Page 2 of Just A Little Joy

“No, silly, tattoos. Or if you do, they must be crowded under that towel of yours.”

“I think I might be the only one under the age of forty without a tattoo.”

“Scared of needles?”

“My mom had this thing about how the only people who got tattoos were ex-cons and bikers. She drilled into our heads how disappointed she’d be if we came home with one. I guess I never felt rebellious enough to get one despite all that bullshit.”

“Does she still feel that way?”

“Evidently not because the last time I was home, my cousin came over showing off their new tattoo, and all my mom did was gush over how much she liked it. So I guess it’s not just for bikers and ex-cons anymore.”

“So now are you going to get one?”

“No. Not because I’m scared of needles, but I don’t like them very much.”

“So what I’m hearing is you’re terrified of them.”

I shot him a quick grin. “You’re not entirely wrong.”

On the redwood bench, Casey did a happy dance that reminded me of the littles at the club—if the littles were built like the broad side of a barn and wrapped in towels in my gym sauna. It was a goddamn shame this was a family-friendly gym because I could think of countless things I’d rather be doing in this steamy room with the door locked. Unfortunately, all I could do was sit there and imagine instead of act.

We both lapsed into silence, letting the steam work over our muscles. My mind, though, was full. We were short-staffed at the bar, and with the holiday season about to be in full swing, business had picked up. Everyone needed time off, but there was only so much we could do. I didn’t want to run my bartenders into the ground and have them quit in frustration. My mind refused to settle, already juggling bar schedules and the uneven weight of doing everything myself.

“You okay over there?” Casey called across the room.

“I think so. Why?”

“Because for someone who’s supposed to be relaxing in a sauna, you’re pretty tense. If your jaw gets any tighter, you might snap something.”

His voice was still friendly, but I caught the curiosity in it. He reminded me of a kitten who knew it was supposed to stay in the box but couldn’t help climbing out whenever something interesting caught its attention.

“Yeah. I snuck away this afternoon before my place opens because I know I’ll be there all night.”

“Your place?”

“Yeah, I own a bar, and I’m working tonight.”

“You don’t want to work in your bar?”

“I love working in my bar. I just don’t love doing twenty days in a row.”

“Oof. That’s a long time without a day off.”

“I’m not gonna ask my bartenders to work harder than I do or leave them without a barback.”

“I’m not trying to be rude, but why don’t you hire one?” His face was open and curious. He wasn’t being sarcastic. He genuinely wanted to know why the obvious solution wasn’t an option.

He said it so simply, like the world was full of easy fixes I kept forgetting to reach for.

“I’d love to hire a barback, but I haven’t found anyone who stays longer than a night. Two, at most.”

“Are you that terrible of a boss?” His question carried pure mischief.

“My bartenders like me, and so do the servers, but the barbacks? I don’t know. They’re just not feeling it.”

“Are you looking for someone full-time?”

“That’s the other problem. We only need someone a couple of nights a week, and that will probably drop after the holidays. I can’t blame anyone for not jumping at the chance to work a temporary job and then lose half their hours come January.”