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“Hey, handsome. What are you doing after this?” a regular at the bar asks. It’s not the first time she’s uttered the words either. If there were an award for consistency, she’d get the biggest one out there.
“Heading home to my girl,” I lie to her because it’s easier and will end the conversation quicker. She’ll move on like she always does, finding someone else to scratch her itch.
“Darn it,” she whines, barely able to find her lips with her beer bottle because she’s so wasted.
“Want me to call you a cab?”
She shakes her head before slinking off the stool like she doesn’t have many bones in her body. “No. I’ll find a ride,” she tells me with a devilish smile.
I have no doubt she’ll find some man in this bar who will be more than happy to give her whatever type of ride she wants tonight. All I know is that man isn’t going to be me.
“She yours?” Tate asks, lifting her chin toward the woman at the end of the bar.
“Mine?” I stare down at my older sister in confusion.
Tate rolls her eyes. “Your customer.”
“Oh.”
“Well?” she says when I don’t answer her original question right away.
I gaze down the bar at the pretty woman who has a sadness about her. “She’s mine,” I tell Tate, figuring I could do one good deed tonight and see if I can make the woman smile at least once.
“Fine. You take that end of the bar, and I’ll take the other. The place is a madhouse tonight. Freaking football play-offs. I hate this time of year,” she grumbles as she starts to organize the liquor bottles under the bar.
“Whatever makes you happy.” I give her a smile, hoping she’ll stick around long enough to help me close tonight.
“No need to suck up. I’m staying until the place is empty.”
I let out a laugh, hating how well my sister knows me. No one else knows me better than she does. We’ve been through some shit together, and it started at a very young age. She’s mothered me at times, which I’ve hated the most. But she’s always been there for me, and I’ve always been there for her. It’s what siblings do—or, at least, what we do.
“Beer!” someone yells from the other end of the bar, Tate’s end. She grunts loudly before stalking toward the impatient patron.
Chicago’s in the play-offs for the first time since my uncle Vinnie played for the team. The city’s electric with the possibility of making it to the national championship again after more than a decade. Thank goodness there are only a few more games before the entire season comes to an end and the bar goes back to the usual crowd, instead of filling every seat and then some.
I make my way to the other end of the bar, staring at the woman’s profile. She’s pretty, even with the blank look on her face as she stares up at the television screen. Her hair is long and flowing down her front, not giving much away when it comes to her body.
“Want another?” I ask her when her brown eyes finally meet mine.
Her smile barely touches the edge of her cheeks. “No. This is more than enough.”
I give her a genuine smile back. “One isn’t usually enough for our regular customers."
“I suppose not,” she says in a soft voice. “I’m sorry I took this seat all night. I was waiting for someone who obviously isn’t going to show. I’ll tip you well since I took money out of your pocket.”
“Darlin’, the bar is full. You took nothing out of my pocket. Nurse that beer for as long as you want. Whoever stood you up is an idiot.”
“It’s the story of my life. I swear I’m cursed,” she mumbles as she lifts the bottle to her lips.
“It’ll turn around. There’re always a few jagoffs out there, but we’re not all like that.”
Her eyes search mine for a moment, and I wonder what she’s thinking. She’s probably running through all the clichés about bartenders. “I must be a magnet for them, then—or just purely unlucky.”
“This seat taken?” a man asks her, coming out of nowhere.
“No,” she says, not even looking in his direction. “It’s all yours.”
“Perfect,” he replies as he slides onto the stool next to her. “I’ll take a beer.”
I don’t know why his closeness to her bothers me, but it does. He’s not a regular here at the bar, and he’s alone. Which isn’t entirely unusual, but he’s acting a little too familiar toward her. He quickly spreads out, invading her personal space a little more than I’m comfortable with, and I’m sure she is too.
But it’s not my place to say anything. At least until he does something that would require my intervention as one of the owners of this establishment. I grab a beer from the cooler and hand it to him before leaving them to watch the game and nurse their drinks in peace.
“Have you looked outside?” Tate asks me as I make my way back to the middle of the bar after filling all the open orders.
