Chaser (Dive Bar #3)(51)

Just really hard.

Jean exhaled quietly. “I think maybe I do miss sex after all.”

Kill me now.

“It’s still good, isn’t it?” she asked. “I mean, I haven’t blown it up in my mind into something it’s not?”

“Yeah…” Shit. “I’m, ah, taking a break right now, so maybe the wrong person to ask.”

“You are?” Her eyes widened in shock. “Why?”

I lifted one shoulder, playing it cool. “I don’t know. Rethinking life and stuff.”

“Wow.”

“Hmm.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Just a partial truth. “No big deal.”

She said nothing, going back to staring at the screen. Thank God I’d been let off the hook. Phew. Stuff happened in the movie. I wasn’t even really watching.

*

The trouble happened at work a few nights later.

We were only about half-full, pretty normal for both this time of week and year. I’d been meant to finish at eight, but had hung around to help Joe out for a while. Or just to keep him company. A woman and her friend were hanging at the bar, chatting with us. Basically, we were just having some fun with customers, talking and laughing about stuff. It was harmless. The friend was a bit flirty, but whatever.

Most people, they have a few drinks in them, they get relaxed. Our job was to stop serving long before things got messy.

“You go to Shape Fitness?” she asked, playing with her straw.

“No,” said Joe. “A different place.”

“Where? Because you two definitely look after yourselves,” the woman purred. “I can see that.”

Joe smiled, moving on to another job behind the bar. He looked about ready for a break. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he was taking on all the extra shifts to save up for buying something big. Something for his girlfriend, maybe.

“Thanks,” I said. “How’s the martini?”

“Dirty always gets the job done.” The woman flicked her hair and right on cue her friend laughed hysterically. Christ, the girl almost fell off her stool she was cackling so hard.

I grinned. “Great.”

That’s the things with puns and jokes, people always think they’re the first to tell them. Trust me, as a bartender I can say with absolute authority that they’re usually not. Alcohol and subtlety do not go hand in hand. If it did, there wouldn’t be cocktails with names like “slippery nipple” and “screaming orgasm.” But I’d take getting hit on by some batting eyelashes to being cried on by some poor, brokenhearted schmuck any day of the week. Breakup sob stories were the worst, especially when the person was obviously to blame. Like, I’m sorry she left you because she found out you’d been screwing her best friend, your secretary, and the mother-in-law behind her back. How totally unreasonable of your wife to kick you to the curb. Yeah, no. Still, hazards of the job. It’s not all flying bottles and flourished pours, though that’s part of it too. Along with giving folks their change in one-dollar bills, of course. Got to get those tips.

Bartending was far from being the worst job in the world. But like anything, it had its highs and lows.

“Let me feel,” demanded the woman, waving her hand in the general direction of my biceps.

“Eyes only,” I said, before giving them the gun show. Even with the long-sleeve T-shirt, it didn’t look half bad. I was actually pretty happy with how my upper arms were going. All of the hitting the gym with my brother to burn off steam I wasn’t otherwise using had been paying off.

“What the fuck are you doing?” snarled some guy.

“Huh?”

“Are you flirting with my girl?”

“Troy!” The one who’d almost fallen off the stool from laughing grabbed at the dude’s arm. “We were just talking. Baby, I would never—”

“Bullshit.” He was big, ugly, and angry. “I knew you were up to something, telling me you were working late.”

Add paranoid asshole to the guy’s list.

The woman sputtered, shaking her head. But it was the genuine fear in her eyes that got me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Joe had braced himself, edging nearer the entryway at the end of the bar. Just in case the guy needed moving on.

“Calm down,” I said. “There’s nothing to get upset about. Your girl and her friend were just having a drink together after work. Nothing’s going on.” I smiled disarmingly at the brute. “How about I fix you a drink? On the house, just ’cause we’re all friends.”

And that’s when the asshole leaned across the bar and hit me. Straight in the fucking face. Pain filled my face, and for a split second, white dots covered my vision.

By the time I’d snapped back to reality, Joe was already behind the guy, wresting the thug’s arms behind his back. My brother didn’t have any proper security training or anything, but he’d had to muscle more than a few guys out of the Dive Bar before. Plus it helps if you’re the size of a truck. Once Joe had the guy’s arms pinned hard behind his back, the fucker gave up his struggling, and let Joe march him toward the door. The women had scattered, getting out of the way. Which was good. Last thing we needed was someone else getting hurt. Ignoring the pounding in my face and the feeling like my eyeball was about to explode, I jumped over the bar and followed. Moving fast rather than carefully, just in case Joe needed backup.