Page 13 of Promise Not To Fall

A laugh emits from deep within his chest, throaty and fucking sexy. “No. Just Jake.”

“Can I call you Jay?”

He’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Why?”

I shrug, feeling like I have lost my mind. “I don’t know.”

“It’s already a short name. Why shorten it?” I shrug again, and he shakes his head with laughter falling from his lips. “Can I call you Ken?”

It finally dawns on me how odd is sounds. “Lol, that makes sense.”

This time he bursts out laughing, his hands on the edge of the bar. “Did you really just say, lol?”

“I guess I did. What’s next?” I ask, my eyes on his bare arms, which were in full view now. I stare at the black ink marking them, trying to decipher the meaning behind his body art.

“Sweet or sour?”

“Sweet.”

He gives me another smile. “Sweet it is.”

A man at the end of the bar with no shirt and a receding hairline screams as he enters the bar, pumping his fist in the air.

“It’s my birthday!” he yells, waving his arms around.

Jake leans into my personal space again, speaking with a nonchalant grace. “It’s been his birthday for three days in a row. He does this every night.”

Laughing, I watch Jake making me another drink and take notice that he seems to have some authority here. His demeanor demands instant obedience from patrons and staff, unlike Surfer Boy who mingles with everyone and has to constantly be redirected to actually work.

Jake’s hands move quickly, never measuring, and long-pouring the bottles for effect. His eyes are on mine most of the time, confident and alluring.

“Where ya from?” Jake asks, topping off my drink with two cherries.

“Phoenix.” I stare down at the drink and stir the straw. “What’s this one?”

“The chillax.” His head tips at the drink. “I added cherries, just for you,Ken.”

Another burst of laughter leaves my lips. “Ah, well, that’s nice of you. I like cherries.” I take the two cherries and slide them off the stick they were on and into my mouth, chewing slowly. “How long have you been bartending?”

Jake watches Surfer Boy for a moment. He’s showing someone his nipple. No lie. With a disgusted shake of his head, Jake turns back to me. “Since I was old enough to mix a drink.”

“And that would be?”

“Hell if I know.” He shrugs one shoulder, speaking with a nonchalant grace I kind of adore. “I remember not being able to see over this bar and making my mom a tequila sunrise.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” Slowly, I take a sip of my drink. Goddamn, it is fucking delicious! The coconut with the mango bursts fruity flavors with every sip. “This is amazing.”

“What?” I think he knows his drinks are good, because when I smile around my straw, he winks again.

“Being in a bar that young. That should be illegal.”

“It’s the Bahamas. They don’t give a fuck.” He relaxes and leans back against the bar, crossing his ankles and then his arms over his chest.

My messy hair, sweat drenched, falls in my face again. Sighing, I release my unkempt bun and then folded my hair back up into another knot. Jake has turned his back to me now, cashing out an old man’s tab at the end of the bar. They talk for a moment, and I find myself watching the two of them curiously.

The man with no shirt and dark hair graying at his temples laughs, his deep laughter echoing through the bar, and shakes Jake’s hand before leaving.

Jake turns back to me then, his eyes on the beach over my shoulder, and then regards me with another smile. Rugged, bronzed by the sun, his skin is so inviting. It’s everything I can do to keep myself from running my hands over him. I still want to pull his hair. “Need another?”

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