Chapter 16
1882 Words
Elena
This place is hopping tonight. There are a few couples out on the little dance floor enjoying the country music blaring from the speakers, but most of them are drinking at the bar or at the surrounding tables.
The smell of alcohol and maybe even some sweat still lingers in the bar.
I lift the fourth or fifth…or maybe this is number six of the Bahama Mamas to my lips and scan the room. There’s an older man cozying himself up to a lady that looks like she could be in her late twenty’s, early thirties. By the way she is leaning into him, I guess he’s charming enough. I supposed the blonde isn’t shaken by the grey in his hair and beard.
He’s probably telling her lots of lies. She’ll find out soon enough.
I roll my eyes. Men are liars.
“Hey Dave?” I motion for the bartender down the length of the bar, but he’s busy.
“Can I help?” A younger version of Dave with a head full of honey blond hair and dark brown eyes comes up to me from behind the bar.
I peer up at the handsome face, lift my drained glass, and tell him, “My drink is empty.”
He looks at the glass then back to my face with a smile. “It appears so. How many of those have you had?” he asks like he’s concerned while he wipes down the finished wood bar-top with a red rag.
My eyes squint as I try to focus on tricking him with my lie. “Two,” giggling, I curse at myself for the inability to sell it.
Younger Dave smiles knowingly, a dimple winks in my direction beneath some light stubble of hair. “How about a different drink?”
Involuntarily, my brows rise. “A different drink?” I slur with a hiccup. Younger – Good Looking – Dave chuckles at my expense.
“Have you ever had s*x on a beach?” A coy smile plays on his full pink lips.
My jaw drops at his crassness as I gasp. “No! Why would you ask me that?” A feeling of appalment and curiosity strikes me.
Sand would get everywhere. I mean, everywhere. A high pitch giggle falls out of me as I try to regain my composure from thinking about how sandy that act would be.
Then I scowl at him. Who does he think he is asking me such a question?
Why would someone have s*x on a beach anyway…
He laughs and says, “It’s a drink. It’s a fruity one and I think you’ll like it.”
My age is probably showing with how much of a lightweight I am. An inexperienced drinker may not show how heavy their head feels. I like to think that I’m passing that with flying colors as I concentrate extra hard on nodding and purse my lips while thinking about having s*x on a beach.
With Michael.
Dangerous territory there, Elena. As Bedroom Eyes Bartender turns away to work on the drink, I actually slap myself across my face for thinking of such things about him.
Michael.
Suddenly, sadness takes hold of me. I have yet to contact him. How do I tell him that I’m at Charlie’s and that I need to talk…that I had one or four - many drinks? That I’m not all that coherent, but I need to talk to him.
How does one reach out to their ex when drunk? Maybe Google can help me…
Pathetic. I’m pathetic.
“Here, try this.” Bedroom Eyes Bartender slides the drink in front of me. I grip the cold glass and bring it to my lips. A savory berry flavor with a hint of something sour explodes on my tongue.
My brows rise in wonderment. “What do you think?” he asks.
Musing over the taste and the name of the drink, I decide to be bold. With a smile of my own, I tell him, “It’s… orgasmic.” He barks out a laugh, the man has a nice smile. It’s not as nice as Mike’s though. “This is really good!”
One of his brows quirks up. “You doubted me?”
I giggle and take another sip as he nudges at my phone. “Did I read that right?”
Acting innocent, I ask, “What?” while giving him one too many blinks.
“Are you googling how to confront your ex when drunk?” He’s amused, I can tell, and decide to use it to my advantage.
I lean in. “How would you do it?”
He leans on the bar, resting his arms on the wood and plays with the red rag between his tattooed fingers. The man is nearly an inch away from me as I clutch the glass with the fruity bliss he made for me.
“First, I would never be your ex because I would make damn sure we’d never break up. Second.” He drops his eyes to my chest then slowly lifts them back up. “Make him miss what he had. Take a selfie of yourself and send it to him.” He points to my outfit and says, “If that doesn’t make him come running back to you, there’s no hope for the bastard.”
For the first time since… what had happened, I genuinely smile. “You are really good at advice.”
I like him.
