Текст книги "Cardinal"

Автор книги: Sara Mack

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

I fight the blush rising in my cheeks. “Pfffft. In your dreams.”

He tries to help me stand, but I manage on my own. As I brush my legs to get rid of any dirt, he asks, “Are you finished with your work out?”

I toss an irritated look at the machine that tried to suffocate me. “I’d say so.”

“That’s too bad. I could spot you.” He smiles and takes a step. “You know, teach you to exercise the right way.”

He looks casual, but his tone insinuates he’s not talking about exercise. “I don’t think Heidi would appreciate the lesson,” I say.

Juliana comes up behind me. “How was it?” Then, she notices my company. “Ohhh. Hey, Latson.”

“Hey.” He crosses his arms. “Just so you know, I saved your friend from death.”

“What?” She looks at me.

He snickers. “I’ll let her explain. I gotta run. I need to get this work out in before the bar opens.”

He waves and walks away as Juliana pins me with a stare. “What happened?”

I sigh. Of course he would mention my predicament. “Let’s just say I need to work up to your level, Jules.”

We start to make our way to the locker room when Juliana bumps my arm. “Look over there,” she whispers.

“At what?”

“Latson.”

Um, okay. My eyes sweep the gym floor when I spot him standing in front of the same mirrors Juliana and I used earlier. His back is to us as he balances a weight bar across his shoulders and squats. I can’t deny it’s a nice view. Muscular arms, tapered waist. Defined legs.

“Do you see it?” she asks.

“See what?”

“His ass.”

My mouth falls open. “Jules!”

“I told you you could bounce a quarter off it.”

I can’t resist and sneak another peek. He bends at the knees again, causing his shorts to hug his body.

Yeah. You could probably bounce a lot more than a quarter off that.

Just then, his eyes find my reflection in the mirror. He winks to let me know I’ve been caught. I’m tempted to wink back, but I stop myself. He’s involved with Heidi. Instead, I stand there like an idiot and stare.

Great. In addition to stumbling and getting stuck in a leg press, I’ve embarrassed myself in front of him yet again.

“Let’s go,” I grumble and head toward the locker room.

Chapter Six

“Thank you, Tricia. I’ll wait for your call.”

I hang up with my insurance agent and look out over the blue water of Lake Michigan. I watch it lap the shore for a few moments before wiggling my feet and burying them further into the sand. The sun has decided to shine and turn this spring day into an anomaly. The temperature hovers near seventy-five degrees, which is high for this time of year. The city is taking advantage of the warm weather, and I’m one of hundreds on this beach. I thought it would be a good idea to get out of Pete’s apartment, explore a bit, and recover from my gym experience.

I also thought it would be a good idea to spend some time alone. I know I’ve only been here two days, but if I’m going to relax and “do me,” I should start sooner rather than later. I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying in Chicago without obligations.

My eyes scan the people around me and they land on a young mother, or maybe she’s a babysitter, with a toddler to my left. They’re wearing jeans, but building sand castles anyway. Farther down the shore a few high school kids toss a football and, past them, a couple stands near the water’s edge. They grab my attention.

He’s wearing a suit. She’s wearing denim capris and flip flops. She gestures with her hands and he reaches out, catching them to stop her. He studies her face, says something, then leans forward and, I assume, whispers in her ear. I watch her take a step back with wide eyes. It doesn’t appear things are going well.

A seagull swoops low over the water and distracts me for a second. I glance at the bird, then back to the couple. They stare at one another. The man looks tired and the woman shakes her head. Then, she wraps her arms around her waist and walks away. She heads in my direction, and I watch the man close his eyes before opening them slowly. I expect him to call her back, or run to her to make things right. Neither happens. When she’s steps away from me, he turns and leaves without saying a word.

I feel awful for her. I know I’m jumping to conclusions, but, given my most recent dating experience, I feel like none of this is her fault. As she passes in front of me I ask, “Are you okay?”

