Her lips curved, softening into something that looked like surprise mixed with gratitude. “Nice. Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“I appreciate you,” I said without thinking it through. The words had come out far sappier than I meant for them to, and I drowned them with tequila before she could read too much into them.
CHAPTER 4
JASMINE
Wiping the sweat off my brow with the back of my wrist, I stopped long enough to catch a breath. My ponytail clung damp to my neck, and the air inside the bar was thick with the stale blend of beer, citrus wedges, and fryer oil. I thought I could handle a Thursday night alone, no problem, when my coworker called out this morning. But somehow the place had been as busy as a Saturday, and I’d been in the weeds most of the night. My shoulders ached, my feet were screaming, but I’d handled it. And I’d sold a painting. That small victory buzzed beneath the exhaustion like a secret shot of espresso.
Glen raised his empty glass, batting his half-glazed puppy-dog eyes in my direction. “Hey, Jazzy, you think I cou—”
My hand flew up to interrupt him before he could finish. “I told you that was the last one when I served it, Glen.”
It was his fifth rum and Coke — all doubles — and he’d nursed it for well over an hour. Day drinking that slid into night drinking never ended well, and Glen had a track record. He was my firstcustomer almost every single shift. I knew his limit as well as he did, maybe better.
“Tomorrow, Glen,” I said firmly. “It’s time to go home. Want me to call your Uber?”
“No, I can call my own damn Uber. I’m not even that drunk.”
He really wasn’t. I’d seen him far worse — which was exactly what I was trying to avoid. I sighed, softening. “Tell you what, I’ll serve you one more, on me.” I grabbed a glass and filled it most of the way with Coke, adding only the faintest splash of rum. “And you call your Uber when you’re done. Deal?”
He squinted at me over the rim of his glass, pride still intact enough to protest. But then he nodded. “Deal.”
“You’ll thank me tomorrow.” I handed him the weak drink, preserving a sliver of his dignity along with his liver.
“I know,” he sighed, staring into the bubbles like they held all the answers.
I blew out a breath. How was the bar this full on a random Thursday? Was tomorrow some holiday I’d forgotten about?
It was after one by the time Glen finally wandered out, Uber app open in his hand. After waving him goodbye, I scanned the bar. Nearly half the crowd had cleared, chairs scraped back from tables, the jukebox running low on quarters. Good. Now to get the rest of them out of here.
I made my way down the bar, gathering glasses, taking last orders, closing tabs. My hands moved automatically, muscle memory doing the work while my brain ran on fumes. When I got to Brett and his fisherman friends, I plastered on a smile.“You guys good? Just so you know, I’ll be making last call in a few minutes.”
“Sure, another round of beers, then.”
Of course. Even though I’d hoped they were ready to close out, part of me secretly liked that Kai was lingering.
While I poured their beers, I couldn’t help stealing a glance. He caught me once, and held my gaze for just long enough to send a storm of butterflies tearing through my stomach. My face flamed. I looked away fast, pretending to study the head on Nolan’s pour. What was wrong with me?
I’d been trying to be better about recognizing red flags, and Kai forgetting our one-night stand was a pretty big one. Not big enough to be a dealbreaker, apparently, because here I was, not wanting him to leave.
I couldn’t really fault him for not remembering. We’d both had too many rumrunners that night — so many, in fact, that I hadn’t been able to stomach a rumrunner since. My memory of the moonlight shag was blurry at best. A flicker of skin, salt water, stars. Heat shot down my spine at the thought, and I forced myself to focus on setting the pints down in front of the guys.
They were back to talking about the bale discovery as I slid their beers over. Kai’s jaw tightened, his shoulders stiff. He looked annoyed, like he’d rather be anywhere else than sitting in the middle of that conversation. I bet myself he’d be bailing as soon as he could down that beer—which was probably for the best. I didn’t trust my own judgment around him. The last thing I needed was another one-night stand he wouldn’t remember.
Last call came and went in a blur. Tabs closed, signatures scrawled, the din of voices fading until the room was mostlyempty save for a handful of stragglers. I glanced at my watch. If I hustled, I could have this place locked up by 1:47 a.m. It was a little personal game I played to make closing less of a drag.
I attacked the bar with a rag, racing against myself, laughing quietly at the absurdity of it. Somehow racing the clock made attacking the sticky floors and a mountain of dirty glassware almost fun.
I didn’t love bartending. Late nights weren’t my thing. I liked to wake up, and wind down, with the sun. Partying was different; fun had its own reward. Money was the only incentive here. Still, a girl’s got to eat. If slinging drinks three nights a week meant I could paint in the magical light of sunrise four or five mornings, it was worth it.
Mom called it my “passion project.” She also liked to remind me, often, “At least you have your degree to fall back on.” Sitting in front of a monitor doing graphic design eight hours a day had zero appeal. I wanted to paint.
The last of the stragglers drifted out one by one. I stored the clean glasses behind the bar just in time to see Brett and Nolan slide off their stools. I checked my watch. 1:44. Right on schedule.
The trio of fishermen were the last to leave. Brett hollered, “Thanks for everything, Jaz. Till next time.”
“See you tomorrow then,” I called, smirking. Brett was here more often than I was.
