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Ronnie

W e all know the first rule of Fight Club. But what happens when your nosy roommate finds out about it? To be clear, there is no fight club just a secret.

I quickly type these words on my phone, reminding myself to add them to my project later. Pocketing it when I’m done, I skip to the bar to help with the influx of orders.

My new guy is a little slow but will get the hang of it once he gains more experience. I toss a rag over my shoulder—a force of habit—and start taking orders.

We quickly ease into it and distribute drinks like I knock candies for lunch when I forget to eat until it slows to a more convenient tempo.

A muffled sound of an argument breaks out near us between two guys. A lean man with a neatly trimmed beard sits with a curved back over the counter in the dim corner of the bar, clutching his half-finished drink in a white-knuckled grip as the other man slurs but it’s mild so I quickly text the bouncers to stay on high alert before I continue serving.

I uncap a beer bottle and slide it to a waiting customer across. She grins widely and thanks me. I nod back a small smile attached to the gesture before I turn around to organize the shelf.

“This is our first night in New York, do you have any suggestions?”

“New York has plenty to offer,” I raise my voice enough to be heard over the noise and music, my back still against her as I go over the shelf. “What are you interested in?”

“Bartenders at the moment.” She giggles as I turn around to face her.

Here we go. It’s not the first time.

A grin is plastered on my face, steeling myself from an inappropriate reply. I set a comfortable landing instead. “I’m flattered. But I’m not available.” That’s kind of a lie but not really. There is someone but I’m just still figuring out things myself.

“Well, it was worth the try.” She smiles understandably and I appreciate the quick withdrawal.

“No harm, no foul.” As I say those words a half-filled glass finds its way onto my customer’s blouse and my face heats up, filled with anger and embarrassment as my eyes encounter the person responsible for it.

“Don’t talk to him. Don’t get near him. Find someone else to ask you stupid questions.”

Nostrils flaring, I dash around the bar and step beside my glaring ex-girlfriend.

“What is wrong with you? Why would you do that?” I whisper to my ex, a deep frown settling on my face.

“Ugh!” She exclaims, then makes a beeline for the ladies’ room.

My jaw locks. “I’m sorry about that,” I calmly apologize to the customer, “Your drinks will be free for the night. I’m sorry again.” I don’t know if I’m speechless or want to evaporate into thin air but the muscle in my jaw already tics restlessly.

“It’s okay.” She grabs the napkin my top server is handing her. “That kind of customer is inevitable.”

A frustrated chuckle escapes me and my legs start moving independently.

The ongoing chatter in the club drills a hole in my brain. Five minutes past ten bounces off a phone screen before me as a stranger waves their hand to the side. The scent of sweat, booze, and a dozen perfumes assault my nose. I shift in my green Converse, stepping in every available direction, and trying to get myself out of this maze.

We’re hosting a neon party today and the craziness has only begun.

I quickly climb the slope toward the exit and pass the bouncers in the open entrance.

Finally, the music is a muffled sound in the background. I pace in the wide parking lot behind Luka’s building, dragging my hands over my half-painted face. I keep going, passing cars and more eager people that head inside. I run my fingers through my dark blonde hair and exhale my frustrations loudly.

The images race through my head in a loop—she’s acting like a fucking child.

I stretch my arms over my head and a chain of bone-cracking sounds erupt from my spine, rotating my head to the sides more cracks follow. The cool May breeze calms me down a bit. I don’t know where I’m standing but I need a moment. I pull my hood up and shut my eyes.

For months she’s been returning, making a scene, pretending to date guys to piss me off, thinking I would come back to her but I feel sorry for the guys she’s using. I blocked her number and socials long ago. All she does right now is make it impossible for me to work and retain my peace.

I’m so over it.

It’s been a year since we broke up and I moved on, I have no interest in her and it’s time for her to do the same.

After all, she broke up with me. “We can try those things together,” I press. A million thoughts swarm my brain but I never turned her down when she wanted to try something.

“Ronnie,” she veers her gaze away from me and I already know it’s too late, “I started texting another guy.”

That’s where she lost me.

Instead of coming to me, confronting me, telling me what she needed so we could work on our intimacy—she chose someone else who didn’t know anything about her.

She told me I broke her heart first because I worked too hard. But she never understood why I did it; why I have to be the responsible one, always moving forward and solving one problem until the next arises because if I wasn’t the voice in my head screamed in my ears so goddamn loud. But the fucked up truth is that I understood her reasons. I just wished she’d done it differently but it was her choice. My scars seared into my soul a long time ago by the time I turned twelve. Like everyone, I live with a reaper over my shoulder, but that reaper is brutal when he summons his friend to attack my weakest parts.

When I was alone after we broke up it fueled me to open my computer and write for the first time. The urge to express myself with words was always present but I didn’t know where to begin until I stared at a blank page and poured my heart out.