She looks surprised I noticed her and stops walking. “My fairytale just ended,” she says.

Her choice of words strikes me. I can sympathize. Before I tell her so, she brushes tears from her cheeks and continues on her way. I’m sure she doesn’t want to discuss her life with a stranger.

My fairytale just ended.

I turn her statement over in my mind. Unfortunately, I know that feeling all too well. The feeling that something is meant to be, only it turns out the opposite is true. An image of my ex Kyle appears in my thoughts, and I pull my knees to my chest.

As much as I don’t want to admit it, I truly thought he was the one.

For three years Kyle and I lived together in his cute little two bedroom ranch. It was my home for a long time, and I made the mistake of assuming it would be forever. I think it surprised him just as much as it surprised me when I walked out. I wanted a deeper commitment. A ring. When I brought up the subject he said he wasn’t ready to take that step. I didn’t understand why and I let my emotions get the best of me. Only after meeting Addison did everything become clear. As much as I wanted his heart, it never belonged to me.

Suddenly, inspiration hits. I open the notes app on my phone and start typing.

The sounds around me fade as a song forms in my mind. It comes to me quickly, faster than any song I’ve written before. Even the one I wrote for Kevin’s wedding took longer than this. Probably because it was his gift and I wanted it to be perfect. Regardless, things can’t always be perfect and this song won’t be, but when I finish the lyrics, I fall in love with what I’ve created.

Standing, I wipe the sand from jeans and find my shoes. I walk away from the beach and toward the sidewalk.

