Marshall—
I came in through the back patio entrance to a quiet bar. I loved this time of day, the early afternoon, almost as much as when it was packed. The quiet roar of conversations, the laughter rising above it, and the smiles of the slightly inebriated was a rush, but the empty peacefulness of the bar was a different kind of energy. It was the calm before the storm. It was the teacher preparing before the kids came in for the day.
Three days since opening, and things couldn’t be going better. Lines were out the door and down the side of the building to the corner every night. When we opened at three p.m., the crowd began to filter in and ebbed and flowed with the biggest hit coming soon after eight p.m. It was full-on adrenaline. In the bar business, it was always like this. When it was showtime, you hit the ground running, letting the work fuel your energy. It was the only explanation for the fifteen-hour days I was working and still being able to function.
That and coffee.
And the occasional shots of the Koval bourbon that Aaron and Callie sent me—I kept one of the bottles in my office. Yeah. I fully enforced the “no drinking while on the clock” rule with the kids, and for the most part, I followed the same rule. I’d reconsider my stance when one of them was opening and running their own bar.
I stepped across hardwood to the main floor, checking everything out to make sure it was cleaned and set up as instructed to the night crew. For the most part, they were nailing it, but there was always going to be wrinkles to work out, especially in the beginning.
As I walked farther in, just above the rafters that led to the second-floor mezzanine that was still under construction were a few large black feathers. Glancing around, there were several more scattered around on the floor.
“What the fuck?” I said to myself.
I looked at the ceiling, and one of the windows was left open. Something obviously got inside between last night and this morning. Now where the fuck was it?
“Wells!”
“Yeah?” he shouted from the office.
“Why are there feathers all over the floor?”
“Because a pigeon got in last night, and when we were all leaving for the night, we saw it flying around,” he called back. “We took care of it.”
“What do mean you…took care of it?”
“We took care of it and it’s gone.”
“Christ, Wells. Where is the goddamn pigeon?”
He emerged from the office, the foam from the latte or whatever shit he was drinking sticking to his ginger beard. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, boss,” he said with a serious business face.
“Fair enough,” I said. I was too tired to wonder where the dead pigeon carcass was and how it, in fact, became a carcass. “For further reference, if you don’t want me to find out, make sure they know to check all the windows at night and to dispose of all the evidence of it in my bar. Plus, wipe your beard. You have coffee jizz all over it.”
“For sure,” he said with a quick nod, brushing away the foam remnants. “Anything else?”
“I don’t know, is there a dead horse on my desk? The remains of a sacrificed goat or something upstairs?” I snapped.
“Ah. No. Not that I know of.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass,” I said.
He shrugged. “Did you want to double-check the schedule I did for next week?”
“With everything else I have to do, you want me to be double-checking your shit?”
“Ah. No. You told me to. We’re using that new software, and you being the control freak micromanager you are, you wanted to see it before I posted it.”
“I don’t think I did, and furthermore, take your micromanager shit and shove it. That’s bullshit.”
It wasn’t and I knew it. So did he.
“Why are you so cranky today?” Wells asked. “I mean, more so than usual?”
“I’m not cranky,” I muttered.
“Yeah. Right. You’re jumping at me about everything the last few days. I get that the opening is a stressful time, but even I have my limits, boss.”
I flashed him a dirty look. “You sound like a chick.”
“And you sound and are acting like an asshole.”
Touché.
“Like I said,” Wells said, breaking the silence. “I can’t imagine how maddening all of this is. I’m your backup and I feel overwhelmed.”
“Fuck. You’re right, I’m sorry. And you’re more than my backup. You’re my backbone and my right hand. I know I don’t always act like it, but I’m grateful, man.”
His lips twitched as he attempted to conceal a smile. “That’s, like, literally the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say to me or anyone.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not a dick. I just talk like one sometimes. You hear how I talk to the kids.”
“True, but you’ve been edgy since opening night. I get it though. Crazy amount of stress.”
Yes. It was the bar. It was the hours. It was being pulled in a thousand different directions at once. It was the lack of sleep and not eating well. All of it was enough, but the one thing that overran all of it was how so many of my thoughts were being occupied by Lexie.
Alexis.
I hadn’t seen her since the night she left me and the brownie in the office. Phoebe had been making the daily deliveries. I didn’t know if that was going to be the norm or if she was keeping a low profile. I didn’t blame her if it was the latter. I was beyond harsh with her. It was honest, but even I knew that no matter how much anger I still had for her, the vitriol was fierce. I wouldn’t apologize, but I didn’t know how to take some of it back without sounding…weak.
We’d have to talk eventually because business was still business. We were getting cleared out of Tipsy Treats by nine at night, and customers were not pleased. The ordering, the volume of her sweets, was going to easily double, and I didn’t know if she was capable of that.