He steps away from the counter and stretches out his arms. “That’s what bartenders do.” Placing a hand over his heart, he adds, “The name’s Brent and I’m always happy to help.”
Without thinking, I stretch my hand across the bar to shake his. “Elena.”
Brent takes it and gives it a firm shake. His hand is big, warm, and rough – reminds me of another man’s hand.
Michael.
Curse him.
“Let me know how it goes,” he says as he steps to the side to put a dirty glass in the wash-bin.
I lift up my phone, swipe to the camera and position it just-so to take a posed picture. Typing in his number, I think of something to say with the photo. After typing it in, I hold my breath and hit send a little too hard with my thumb.
Shifting in the stool, I swirl out to face the crowd. In the process of scanning the many faces, I notice one that seems familiar. Just behind the couple on the dancefloor where a man dipped a woman, there’s a man sitting at a table in the corner nursing a glass of something. He sees me catch him staring so he diverts his eyes and takes out his phone.
What the?
He has thin grey hair on his head, a grey beard that almost touches his chest. He has glasses on, tattoos swallow up his arms, a bit of a beer belly stretches his blue t-shirt, and then there it is. An all-too recognizable leather vest.
The Bahama’s Mama and the s*x on the beaches gives me the courage that I need to face this man. I saw him at the funeral and at the burial site. He’s in cahoots with Michael and I’m going to figure out why he’s here – clearly spying on me.
My heels click across the bar to the table, he fidgets with his phone and tucks it in his vest pocket.
“Excuse me,” I say demandingly.
He looks at me over the rim of his thick framed prescription glasses. “Can I help you, miss?” His voice is deep, gruff, and a little annoyed.
Putting my hands on my hips, I say, “You were spying on me.”
The older man rolls his eyes. “I guess I don’t make a good spy. But you didn’t see me when you were racing down Cherry Highway.” He grins.
My mouth drops.
“I was the one who called you in. Thought you needed a little talkin’ to with the law. Reckless driving is… unsafe,” he smiles to show his aging teeth, although they look surprisingly healthy.
“Unsafe? You think that was unsafe? How about what you guys do for a living, huh?” I point to his weathered vest to make a point.
The moonshine. I remember the car chases, the swerving in and out of traffic, almost making it out without a scratch. The semi that crashed – I remember.
“Darlin’, I’m willing to bet that was the first time you ever sped in your life. You could have hurt yourself or someone else.”
“Wait.” I hold up a finger. “Why am I still being followed by you guys?” The knowledge of being followed finally caught up to my sloshy brain.
He half-heartedly chuckles. “The club may have broken up, but Red is still my Prez. Whatever he asks of me, I do without complaint.”
Red.
Michael.
He still has his minions following me. But why?
The man holds out his hand for me. “The name’s Ron.”
Ron.
The man who stitched up Michael the night he was shot protecting Lisa’s father. I feel my demeanor change. Though I am still a bit peeved, I smile nicely and shake his hand.
I feel myself start to sway so I take a seat across from him. I must have fallen a bit because Ron reaches to steady me in the booth.
I shyly thank him.
“How much have you had to drink?” Ronnie asks.
Giggling, I hold up a few fingers, turn them towards me to decide if that’s the right number or not, then add another finger and show him again. He chuckles and shakes his head.
With a drop of my hand on the table, I lean in and ask point-blank, “Why does he have you following me, Ronald?”
Ronald clears his throat. “It’s just Ron. He wants to make sure that you are safe. What you went through…” He looks down at the table then shakes his head before meeting my eyes again. “Coming back from something like that, it could take a toll on just about anybody. He just wants to make sure you’ll be okay.”
“But, here’s the thing, Ronnie –“
“It’s just Ron,” he says patiently.
He’s a cute old man, he deserves a nickname. I wave him off. “If he cares so much, why isn’t he the one out here looking out for me and calling the police behind my back? Hmm?”
“Red is just giving you some space, but I assure you – he’s never too far away,” Ronald McDonald deadpans.
I give him my best stink eye, but it probably looks like I’m sucking on a sour lemon. Ron smiles.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He waves a hand in the air. “I just see why he’s in love with you.”
I take a breath.
Then he continues. “Do you still love him?”
- Writer