Thank you, mystery couple, I think. I can’t wait to get to my guitar.

~~~~

“Heads up!”

A black t-shirt smacks me in the face.

“Hey!”  I look at my brother. “What was that for?”

“We’re short bartenders and I need your help.”

“At work?” My face twists as I lean over to snag the shirt off the floor. “Why me?”

“Because you’re great at it and I know you’d like some extra cash. Plus, it’s Saturday. I don’t want to leave you all alone.”

“I’ll survive,” I say, although the idea of working appeals to me. More money has left my pocket than I anticipated. Juliana and I went shopping on Michigan Avenue the other day. It’s hard to resist new clothes when someone gushes about how cute they look, especially when the outfit matches the new boots you just bought from Saks.

“Okay,” Pete sighs. “We really need your help. A band is performing tonight and the bar will be packed. Both Mina and Maggie called off; they have the stomach flu or something. Gwen is the only one left and she can’t handle it on her own.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” I straighten out the shirt in my hands. “Gwen I’ll help. You on the other hand … ”

Pete rolls his eyes and I glance at the shirt. Scrawled across the chest, in fire-orange letters, is the word Torque. My brother wears a similar uniform, except his shirt has his first name on the sleeve.

Pete checks his watch. “Put that on. We need to get moving.”

Leave it to my brother to wait until the last minute. “If I’m going to make any tips I at least have to comb my hair.”

Pete sighs as I set my guitar down and leave the couch. I head to change, opting for black jeans to go with the black shirt, since I left my bartending skirts at home. In the bathroom, I brush through my hair and pull it back in a low, messy pony. I take a few minutes to fix my face and when I’m done, I have dark smoky eyes and pink, glossed lips. Hopefully this will be good enough for the atmosphere. I’ve never been to Pete’s work before.

The drive takes us around thirty minutes with traffic. If the streets were empty, it would’ve taken us ten. Torque is located on the outskirts of a trendy area in Lincoln Park, or so my brother tells me. He said the bar started out small, but became popular by word of mouth. When we pull down a random side street and up to the entrance, the location is more discreet than I had imagined. Through the car window, I look up at the plain red brick building. Only a few tinted windows dot the exterior, and a small black awning stamped with the word “Torque” marks the door. No wonder this place relies on recommendations. How does anyone find it?

As Pete rolls to a stop in front of the entrance, I unfasten my seatbelt. “Where do you –?”

My question is cut off when my door unexpectedly opens. I turn to see a surprised yet familiar face. Once Felix takes me in, he rearranges his features to look suave. “Mi amor,” he purrs.

He extends his hand and I let him help me out of the car. Once I’m standing on the curb, I shoot him a saucy, “Muchas gracias.”

He grins at me.

I hear the other door shut and watch Pete walk around the hood of his car. He tosses his keys to Felix. “My little sister is filling in. Please behave.”

Of course he would emphasize ‘little sister’. I roll my eyes. “I’m grown, Pete. You behave.”

Felix laughs. “This should be interesting. Have you told the boss who you’ve hired?”

“Just park the car,” Pete says.

My brother starts to walk inside and I follow. Is his boss going to be mad that he brought me?  Over his shoulder, I ask, “Are you going to get in trouble?  And why are you making Felix park your car?  It’s rude.”

Pete holds the door open for me. “It’s not rude. It’s his job. He’s a valet.”

Oh. So much for my earlier cut-off question. I was going to ask where he parks.

“Besides,” he continues, “I hired him. I can fire him.”

“What?”

Pete ushers me inside. “I’m a bouncer, but I’m also a manager. That’s why I needed to find someone to cover the bar. The schedule is my responsibility.”

My eyes narrow. “‘I don’t want to leave you alone on a Saturday’,” I mimic his voice. “You’re so full of shit.”

He grins. “Hey. I didn’t know if you would want to work while you’re here. I haven’t forgotten my tactics from when we were kids. Remember when I tricked you into doing my chores because I told you I’d split my allowance?”

“Yes,” I snap. “You’re awful. Convincing a six-year-old to clean toilets because you, Adam, and Josh couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn when you took a piss. You told me a nickel was worth more than a dime because it was bigger.”

He laughs. “I paid for it, though. Mom grounded me for a week.”

This is true.

My brother stops walking and grabs my elbow. “Little J, you’re really helping me out. If I had any other alternative, I wouldn’t have dragged you down here. The last thing I want to watch is my friends hitting on you.”

I’m confused. “Do you mean Felix?  He’s harmless.”

“And Carter. And Latson. And God knows who else.”

I give him an exasperated look. “I can hold my own. A little innocent flirting never hurt anyone. It can make a girl feel good, you know.”

Pete scrunches up his face like he tasted something sour. “I don’t need my friends making you feel good.”

I roll my eyes.