Yeah. It was all of that stuff. Work, business, me being a dick, but there was something else. Something that rose to the top of all my thoughts, and it made me hate myself a little for allowing it.
She was so goddamn beautiful the other night.
It wasn’t only what she was wearing, but it was the…air…around her. How she handled herself with customers and was professional with this added grace. She captivated them, and they responded. Her baking skills were obviously something the locals already knew, but being able to interact with her that first night was the, well, frosting on the cake.
It wasn’t the Lexie I once knew.
It was Alexis.
And this was someone new to me, and I couldn’t get her out of my fucking mind.
It was driving me mad.
“Fuck. I need In-N-Out Burger,” I said, running my hands down my beard roughly.
“Is it even open yet?” Wells asked.
I pulled my phone from my pocket to check the time. “Shit. Not yet, but in about another half hour.”
“Didn’t you have it yesterday? And like two days before that? You know, Marshall, emotional eating is something you’ll have to look into if you’re doing it often. I struggled with it myself, and there’s—”
“Quit judging me, Wells!” I said. “The only thing that comes close in Chicago is the cheeseburgers at Portillo’s and maybe Au Cheval, but neither of them come close to a Double-Double Animal Style.”
“Good point. I think I’ll join you in on it today. Want me to run out?”
I shook my head in exasperation. “Aren’t you listening to me at all? They don’t open for another half hour.”
“Yeah. I heard you, but by the time I get over there, and you know. We’ll get the firsts of the day. It’s good to be first…in…something, right?” he asked with a snort-laugh.
He doubled over in a fit of giggles, continuing with his snort fest, and it was obvious to no one but himself that he wasn’t funny.
“Jesus,” I said. “Just how many times were you dropped on your head as a child?”
“Let me go get my phone and I’ll head out to—”
He was cut off by the cheerful, albeit annoying, voice calling out her now trademark “Hellllooooo.”
Phoebe always came in the same way, through the front door, announcing her entrance. She floated in with a few of the several boxes she arrived with daily, wearing a smile and twinkle in her eyes for Wells. We had gotten along a lot better since our first meeting, and there was mutual shit talk and banter based on respect.
“Hi Phoebe!” Wells said.
He rushed over to help her, trying to display his He-Man abilities by taking the delicate boxes from her. They paused at the handoff long enough to make googly eyes at each other and stockpile masturbation material for later. Every day I had to watch it was another day I wanted to tell them to start fucking and get it over with already.
However, if they did, it would get them into that whole fraternization thing, and while Phoebe didn’t technically work at Ginger, I didn’t want the drama.
“Hey, boss,” Wells called from where he was standing with Phoebe. “I’m going to help her get all this in. You okay to put the ones in the refrigerator that need to stay cold when we’re done bringing it all in?”
“Yeah? Why?”
“We’re going to go grab a coffee together,” he said, pausing to give me an exaggerated wink.
Phoebe spun around on her toes, twirling her skirt with her hands. These two marched to the beat of their own drummer. I don’t think I ever saw two people more perfect for each other.
“You don’t have a problem with that, do you?” Wells asked.
There were two problems I had with it.
“Didn’t you already drink coffee? Also, you don’t want Phoebe to know about the coffee jizz problem,” I said.
I held in a smirk at busting his balls in front of a crush, but as I had forgotten, Wells might crumble a tad, but Phoebe would not.
“You’re his boss, Marshall,” Phoebe said. “Not the jizz police. Not coffee or otherwise.”
“Yes!” Wells shouted before they high-fived each other. “Be back in a bit,” he said, calling over his shoulder as they headed toward the door, their steps barely under a sprint.
The other problem was the most critical and of the utmost importance.
“What about my fucking cheeseburger?” I shouted as they exited. “Come on! And Phoebe! Tell your boss I need to talk to her!”
* * *
I never got my fucking cheeseburger. Wells was out with Phoebe for over two hours getting “coffee.” He was disheveled enough when he returned that my theory that they were keeping their bits to themselves was thrown out the window.
At least someone was getting some.
Not only did I have a completely off-limits, no-fucking-way-in-a-million-years girl running through my mind all the time, but also the fact that I hadn’t had sex in so goddamn long was making me antsy and only adding to my grumpiness. A wild, wild roll had me going strong in and out of the bed with a lot of women throughout my twenties, and while there were some meaningful relationships, there wasn’t anything super long term.
I had a few standbys that made my bed warm some nights, but since there hadn’t been anyone special in my life for a while, those “friends” were enough to keep me moderately sated.
It was hard moving to a new city without knowing a soul, working the hours I did and not having anyone even on standby. I knew there was apps and shit for that kind of thing, but I didn’t want the hassle of all the games that went with it.
Maybe I was over the whole friends-with-benefits thing, anyway.
Like a shot of whiskey, it took the edge off enough to fuck a familiar body, but when there was nothing else there, it never completely filled the void.
