Page 15 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
"Another round for you boys?" she asks, gathering their empties.
"And a shot for you," the blonde guy says, reaching for his wallet. "Join us."
She glances toward me, a question in her eyes. I give a small nod. We're not strict about it—staff can have a drink if offered, as long as they stay functional.
"What'll it be?" she asks, maintaining her professional smile.
"Whiskey," he declares. "The good stuff."
I quickly pour three beers and four shots of mid-range whiskey. Nothing special, but not the cheap stuff either.
"You don't have to drink it," I tell her quietly as I line up the glasses in front of them.
"I know," she says. "But I kind of want to. Been a hell of a week."
I can't argue with that logic. "Just pace yourself."
She takes her shot with them, tipping her head back as she swallows. She doesn't cough or sputter, just sets the glass down with a satisfied little exhale. The blonde guy says something that makes her laugh, but she's already moving away, back to work.
An hour later, when the crowd has thinned slightly and the band is taking a break, I pour her another shot—this time from the bottle I keep under the bar for special occasions. It's a small-batch bourbon from a distillery in Kentucky that went out of business years ago.
When Skye comes to the bar for her next order, I slide it toward her. "Try this."
She looks at the amber liquid, then at me. "What is it?"
"Something better than what your hiking friend bought you."
She picks up the glass, sniffs it curiously, then takes a small sip. Her eyes widen. "Wow. That's smoothe."
I can't help but smile. "It's from a little place in Kentucky. They don't make it anymore though."
"And you're sharing it with me?" The way she says it makes it sound like I've given her a precious gift rather than just a shot of whiskey.
"Thought you might appreciate it," I say, trying to sound casual. "After everything you’ve been through this week.”
She holds my gaze for long enough to make me uncomfortable, then tips back the rest of the shot. "Thank you."
Eventually the band packs up, the hikers stumble out, locals drift home until it's just a handful of regulars nursing their last drinks. Buck left hours ago, leaving me to close up with Skye.
When the last customer finally leaves, she collapses onto a barstool with an exaggerated groan. "My feet are killing me."
I grab two beers from the cooler, pop the caps, and slide one toward her. "You did good tonight."
"Yeah?" Her smile is tired but pleased. "I didn't drop anything, at least." She laughs, then stretches her arms above her head, revealing that strip of stomach again. I look away, focusing on wiping down the bar top.
"Any word from Jed about your car?" I ask after a moment.
She shakes her head. "Still looking for parts. They're not exactly stocking the components at the local AutoZone for these old Mustangs."
“How ‘bout your boyfriend… did you hear from him?”
“Myex,” she says pointedly. “Not a word and it’s better that way. There’s not a thing he could say to make me change my mind at this point.”
"He’s an asshole," I say simply.
A surprised laugh escapes her. "Yeah. A complete asshole." She shakes her head. "You know what the worst part is? I keep wondering how many other women there were. How many times he lied to my face. How many times he said he was going somewhere but he wasn’t..."
She trails off, staring into her beer. I have the sudden urge to find this guy and introduce his face to my fist.