“Jennnnnnn!”  Gwen draws out my name and rushes to greet me. “I’m so glad you’re here!  When I called your brother to tell him about Mina and Maggie I almost cried.”

My forehead creases.

“Let me show you around.”

Gwen grabs my wrist and I let her lead me around Torque. As we walk, I realize the outside of the building doesn’t do the inside justice. It’s much bigger than it appears from the street, with two levels and an elevated stage in one corner. The décor is urban, with exposed light bulbs, pipes, and wood beams. Mismatched chairs and high top tables are sporadically spaced, and a large horseshoe-shaped bar extends to the center of the main floor. As my eyes trace the upper balcony that wraps around the entire room, Gwen catches me staring.

“There are couches upstairs and two private lounges,” she says. “The only bar is down here, but people can order drinks from the waitstaff if they’re sitting up top.”

I nod as she leads me behind the massive bar. She points out all the essentials: ice machine, dump sink, soda guns, syrup connections, keg coolers. She crouches in front of a locked cabinet and pulls a key ring from her back pocket.

“Here’s where we keep the liquor for set-up and stock if we run low. There’s more in the basement if the night gets busy, which I think it will with Riptide here.”

“Riptide?”

“The band that’s playing tonight.” She smiles over her shoulder. “They’re local but they’re popular.”

Gwen opens up the cabinet and starts handing me bottles to fill the wells.

“Premium on the left, house on the right,” she says.

We spend the next hour prepping our work space. We laugh and make small talk as we tap kegs, fill napkin dispensers, stock glasses, and slice lemons and limes. I get to see a little of the basement on a search for maraschino cherries, and, as we stand and spear olives, the band starts their sound check. I hate to admit that I’ve missed working a bar, but I have. There’s something about this atmosphere that excites me. The music, the party, the people. I know my feet and my lower back are going to ache in the morning, but right now I couldn’t care less.

“Well, lookie who’s here.”

Gwen is in the middle of giving me a cash register lesson when we’re interrupted. I look away from the monitor. “Hey, Carter.”

His eyes light up. “You remember me.” He leans over the top of the bar and grabs a stir stick from the container.

“How could I forget the man who’s trying to steal my brother’s girl?”

He gives me a wry smile. “That’s just me giving Jules crap. Pete and I asked her out at the same time on a dare. She flipped a coin to decide who to see first and he won. The rest is history. I never got my chance.”

“Awww.” I fake sympathy and pout. “Poor Carter.”

“Poor me is right.”

“What-ever.” Gwen draws out the word and rolls her eyes. “This guy is with someone new all the time. Don’t let him fool you.”

I level my eyes at Carter. “So, you’re a player.”

“No. I’m a bouncer.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “It’s not my fault if the ladies need help getting home from time to time.”

I laugh.

“Carter!”

My brother’s voice carries from the main doors. “Let’s go!” he hollers.

Carter sighs. “Duty calls.” He walks backward from the bar. “Save me a shift drink, Little J.” He smirks as he puts the stir stick in his mouth to chew.

Ugh!  Why did Pete tell him my nickname?  I step to the side to look around Carter and find my brother across the room. “You’re in trouble Peter Frances!” I shout.

My brother’s eyes get big. He hates his middle name.

No. He loathes it.

Carter turns around and starts to laugh. “Frances?”

Pete’s scathing look meets a smug one of my own. Ha!  He wants to share embarrassing things about me?  Score one for Jen.

It’s not long before the bar is packed and I’m running my ass off. Gwen and Pete were right. It’s a busy night. When the band takes the stage at nine o’clock, I feel like I’m attending a big-name concert, not working a local club. Applause and whistles accompany Riptide’s opening song, and the energy doesn’t stop through the band’s first set. Their music is good, rock with a bluesy feel, and I fight the urge to dance by timing my drink slinging skills with the beat. At one point, Gwen and I end up facing each other and realize we’re doing the same routine. We laugh.

When the band takes a break, our business picks up. I’m busy pulling a draft when a guy pushes his way through the crowd and slaps some bills on the bar top.

“Hey, Sweet Cheeks.”

I meet his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I have something extra for you if you hurry it up.”

He pushes the money toward me and I scowl. This isn’t the first time someone has tried to bribe me to serve them before others. “Not interested,” I say. “These people were here first.”

I turn and hand the beer to the person who ordered it, earning a two-dollar tip. I start to take the next order when Jerk Face interrupts.

“C’mon.” He moves into my next customer’s personal space. “You look like you could use the extra cash.”

Whoa. What?  I pat the growing wad of bills in my back pocket and get sarcastic. “I have enough money without yours. Keep it up and I won’t serve you at all.”

A group of people is next in line and they witness our exchange. One of them speaks up. “Dude. Leave her alone and wait your turn.”

