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Chapter 1
“Ashley! Get back out here!”
Rolling my eyes, I grab the two bottles of whiskey I came to the storage room for, and head back down the hall.
I fucking hate this place. It was supposed to only be temporary, but temporary has turned into long-term. I’ve lost count now of how many men have ‘accidentally’ brushed my ass as I’ve walked by, or how many have looked down my top as I’ve placed their drinks in front of them. And while I used to enjoy the attention, I don’t anymore.
Not since that damn barbecue last summer. Over seven months ago.
I’ve tried to forget, and I’ve tried to move on, but I can’t. And I hate him for that.
“Ashley! Hurry up!” my manager, Rick, yells again.
I also fucking hate him. I’ve worked here for six months, and there hasn’t been a single night that’s went by where he hasn’t tried to get me to go home with him. It’s not that Rick is bad looking, I guess, he just has this creepy way about him that screams ‘stay away!’ I can’t pinpoint it exactly, but I still don’t like being alone with him at the end of the night when we’re cleaning up. I don’t know how many more times I can politely say no before I straight up tell him to fuck off.
“Ashley!” Rick pops his head out from behind the bar and into the hallway where I’m literally standing only a few feet away.
“Rick, I’ve been gone 30 seconds, calm down.”
“We’re just busy. Hurry up,” he snaps back. He’s been doing that more and more with me lately, probably getting fed up with me turning him down every night.
“I know that. I did hurry. I was gone 30 seconds,” I repeat in a calm voice, holding back what I wish I could say.
I seriously fucking hate him. But I need this job, so I keep my mouth shut and slip back behind the bar. I’ve appropriately nicknamed him Rick the Dick, and he’s definitely living up to it tonight.
No matter the time of year, or the weather, we’re always packed from wall to wall with people looking to get hammered and find a one-night stand.
I’m jealous. I haven’t had a one-night stand in seven months and I’m going batshit crazy. Forget a one-night stand, I haven’t hadanysex in seven months and I’m going batshit crazy.
It’s not for lack of trying, though, I just can’t do it anymore.
I got a taste of something raw and intense, and I can’t forget it. It’s always on my mind.He’salways on my mind. I’ve tried going out, and going on dates, but it’s useless.
Damn it! Now I’m thinking about that night again–and him.
The bottle in my hand almost slips out as I pour two shots of vodka for the Barbie dolls in front of me. I know they’ll have men fighting each other by the end of the night to get them to go home with them.
I miss that. The feeling I’d have knowing I could get any man in the room I wanted. I mean, I know I still can, but I don’t want to. And that’s the problem.
Taking a deep breath, I slide the glasses towards the girls and take their money as they knock the shots back like pros.
All these months later, and I still lay awake thinking about his hands and lips burning my skin–marking me, claiming me. I didn’t know I wouldn’t be able to go back to my life like he was any other man, and I can’t shake the feeling of how it felt to have his eyes on me, or the way he knew exactly what I needed without having to say a word.
This time the bottle of vodka really does slip from my hand and crashes to the floor, shattering on impact.
“Ashley!” Rick the Dick yells, his eyes angry.
“Sorry, I’ll clean it up.” Grabbing the broom from the side of the bar, I quickly sweep the glass up and throw it in the trash before washing my hands and getting back to work. I seriously need to stop thinking about that night. It’s never going to happen again, and I need to accept that.
For the rest of the night, I feel Rick watching me, his eyes running up and down my body every time I laugh or smile. I know, because the hairs on the back of my neck would stand, and a weird prickling sensation would spread across my skin.
While we’re cleaning up after closing, his leering starts to feel different. I’m trying to focus on wiping down the bottles on the rack, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is off.
As I’m placing the bottle of Jack Daniel’s back in its place, Rick’s arm snakes around my waist from behind and he whispers in my ear, “Hey, I’m sorry about getting mad at you before.” His arm feels like a slimy snake trying to coil around its prey, and his breath on my neck sends thousands of little bugs crawling all over my skin.
“It’s fine, Rick,” I say through gritted teeth, trying to take his arm away. But he just tightens his grip.
“I hate that every night, all the men get to look at you, talk to you, and make you smile and laugh. But I don’t. You keep turning me away like you’re not interested, but I see it in your eyes that you want me.”
