Page 1 of Cupid's Chokehold
ONE
EROS
Valentine’s Dayis a crock of shit.
Just another excuse for Hallmark and all the big box retailers to rack in the dough right after Christmas by telling lovesick fools there’s a special day dedicated to love. As if there weren’t another three-hundred-sixty-four days in the year to tell your partner you love them.
Like I said—crock of shit.
Only reason I keep The Heckling Goose open is for all my fellow anti-Valentiners who need a place to hide from the coupled up idiots buzzing around town.
“Yo, E, can I get another one, man?” one of my patrons asks from his usual spot at the bar as he slides his mug my way.
Sam practically lives in that chair six days a week and puts down enough Guinness to keep them in business. Hell, he’s the primary reason I even keep that nasty shit on tap.
“You got it, boss.” Slinging the cleaning rag over my shoulder, I retrieve the emptied glass and promptly pour him a refill. “You’re cut off after this one, though. I’m closing up in two hours and I can’t let you leave until you’ve sobered up. Cheryl will have my ass.”
Sam curls his lips in disdain as I set the mug in front of him, but I don’t miss the humorous gleam in his eyes. “You’re just like your father. Always looking out for me.”
“Someone has t?—”
The obnoxious sound of giggles suddenly erupts from the door, killing the remainder of the words on my tongue. Sam turns toward the intrusion at the same moment my gaze finds two very chummy women just beneath the threshold. And by chummy I mean an extreme level of PDA that is bound to have every cock in this room standing at attention within the next two minutes if I don’t put a stop to it now.
“Can I help you, ladies?” The boom of my voice has the desired effect, dragging two sets of eyes in my direction. “Red Velvet is about two blocks down if you’re lost.”
It’s one of the more popular lounges in the area and definitely looks like somewhere they’d venture, especially on a night like tonight. In fact, I’d much prefer it that way.
They don’t belong here.
“We weren’t looking for Red Velvet,” one of them snips back, though her tone is mostly of the amused variety. That’s the first thing I notice. The immediate second? She’s stunningly beautiful—with a wild mane of dark curls, the umber tones of her skin popping beneath the wine red color of her strapless top. “Do we just sit anywhere?” she goes on to ask.
Absolutely not.
“You could, but this doesn’t really look like your scene. Might be more comfortable somewhere else,” I carp back.
Sam quirks a brow at me, almost at the same moment the two women exchange a look. I can practically hear him yelling at me about customer service and how my father would be taking a frying pan to the back of my head right about now, but I don’t give a fuck. This bar,my bar,isn’t the place for them and their…lovey dovey shenanigans. More than half of my clientele is men. Why would they want to be here anyway?
“Wow, killer customer service, dude,” the other woman pipes up. She’s equally as beautiful as her counterpart; a grungy Disney princess with a sleeve of tattoos and pink streaks framing her fair, doll-like face. “I’d say it’s a deterrent, but that just makes me want to stay even more. We’ll be at the other end of the bar when you finally pull your head out of your ass.”
Every drop of blood coursing through my veins boils over, a rebuttal hot on my tongue and ready to fire. I’m two seconds away from telling them to get the fuck out when Sam reaches over and death grips my wrist, effectively grappling my attention.
“Don’t do it, son.” He shakes his head. “This place could use a little estrogen. Besides, what would your dad say if he knew you were turning down customers on one of the most profitable days of the year?”
That I’m an asshat. That I’m going to run this place to the ground and tarnish the name he built from the ground up. That my mom would be appalled and absolutely furious if she knew I was treating women with anything less than the respect she drilled into my head growing up.
With a sigh and a curt nod, I whip the rag off my shoulder and buff out the non-existent grime of the bar top as the two women strut to the other side. Pink hair pins me with these stormy gray eyes the entire way, a not-so-subtle smirk quirking one corner of her darkly painted lips.
Thank God I’m closing in two hours.
TWO
SUKI
“Bet my dickis bigger than his,” I grumble as Lala and I slide onto the two bar stools. When I glance over at her, she’s clearly chuckling at me. Any sign of toxic masculinity and I’m usually ready to pop off in one way or another.
“I’d bet money yours is bigger. Especially if we’re comparing it to the tentacle,” she concedes.
Puckering my lips, I flip the curls of my high ponytail over my shoulder playfully. “No one compares to the tentacle. I got that one on lock.”