I shoot him a tiny smile and try to take their order again.

Jerk Face gets obnoxious. “This is bullshit. No wonder I haven’t had a decent drink all night. You have no idea what you’re doing.” He looks me over with disdain. “Who did you fuck to get this job?”

The words Listen here, Pencil Dick race through my mind. If I were at Jay’s I wouldn’t hesitate to rip into this guy, but I’m a guest at Torque. The last thing I need is for Pete to get in trouble for bringing his foul-mouthed sister to work, regardless if I’m right and the customer is wrong.

Before I can say anything, a girl standing by the bar defends me. “You’re a real asshole,” she says and then meets my eyes. “Do you want me to get someone?”

“No. I’ve got this.” Stepping forward, I rest my hands on the bar and lean toward the Douche with cool confidence. “You think I don’t know my job?”

He snaps, “Did I stutter?”

“Hmm. Right.” I play like I’m unaffected and tap my chin. “How about this. Since you’re so thirsty, I’ll make your drink right now.” I gesture toward my defenders. “If these people think I can’t do my job, the drink is free.”

“And if they can?”

“You pay double.”

“I’m not falling for that shit. They’re already on your side.”

“Then I guess you’d better find witnesses of your own. The faster you come up with some, the faster you’ll get served.” I step back and move to take other orders again. “Or, you could just wait for Gwen to help you over there.” I jerk my thumb toward the opposite side of the bar. “It’s your call.”

Jerk Face Douche, as I’m now calling him, curses under his breath. He obviously felt I was inferior and would cave to his belligerent attitude. Not so. I can tell he doesn’t like being challenged by me, especially since my new group of friends is staring at him with satisfied smiles. He turns around and quickly grabs a couple of random strangers. He tells them about the bet, leaving out the intricate details.

“Good then,” I say and wipe my hands on a towel. “What’ll it be?”

“Dirty martini,” he says with a smug look.

Really? I think to myself. Number one, he in no way, shape, or form looks like a martini drinker. He resembles a rugby player. Number two, his choice makes it obvious he’s never made a martini. It may sound like a complicated drink, but it’s not.

 Before I start, I meet the eyes of my support team to my left. Entertained, they give me encouraging nods. I grab a metal shaker and toss it in the air. It flips around twice before I catch it with one hand and set it on the bar. I fill it with a few ice cubes, then grab a bottle of dry vermouth from the cooler. I look at Jerk Face Douche. “Shaken or stirred?”

His eyes narrow. “Shaken.”

He doesn’t know the difference, I think. I move my hand to the neck of the vermouth bottle and toss it behind my back, catching it over my shoulder with the opposite hand. This earns me a few “ooos” from my audience. After I add a splash of vermouth to the shaker, I pick up a bottle of gin and repeat my theatrics, this time tossing the bottle higher and in front of me. I add some olive juice to the mix, then shake everything together. I find a cocktail glass and strain the martini into it, raising the shaker high above the bar so the liquid pours out in a precarious stream. I don’t spill a drop. For my final act, I pluck two olives out of their container and then step back a few feet. I toss them into the drink one at a time.

Plunk. Plunk.

My skills earn applause from both sides. Little do these people know I only learned to flip bottles to fend off boredom. If some of my past jobs weren’t so slow, I’d never have practiced with coworkers.

Stepping forward, I lift the glass and hand it to my customer in complete smart-ass mode. “Your dirty martini. As requested.”

Jerk Face Douche turns to his witnesses, sees their nods of approval, and knows he lost. He slams thirty dollars on the bar and yanks the glass from my hand, spilling half of it, and stalks away.

I grin. Go me.

As I pocket the cash and step forward to continue working, Gwen sidles up to my side. “Slow down there, Coyote Ugly,” she teases.

She has no idea I was trying to prove a point. “I was putting an asshole in his place.”

“Oh. I thought you were trying to impress the boss.”

“Who?”

“The boss.” She nods over my shoulder. “You know. Latson.”

What?  I turn around and, sure as shit, from the far side of the bar, Latson is leaning against the wall with his eyes fixed on me. For some unexplained reason my pulse starts to race. I mean, he looks like sex on a stick, but I feel like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. I was showboating a little. At least I was good at it and didn’t embarrass myself in front of him for once.

I offer him a small wave before I get back to work. Instead of waving back, or even smiling, he pushes himself off the wall and makes his way toward me. Now my heart wants to beat out of my chest. I can’t tell if he looks angry or determined. Am I not supposed to be here?  Is this why Felix wanted to know if Pete told him I was filling in?

I busy my hands until he reaches me. When he does, I look up and force a smile. “Hey.”

His eyes bounce from my eyes to my lips and back again. “Come with me. We need to talk.”