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Me: How did you get my number?
Dean: Avery
Me: You can let her know she’s dead to me.
Dean: She said she loves you.
Me: Are we done here?
Dean: I would be done if you’d let me take you to dinner.
My heart skips a beat like it always does whenever he’s around. Working with him at the bar has been unnerving. I have this incredible urge to kiss him and strangle him at the same time.
Dean: I’ll take that as a yes?
Me: Fuck off.
I power my phone off and chuck it across the room. I may not be able to escape him at the bar, but I can definitely ignore him at home.
****
“Holy shit!” Dean hollers over the roar of the bar, saddling up beside me and pulling tickets off the printer. I breathe a sigh of relief, even though I would rather be working with anyone but him, I’ll take whatever help I can get.
“Apparently there was a concert up the road at some drive-in, Covid style, and it looks like everyone decided to stop here for a drink after.” I shout back, shaking the cocktail shaker in my hands and pouring four margaritas for the girls at the end of the bar. I take a minute to catch my breath as Dean fills some draft beer orders.
It’s been non-stop since around eight thirty and it’s just me and Avery on tonight. I wasn’t sure we would ever get caught up. I glance at Dean, who is now on his fifth bar ticket, mixing what looks to be an old fashioned.
“Where’d you learn how to mix drinks?” I ask him and he hits me with a dimpled grin that I feel between my legs.
“I’ve done a little bit of everything. My favorite job though, was tending bar at this old biker bar in Colorado.” I shake my head and grab the next three tickets off the printer and start filling them.
“Thank you.” I say, just quiet enough for him to hear it, and he glances at me, surprise written all over his face.
“Why, Whitley Jean, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me since I’ve been back.” I snort and elbow him in the ribs.
“Don’t get used to it, assface.”
We work side by side for the next hour, Avery waiting tables, and the rush of people finally starts to filter out.
It’s 11 p.m. now and I am dog tired. Our last customer leaves just as I’m washing the last beer glass.
“Holy shit,” Avery says, plopping down in a stool at the bar and tossing her apron on it. Dean grabs it and starts cashing her out. “That was insane.”
I murmur in agreement. “Yeah, I had no clue there was a concert up the road or I would have put more people on.” Dean hands Avery her apron back and a stack of cash.
“Go on, get out of here,” he says.
Once she’s out the door it’s just the two of us, something it hasn’t been in a very long time. He counts the drawer down while I put the chairs up. I’m on my way to restock the beer cooler when he grabs my elbow.
“Hey,” he starts, and I glance down to where his fingers are touching my skin.
He lets go like he’s been burned and coughs a little, “I’ve got the restock. Go on home.” He scrubs a hand over his mouth, uncertainty written all over his face. At what, I’m not sure of.
“You sure?” I ask, eager to not be breathing the same air as him.
“Yeah, you’ve been here all day. I’ll restock and lock up.”
“Okay. Well... thanks. Goodnight.,” I say, awkward as fuck, which is usually par for the course between the two of us. I snag my phone and purse from under the counter and hit the door, rushing to get out of here, get to my car, take my first breath for the night. I slide into the driver’s seat and go to look for my keys, but they aren’t in my bag. Fuck. I heave a sigh and jump back out, running back into the bar. Dean’s back is to me and the door to the bar opens with a creak.
