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Knowing he’d be here within seconds, I turned and walked toward Blondie, smiling at him as brightly as I could. “I’m so sorry, sir. Please forgive my blatant disregard for your needs.”
He tilted his head and peered down at me, that blonde curl bouncing against his forehead. A crooked grin tugged at his mouth as his eyes raked over my body. “That’s more like it, sweetness. I was hoping you’d bring me a beer—I’m getting thirsty over here.”
“Thirsty?” I smiled wider, winking. “Thirsty for a good time, I hope?”
His eyes flicked to my chest, to the skin exposed from my low-cut Larkspur shirt, before he raised his chin. “What do you know about a good time?”
Fluttering my eyelashes, I looked to where my hands rested on the bar, feigning bashfulness. “Well, I know that for you,” I teased, looking back up at him, “it’s not here.”
His grin faltered, and his eyes dulled in confusion. “What?” he asked.
My own expression shifted to a glare. “You don’t disrespect me, you don’t disrespect my staff, and you certainly don’t disrespect our other customers with your entitlement issues. Whatever you’re looking for, sweetness, it’s not here.” I pointed to the door on the other side of the building. “Get the fuck out.”
Just as his face twisted in anger, Frank grabbed hold of his shoulders from behind. “All right, pretty boy, let’s go.”
“What the fuck?” Blondie spat out.
“Bye bye!” I waved as he disappeared into the crowd behind him, Frank keeping a firm grip on his shoulders. The people who’d been standing close enough to hear his tantrum clapped. While I had everyone’s attention, I took the opportunity to shout out a friendly little public service announcement. “Listen up, folks! We’re so happy to have you here at Larkspur, but make no mistake, if you treat this bar, my staff, or each other with disrespect, you can join Goldilocks out through that front door. We clear?” Cheers erupted again, this time from even more patrons who’d leaned in to hear what was going on.
Content with my point being made, I headed back to the couple I’d left hanging, finding them smiling again. “I’m so sorry about that. What can I get for ya?”
Things didn’t slow down until well after one o’clock, and even then, “slowed down” was a stretch. Still, Nora and Sam had practically kicked me out from behind the bar, assuring me that they had things under control for the rest of the night.
I usually liked staying until closing time, but I’d closed the last eleven nights in a row, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t exhausted. I hadn’t actually taken a day off in more than three weeks—but Larkspur was my life. Since starting here two years ago, on the heels of the most terrible season of my entire existence, I’d thrown my heart and mind into the nightclub and welcomed the distraction with open arms.
After closing myself out for the night, I stuffed my stack of cash tips—over three hundred dollars’ worth—deep into my belt bag and pulled out my phone. I typed out a quick text to Charlea to ask her what she was doing, even though I knew it was late and that she was probably already sleeping. Even still, I wanted to check in and show some effort from my side of our little arrangement, even if neither of us owed the other anything like that.
She was a kindhearted girl, and she deserved to be thought of.
I returned my phone to my purse before slinging the strap over my shoulder and making my way to the back of the building where a small locker room existed, a reminder of the old community center that used to exist in this space. There was a single-stall shower inside, and while I normally didn’t bother with it before heading home each night, tonight’s shift had been crazy enough to have more than one drink spilled on me.
Making quick work of showering and throwing on some extra work clothes from my locker, I headed toward the front of the club to leave. I said a quick goodbye to Ethan and Mikey, the bouncers who worked the door, on my way out. There were only a handful of people waiting in line to get in, and I smiled at them all as I walked past.
“Oh shit, look, it’s Mara!” I heard someone call out. I was used to being recognized here—I’d built a pretty large social media presence advertising Larkspur on my personal accounts, promoting the events that we hosted alongside candid shots of me working behind the bar. My social media accounts had become one of the driving forces behind the growing popularity of Larkspur as I carved out a digital presence that otherwise wouldn’t have existed.
The current owner, an older, long-time investor named Robert, was much more old-school in his business approach. He preferred traditional marketing strategies, like buying advertising space in our local newspapers or paying for billboard spots throughout the city. When I started working here, I’d asked him if I could take the dive into online spaces, and though he didn’t think it would amount to much, he let me have at it. Luckily for both of us, it worked.
Robert promoted me to bar manager and marketing director a year ago, and though I was still a core bartender at the club, I’d also worked to develop a huge digital presence that made both of us a lot of money—his in the form of an overall increase in revenue, and mine in bonuses and tips like I’d ever seen before.
It was October in Denver, which meant temperatures were beginning to drop considerably during the late-night hours. A chilly breeze swept around me, goosebumps spreading across my arms and neck, so I pulled my favorite black hoodie over my work shirt and yanked the drawstring tight around my face. My bare legs still shivered thanks to the spandex booty shorts I was wearing, but I did my best to ignore the bite.
My apartment was only a twelve-minute trek through the downtown city streets—a path that I could walk in my sleep at this point. Unhooking my pepper spray cartridge from my bag, I tucked it into the front pocket of my sweater. Though I took this walk home every night—usually later than this—I was still aware of the risks a big city posed. I promised myself long ago that I would never let anyone make me feel unsafe in my own skin again.
Five minutes into my walk, my favorite late-night convenience store came into view. Rudy’s Market was open around the clock, offering scattered grocery options, over-the-counter medications, and fresh sandwiches and pastries from a small deli in the back. Rudy himself worked the night shift, while his younger brothers covered the early morning and afternoon shifts.
I started stopping in to get a post-shift sandwich years ago. My routine was getting it to-go, then stuffing it down at home before crashing until the next afternoon. At some point, though, I’d begun eating my sandwiches in the shop while visiting with Rudy. He was twenty years my senior and loved to reminisce about his teenage years spent in Cuba—all of which were hilarious if not borderline unbelievable.
While it was admittedly a bit unconventional, I considered Rudy to be a friend. I didn’t have many of those these days, and he was kind and considerate enough to make me feel comfortable anytime I was in the store. It certainly helped that, while it wasn’t technically on his menu, he had a habit of making me strawberry milkshakes.
I decided to stop in and say hello . . . I was off early tonight after all. Plus, I hadn’t eaten anything since I garbled up some leftover boneless wings on my way out the door earlier this afternoon. Taking a second to look both ways, I crossed the street and bee-lined it for the front entrance.
The soft chiming of a bell sounded as soon as I opened the door, and Rudy’s voice came from somewhere in the back. “Oh, what luck for me—is that Mara, I see?”
I smiled. “Hey, Rudy!” Rounding a display of greeting cards, my eyes landed on where he stood behind the deli counter. He was wearing a navy polo and jeans, his chocolate-brown hair combed over to the side and his smile bright against his russet skin. “How’s it going over here tonight?”
Rudy shrugged. “Not too bad, I’ve had a few customers every hour. Most of them to buy beer.”
I smiled wider. “Well, it’s a good thing you and I both profit nicely from people who like beer, isn’t it?”
