But for me, I’m practically sweating with the nearness, with the idea that if I turned my head a certain way, I could mouth at his cock. Shivers skirt down my spine every time his fingertips graze the nape of my neck. A secret smile steals my lips even as my eyes burn. We’re both still suffering, and I can’t do anything to fix it—can’t kiss him or hold him or give him the love he needs.
I got what I wished for, and it’s fucking bittersweet.
* * *
The bar is exactly what I expected it to be like. A crumbling, old building on the outside, and an interior design that only looks good after some drinks. A few things stick out though, like the rainbow pride flag behind the bar and the jukebox in the far corner.
Grant calls out for Sky, who comes out of a door in the back hefting up a heavy-looking box. I rush over to help them on instinct, but they drop the box to the floor and swat me away. “You must be Hendrix.” They straighten up, tucking their hands in the pockets of some badass-looking pants. With a shaved head and various bits of metal in their face, I’d say Sky looks badass in general.
I smile brightly. “You ready to train a newbie?”
Their brows creep together. “Don’t try to charm me. Save it for the customers; you’ll get good tips.”
Grant’s leaned back against the bar, one foot crossed in front of the other, his eyes bouncing back and forth between us.
“It’s a simple job. We’re open ‘til two in the morning, and most of the customers are regulars who drink the same beer every time they come in. Today is a Monday, so it won’t get busy. Just copy me, and when there’s nothing to do, clean something. Easy.”
Grant nods. “Easy. You’ll be a pro come the weekend.”
I narrow my eyes at both of them.
“We open in five minutes,” Sky continues. “You can hose down this rubber mat and put down the clean one.”
I eye the rubber mat in question and grimace before rolling it up and lugging it toward the back. There’s a neon exit sign above one door that seems like a good place to start. I didn’t want to bother Sky with too many questions in the first five minutes of meeting. I’d rather fill in the blanks myself.
Hot, muggy air chokes me as I step outside. My eyes immediately find the other mat hanging on a yellow railing, so I drop the old one and grab the new one. Easy enough. I bring it back inside, finding that the lights have dimmed in the bar a bit, and “Better Man” by Pearl Jam is filtering out from the jukebox. Knowing that this is Grant’s place makes something warm swirl in my gut. I don’t understand how he doesn’t feel proud of this.
Sky finishes sweeping up the floor just in time for me to lay the new mat down. I rush back outside and root around in my pocket for a cigarette. Who knows when I’ll get another one. I pop it between my lips, shielding it from the wind with one hand as I light it. The hose lays haphazardly by the railing, so I toss the mat up there and start spraying.
By the time I walk back into the bar, my forehead is damp with sweat, and my shirt is sticking to my lower back uncomfortably. Sky’s moving behind the bar with comfortable efficiency, spinning on their heels, popping caps off beer bottles. I watch in awe for a short while until I shake myself out of it. With determination, I step behind the bar and wait for them to have a free second.
Finally, they look at me pointedly, which in turn causes me to freeze up like a deer in headlights. “Um, what should I do?” I ask, rubbing at the nape of my neck. First days in new places are the most intimidating thing ever, and it’s starting to hit me. I feel unsteady and unsure of myself.
“Just talk to the customers and get them what they want. Keep up with the tab, and restock whatever needs it as we go. Keep the ice full. It’ll come naturally as you get in the groove.”
Their confidence in me makes me feel somewhat at ease, so I hope for the best and dive in.
CHAPTERSEVEN
GRANT
Raucous laughter and music infiltrate through the wooden door of my office. It seems to have heightened over the last hour, which means it’s probably past midnight. Patrons have a tendency to get rowdier than they ought to around this time, so I break away from my menial paperwork and leave the room. Best to make my presence known.
There are a few clusters of people at different tables and a couple more at the bar, all of them red-faced and beaming, except for Rick, who's at the far end of the bar. He’s eyeing Hendrix like he’s the reason for every shitty thing that’s happened to him, and it’s been a lot. Last I heard, his wife left him some years ago because he was a drunk. Safe to say he hasn’t changed much, only grew more jaded. Usually, he’s harmless though, so I continue toward Sky.
Hendrix spins around with a beer in one hand, readying to pop the cap off, but when his eyes find me, the bottle goes crashing to the floor. “Shit,” he exclaims. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, flopping damp strands of hair from his face. Sky shoots him a pitying glance and quickly grabs a new beer for the customer.
I grasp his shoulder and look him in his big, hazel eyes. They’re a bit glassy, and his face and neck are red as can be. My heart aches something fierce. “Go take a break, kid.”
He sniffles a bit and mutters under his breath, “I’m not a fucking kid.”
It catches me off guard momentarily, and I stand there stunned as he tosses a well-used rag on the counter and trudges toward the back door.
Cackling laughter sounds behind me, and I spin to see Rick looking far too amused. “That’s what you get for hiring a fucking queer,” he spits out, venom lacing the vile words. My ears start ringing loudly, blood rushing to my temples. “Even Sky’s better than him. Damn, maybe she really is a man,” he continues.
My nostrils flare with each calming breath I suck into my lungs. “It’s time for you to leave.”
He reels back, offended. “Why should I have to leave? It’s not my fault you only hire fucking queers to work here. Maybe you’re one of them, too.” The noise in the bar has quieted significantly, his words heard loud and clear by every patron. I won’t tolerate his hate speech in here any longer.