juice!” Charlie said. “Your face gave it away.”

Before I could run back upstairs to avoid the awkwardness I felt, the tavern filled with bustling voices charging through the front door. A group of fifteen rowdy guys and girls in matching blue-and-gray flight attendant uniforms beelined to the bar. It was like they were storming Omaha Beach.

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