“No. Why?”
“They weren’t lying about the snow. It’s coming down fast, and there’re already six inches on the ground. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s over a
foot by the time we close.”
“Good thing we can walk home,” I tell her, hating the snow, but at least living nearby doesn’t make it a problem besides the possibility of freezing to death.
“I hate this. I miss the sunshine and sandals.”
“It’ll be here before we know it.”
She gives me a heated glare. “Liar.”
“I can’t think about the reality of how long it’ll be cold. It makes it too tempting to move down to Florida like the rest of the family. They were smart, but our grandparents…nooooo. They had to stay in Chicago instead of moving to a warmer climate.”
“It is their fault.”
“Yep,” I snap, mentally cursing my grandparents for our current predicament. We could be working at a bar on the beach, handing out drinks as the sun sets against the water and sand instead of the snow and cement.
I glance at the clock above the door. We have two hours until close. Thankfully, the game is in the fourth quarter, so the place should be clearing out soon.
Tomorrow’s a workday for some people, but not me. I plan to spend the day sleeping in and catching up on shit I put off because procrastination is my superpower or maybe it’s my kryptonite.
I glance down the bar and find the pretty lady leaning to her other side, moving her body away from the new guy who sat down. Immediately, alarm bells start sounding in my head. His face is turned toward her, but she’s staring straight ahead, watching a game I figure she doesn’t give two shits about.
He reaches an arm over to touch her, and she snatches her hand away, tucking it under the bar.
“Well, that’s my cue,” I mutter, knowing things are going to get dicey. Guys like him never seem to want to go quietly because they don’t have a clue that their actions are unwanted, even if all the signs are there.
“Buddy, you need to move or go,” I tell him before he even has a chance to look my direction. “Up to you which one.”
“Why?” he says, finally turning his dark eyes in my direction. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Did she ask you to touch her?”
Her eyes dart to me and widen, the panic in them evident. “It’s okay,” she says, probably used to being harassed, but it’s not okay with me.
“No, it’s not. Moving or leaving?”
“You can’t be serious,” he chuckles deeply like I’m joking, but I’m as serious as a heart attack.
“I am. Pick one.”
“I want to talk to
the manager.”
Of course he does. They always do. I don’t know why they think someone who’s a manager would be okay with his type of behavior either.
“I’m the owner,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to look as imposing as possible. I tower over him, but that doesn’t keep me from doing whatever possible to stop him from acting out and playing the fool.
In my over ten years working at the Hook & Hustle, I’ve been in more bar fights than I can count on both hands. They’ve usually involved a guy who got a little too handsy with someone in the bar, and it’s always our responsibility to step in. Sometimes they turn into an all-out brawl where the entire bar gets involved. Those are the worst because they are costly due to so many things getting broken.
I don’t want that tonight. The last thing I want to do on my day off is clean up busted furniture and glass.
“Your place sucks,” he says as he climbs to his feet and reaches into his back pocket.
“There’s a bar down the street you may like better,” I tell him, snatching the ten he throws on the bar as soon as it touches the varnished wood.
“Fucking ugly bitch anyway,” he says before he stomps away and throws open the door to the bar.
Snow blows in, sending a chill through the room.
“You didn’t have to do that,” the woman says to me before she chews on her lip like she’s trying to soothe her nerves.
“That isn’t acceptable behavior in my bar—or anywhere, for that matter.”
“It happens all the time.”
“I have an older sister. I wouldn’t let someone do that to her, and I won’t let them do it to you.”
Her face softens as she looks at me this time. “You’re a good one.”
“Sometimes,” I tell her.
I try to be a good one, but I’ve had my share of shitty moments where I don’t have the best judgment. I’ve never touched someone when they didn’t want me to, but I didn’t always treat women with the respect
they deserved when I was a young dipshit learning how to deal with my hormones.
Tilly and Tate set me straight, though, and whatever lesson I didn’t get through my thick skull, my father made sure I eventually got it.