Maybe that was why the only pleasure I was getting was from my hand when I wasn’t exhausted enough to get myself off, or cheeseburgers.
I was going to gain twenty pounds and be a walking horndog.
The afternoon flowed into the night as usual, like a current increasing with intensity the farther it got down stream. I’d try to catch up on something, and another thing would pop up in its place. The bar was getting slammed. Owner or not, if I saw my kids working their asses off and struggling, I was going to hop in and help.
They always thrived when I got behind the bar, sensing my veteran energy and words of encouragement. It always kicked them into high gear at any bar I was managing or, in this case now, owning.
It was still trippy as fuck to think that. Owner.
I helped to bring them back around, getting the crowd under a more workable flow, and was finishing up a strawberry margarita with jalapeño-infused vodka for a looker that was giving me some serious eyes.
I told the kids I wasn’t going to condone doing it, but if they hooked up with a customer, keep it out of the bar. I wanted all of it, the actual sex and the drama, to stay off my property lines.
In my case, I never dipped my dick in the work pool anymore. It was only asking for trouble. Back in the day, eh. Whatever. Maybe I was older, wiser, or some bullshit like that, but there was an even greater risk now that I was in such a critical position. I was not just the boss. Ginger was mine.
Flirting, though, never hurt anyone. It was win-win. Plus, a little ego stroke was a good way to get through the dry spells without thinking you were a washed-up old man without the ability to land anything that didn’t have four legs.
I slid the margarita across the bar to the tall brunette. “Here you go, beautiful,” I said.
“Thanks,” she said, smiling, her red lips amazing against her white teeth. She brought her drink to her mouth and took a sip while giving me a wink. “Mmmmm,” she hummed before putting it down on a cocktail napkin, the edge of the glass stained with her crimson lipstick.
Bartenders always aimed to make a good drink, a great drink, because our entire livelihood depended on it. It didn’t matter who the customer was. However, there was something about a beautiful woman enjoying a cocktail that I made that got me going. I wasn’t sure if it happened to other bartenders, but it did for me.
“So, how’s business?” she asked.
“Great. I’m Marshall,” I said, extending a hand. “I’m the owner.”
“Ahh. Now I get it,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“You’re not wearing the same thing as the others.”
I looked down at my plain, white cotton shirt and jeans, and yes, I definitely didn’t fit in. I had ordered Ginger-embroidered white button-downs for management to tell us apart from the employees wearing something similar, but they weren’t in yet.
“Caught,” I said, grinning. “I wasn’t expecting to be helping, but if they need it, that’s what I do.”
“Not many would. Some would think they were above it.”
I shrugged. “I don’t think that way.”
“What things do you…think,” she said, looking me up and down before settling on my mouth, “about, Marshall?”
“Lots of things, beautiful,” I said with another wink.
She reached over the bar, running her hand across mine before letting it travel up my arm. “These look like they tell quite a story,” she said, referring to my tattoos.
“That they do. In fact—”
I stopped midsentence when the corner of my eye caught the strawberry-blond hair of the girl that shouldn’t have been occupying so much of thoughts. Alexis. Through the crowd I couldn’t see her face, but I’d know that hair, the slight wave of the hair falling around her face from the bun that twisted onto the crown of her head. When the pack parted, her head, her eyes, were solidly hitting me head-on. Her lips were pressed together tightly, and she looked…angry. The explanation of why rose above the crowd like smoke.
She’d been watching.
She saw me eyeing the brunette.
And then it was her eyes
On mine.
It was the same vibe, the same damn pull that was there since opening night.
Her lips, her expression softened. It was almost a smile the way the corners of her mouth lifted slightly.
It was clichéd as fuck. The only two people in the room. Nothing else. No noises. No anything.
Until…
The sound of rising voices, arguing.
Then glass shattering from somewhere close blew the moment up.
My head jerked to my left as the brunette I was flirting with let out a scream as a man to her right swung at my head security guy, Dave, who must’ve stepped in when he heard the initial arguing. He didn’t even come close to contact, but my body took over when I saw the dude holding a nice chunk of glass in his hand.
And then I don’t even remember exactly what happened—that was, what happened after I jumped over the bar to tackle the dude.
It was a mess of bodies, blows to the face, body, and a stinging pain radiating from my stomach downward, but none of it stopped me. By the time I could see through the haze of adrenaline, the dude’s hands were free of the glass, his face a mess of blood.
My hearing was the next sense that returned, my name being called, screamed from a voice with such a violent fear I needed to find it. I needed to find her. Was she hurt?
I scrambled across the floor from under the pile of guys and emerged to see chaos, frightened faces, and Wells holding Alexis back. I struggled to pull myself to my feet with uneasy legs, and as I did, glass dude broke one arm free as one of my security guys was trying to move him out.
And he got one perfectly clear, drunken-sized punch to my face in.
Then…darkness.