Page 2 of Alpha's Touch
Bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder at the tables, and even the booths were overfilled with people shouting to be heard over the thrum of a song that was either ’90s grunge or classic rock.
Since that wasn’t his type of music, Preston wasn’t sure. But he liked whatever it was.
You can do this. You need the job and half the people look like they drink from beer bottles. No fancy drink orders that Preston had no clue how to make.
The bar itself dominated the left side. A long slab of oak, stained with decades of spilled drinks. Behind it, Ash. Preston’s new boss. Hot as fuck, too. When the guy had interviewed him, Preston had been terrified he’d start drooling.
The interview had been on a slow Monday afternoon when the place appeared deserted. It’s not dead anymore.
Ash had the kind of easy, but chaotic energy that made him impossible to ignore, even when he was just restocking napkins.
Tonight, Ash was in his element, flipping bottles and sliding pints down the bar, making bartending look like a breeze. The man’s smile was so big and white it made him look like a game-show host, but the way he shouted orders, you knew he would toss you out the door if you so much as looked at a customer wrong.
Preston hesitated at the entrance, trying to gauge when to jump in. The barback, a guy with a manbun and a sleeve of tattoos, nodded at him like they were old friends.
What was his name again? Nothing came to mind. Preston wiped the sweat from his palms onto his jeans and walked behind the bar, where the air was at least ten degrees cooler and the smells of bleach, citrus, and cheap whiskey mingled in a way he was already starting to find comforting.
Ash clocked him immediately and grinned, eyes crinkling at the edges.
“Glad you didn’t bail,” he yelled over the music, grabbing another pint glass. “We go by the deep-end method here. You drown, or you learn to swim.”
All Preston knew how to do was doggy paddle. Crap. He forced a smile and nodded, feeling every molecule in his body vibrate with anxiety and something else.
Anticipation, maybe, or pure panic.
Definitely panic.
He remembered nothing from the interview, except that all the taps were sticky and the cash register was older than he was. But his nearly empty checking account had left him no choice but to say yes to the first job that offered tips.
Besides, the town was already starting to grow on him, even if he couldn’t explain why.
Probably the view. Crimson Hollow was nestled up in the mountains, surrounded by a dense forest. From the bedroom window of his rental, he could see mountain peaks, the very tips covered in a blanket of snow.
Which was weird to him since the days were hot as hell.
“You with us?” Ash called out.
The rush hit hard. Preston’s whole world shrank to the four feet of space behind the bar and the endless parade of hands waving, voices shouting, faces demanding. He poured shots, fumbled bottle openers, and tried not to look like he was keeping a secret every time someone ordered a drink he’d never heard of.
Ash was everywhere at once, zipping up and down the bar, catching mistakes before they happened, tossing out instructions without ever making it sound like an order.
If every shift was like this, Preston would have no problem losing the little bit of belly fat he carried from his stressed-out life.
It was only half an hour into the shift when Preston saw the bikers again. They filed in like a human wrecking crew, taking up three booths and staking claim to various tables. The lead guy wasn’t with them—Preston scolded himself for noticing, for even caring—but the others brought the same sense of momentum, as if they carried the road’s chaos indoors with them. The regulars barely glanced up. Clearly, this was a “normal” occurrence.
The bikers ordered like they owned the place. Beer, whiskey, more beer. Simple stuff that even Preston couldn’t mess up. They barely looked at him when they ordered, treating him like part of the furniture.
Preston wiped down the bar and tried not to stare. These guys had an energy that made the whole room shift around them. Conversations got quieter. People gave them space without being asked.
“Stop gawking and restock the beer cooler,” Ash called out, snapping Preston back to reality.
Right. Work. Not ogle customers who wouldn’t notice him if he burst into flames.
When he straightened, the lead biker was standing at the counter. Right in front of him. Preston froze, staring into the prettiest honey-brown eyes he’d ever seen. He couldn’t pull enough air into his lungs as he stared at the leader like he’d never seen another human being before.
Ash snapped his fingers in front of Preston’s face. “You fall asleep on your feet?”
Preston didn’t even blink.