“Well, thank you. The guy wasn’t getting the hint.”
“He probably never will.”
“Do you think he’ll come back?” she asks.
I draw my eyebrows together, surprised by her question. “Why would he?”
“He left upset, so maybe he’ll be waiting for me when I leave.”
Is this how all women think? Are they always looking over their shoulders, waiting for someone to get them? I can’t imagine living like that. It has to be exhausting.
“I don’t think so. If you wait around long enough, I can guarantee he won’t be out there because he’ll freeze to death.”
“Then I’ll take another,” she says, pushing her nearly empty bottle toward me. “Better safe than sorry.”
I smile as I grab a beer for her, hoping I eased some of the worry she had about the guy hanging around outside the bar. When I hand her the beer, I say, “Smart choice.”
She beams at the two words like she hasn’t received much praise in her life, which only makes me sadder for her than I already was.
I leave her be, figuring she’s had enough from men today. First, being stood up, and second, having a man try to put his hands on her.
Luckily, the fourth quarter goes by in a flash since neither team had any penalties. Chicago won, which has the bar patrons in a good mood as they slowly peel out of the bar to head home to their warm beds.
But the woman from earlier has stayed put. Every time I glanced in her direction, she was looking over her shoulder like the man might appear out of thin air and do something to her.
“How often do you come across a creepy man?” I ask my sister as we’re cleaning up some of the mess since things have slowed down.
“Like, what kind of
creep?”
The answer doesn’t sit right with me. “There are different types of creeps?”
“You have verbal creeps, touchy creeps, or the serial-killer-vibe creeps.”
“Any of them,” I tell her, shaking my head at the shit reality women face.
“Daily.”
I freeze, looking over at her in shock. “Every day?”
“Well, that’s usually what daily means, baby brother.” She rolls her eyes at me like I’m an idiot, but I’m dumbstruck by her answer.
After a moment, I ask, “How do you deal with it?”
“Well,” she sighs, loading a tray with partially filled glasses and dirty, damp napkins. “Murder is illegal, so I try to ignore it because I couldn’t do hard time. I’m too pretty for that. If that fails, I usually have my pepper spray handy or have on a pair of steel-toed boots. A girl has to protect herself.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I whisper, blinking rapidly as I gawk at her.
“It’s reality, Brax. At least, it’s my reality. It must be nice to be a man and walk through life without a single care in the world.”
“I wouldn’t say I don’t have a care.”
“Do you worry someone’s going to snatch you?”
I stare at her without the ability to respond.
“Didn’t think so.”
“You worry someone’s going to take you?”
“It happens. Maybe I’ve watched too many true crime documentaries, but if some big, beefy guy wants to take me, I don’t have the build to fight him off. It’s why my pepper spray is always ready and I took some self-defense classes.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. “That’s so sad.”
“Have you ever worried someone was going to sexually assault you?”
“Uh, no.” I grimace as soon as the words are out of my mouth.
Never in my life has it even crossed my mind. Neither of the things she’s mentioned have before. I guess I walk around clueless.
“Perfect example of male privilege,” she says, lifting the tray and resting it against her hip.
“Hyperaware in dark parking lots?”
I shake my head.
“Listen to music on our walk home from work with those fancy earbud thingies?” she asks.
“Sometimes.”
“Must be nice,” she whispers.
“I’ll start walking
you home,” I tell her.
“Wylder does every time I leave the shop or bar after dark. He refuses to let me do it alone, which is nice, but also pisses me off at the same time.”
“I can understand that.”
“That’s life, though. As long as there are men around, we’ll have to look over our shoulders. No one told me they were the real boogeymen. Not the fake ones under our beds as kids, but the strangers on the street who think they can do whatever they want when they want.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, suddenly hating that I’m a guy, even though I’m not a creep.
“Don’t be,” she says as she passes by and hip bumps me. “You’re a good one, and I saw what you did for that woman. As long as the good ones are willing to stand up to the shitheads, there’s hope for society and a possibility of change so it won’t always be like this.”
“Should I offer to walk her to her car? ...
