Page 16 of Icy Pour

“Johnny, I wouldn’t. I swear⁠—”

He interrupts me with a finger to my lips. “I’m sure you wouldn’t. But I want you to sleep on it. Sleep on everything that’s happened today. The good and the bad. I want you to make sure you’re ready to walk down this road. Because if I start this with you?” His grin is scorching as he leans in to whisper in my ear, “I won’t be able to stop.”

Holy shit. Goosebumps spread across my skin as I try to form some semblance of words. “Okay. Deal.”

“One thing I’m gonna say before I head out: if you give me the goddamn silent treatment tomorrow, it’ll be my last day working here.”

I drop my gaze to the floor. “Yeah. Sorry about that too.”

“I’ll let it slide this time.” He leans in, presses his palm to my cheek, and kisses me once more. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He walks out of the backroom, and I quickly follow.

“Hey, Johnny?” I yell.

“Yeah, boss?” he calls over his shoulder, his stride faltering.

“I’m glad you forgot your coat.”

He lifts his hand as he walks out the door, a smile on his lips. “Me too.”

CHAPTER 11

JOHNNY

Some people say a dick’s like a brain. Not mine. Mine’s a compass. It guides me, provides direction, and leads me exactly where I need to be. I followed it here to Milwaukee. It directed me to check out the bar, and it’s sure as hell what’s leading me back there this morning.

If I’d checked the needle last night, it would have been pointing me straight back after I left. Walking out that door after he asked me to stay? I swear I dragged bricks as I made my way home and up the stairs to my apartment, wishing more than anything I was walking up the stairs into another apartment.

His.

Making the trek back there now, my compass leading me the few blocks from where I parked, I catch a glimpse of the cracks in the sidewalk on Water Street. They’ve served as an obstacle course matching the emotions I’ve felt every time I’ve left that damn bar. Most of it is an uneven surface where I have to watch every step, careful not to trip or step on a concrete landmine. But if I make it past the chips and worn-down patches, there’s a section that’s smooth and untouched. Walking on that feels steady. Easy. Like I could walk for miles and feel like only a second has gone by.

I feel like last night was finally some smooth sailing, but as I make the walk inside this morning, I don’t know what awaits me. I rub my hand across the back of my neck as I approach the door…It’s nothing like what I was expecting.

Normally this place is silent before we open. Only the sounds of chairs being dragged across the hardwood floor and clinking glasses and bottles. But today, I bite my lip as I peek through the clear pane on the door; I hear the juke box blaring Billy Joel at full blast, and behind the bar is that familiar flannel, green today, shuffling around with a little extra pep in his step.

Did he just bob along to the beat of the music? I fight a smile. Have I stepped into the twilight zone?

I knock on the door, and he races to unlock it for me.

“Hi.”

“Morning.”

“How’s your hand?”

He shrugs, locking the door behind us. “It’s fine. Just a little scratch.” He holds it up to show me, but quickly reaches forward to grab my arm.

“Come to the backroom with me.” He tugs at my shirt. “You can put your coat up, and I…I want to show you something.”

This man’s mood changes faster than a badger digging a hole in the yard. But the feel of his hand on me, the way he’s practically dragging me to a backroom, has me following along, fighting a smirk the whole way. It also doesn’t make me want to work today unless it’s working my way up those stairs and both our pants down around our ankles. My dick twitches but…shit. I don’t even know what this damn smiling idiot has decided after our talk last night.

As we enter the room, I see a bottle of vodka, the same brand as last night, sitting on the desk with a piece of twine tied around the top and a little piece of paper attached to it. My chest flickers as I notice a name scratched across it—my name.

And peeking out from behind it, a piece of brass with a distinct shape.

Walt gestures to it with a smile on full display under his mustache and a slight shake in his hand. “It’s…it’s for you.”