I draw a long inhale as I quiet my racing thoughts. Tonight I want to forget my ex and her unnecessary drama.

“WATCH OUT! OMG!” A shout and a motorcycle engine cuts my thoughts.

I snap my eyes open, blinded by the brutal light the bike in front of me projecting. I stand an inch away, mouth hanging open, and heart hammering. When I said I wanted to forget I didn’t mean a concussion, amnesia, or death.

“You almost ran me over!” Those are the first words to escape my mouth while my hand clutches onto the keychain attached to my belt loop. “Who rides full speed in a parking lot?”

A woman’s soft voice reaches me as she kills the engine. “Are you okay?” She takes off her helmet and rushes to my aid. “Are you hurt? I’m pretty sure I stopped in time.” Her features pinched with panic.

Knowing it’s partly my fault since I was in my head, not paying attention to my surroundings, “I’m fine. It wasn’t your fault.” In a calm tone, I reassure her. “But be careful, almost is a thin line.”

“Almost is a keyword.” She retorts condescendingly.

Stuffing my hands inside the pocket of my hoodie, I comment sullenly, “Is that an apology?”

Her lavender strands sway around her shoulders, but the flash of anguish her eyes reflect shoots a pang right to my chest. “I’m sorry. Let me buy you a drink, I really don’t need a lawsuit.”

“I’m not going to sue you, nothing happened.” I hurry to respond because I didn’t mean to sound like a dick. “But I’ll take that drink.”

“What are you doing in the middle of a parking lot anyway?”

I’m not sure whether I’m entertained or just accepting the circumstances. “Trying to breathe, you know.” I chuckle and huff.

“You gotta be careful it’s a thin line between breathing and not dying .“ Now, she’s using my words to sass back and I may be amused despite the flash of death that crossed my vision.

I stare at her from the corner of my eye. “Yeah, the warning signs are everywhere.”

“You must listen to the signs.”

“If the sign says jump,” I take a deep breath and sigh, “You have to jump.”

“Yeah, you must unless…”

“Unless…” I repeat.

We mirror each other’s wide grin, saying in unison, “We almost jump.”

A few cars enter the parking lot and we move to the side.

“After all, it is a keyword.” She quips, straightening her leather jacket.

“Surprisingly, I already feel better.”

“Rough day?” she teases, a tiny curve forming in the corner of her mouth. “I’m having a rough week myself.”

I side-eye her, arching my eyebrows to send my message but she nonchalantly moves past me toward the club.

Hate Me by Ellie Goulding and Juice World starts playing as I follow her lace-up chunky boots down the slope and into my favorite black void.

The red lights dotting the ceiling illuminate the busy dance floor to my right and the bar to my left. The VIP section in the far back shows no sign of my best friend, Luka—he’s probably in his apartment upstairs.

We surf through the crowd until her small body settles on a stool next to the bar while I round it and enter inside, clapping the new guy I hired on the shoulder to assure him he’s doing great. A wide grin spreads across his face.

“I’m Amber.” She extends her hand across the counter, and I subtly shake it.

“Ronnie.” My eyes follow the twitch at the edge of her crimson lips.

“Are you working here?” A flash of curiosity sparkles in her almond-shaped eyes—a barely visible green ring circles her solid golden-yellow irises.

“I’m the owner,” I smirk. “What can I get you to drink?”

“That depends,” she stares at the shelf behind the counter, squinting her eyes and twitching her mouth again, “I need to figure out what kind of drink I want first.”

“How about letting me figure it out?” Propping my elbows against the dark counter, my chin leans against my knuckles and I examine her.

Feeling exposed, and slightly embarrassed her cheeks turn a pale shade of rose. “Do you think you can figure me out?” she brushes it off by challenging me, curving her perfectly trimmed eyebrow.

“I’d like to try.” My fingers rub the light stubble feathering my face.

“Scotch please, make it double for my friend Ronnie over here.” She points at me with a mischievous smirk, bracing herself for my upcoming drink choice.

My new bartender quickly pours the liquid into a tumbler and slides it over to me.

“How did I do?” she shoots a sly grin my way.

I lift the tumbler slowly and press it to my lips, her eyes follow my movements with a slow pursuit. Sipping its content and letting it soothe me, the corners of my lips tug up. It’s been a while since I had time to drink. But today the bar has enough staff to work it and I’m only needed in case of an emergency.

“Exceptionally well,” I turn to the shelf behind me, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip.

“What are you doing?”

Bottles clink as I search for a specific one. Placing a shot glass in front of her, I pour the liquid and slowly push the shot of tequila with my index finger toward her.

She can’t hide the cute smile taking her face hostage. In one swift movement, she downs the tequila with no hesitation.

“Neat huh?” she questions, eyeing me. “No lime or salt?”

My eyes bore through hers, knowing she took it like someone who had done this before. “Lime and salt are for the weak.”

A peal of laughter bursts out of her and I join in.

“You said it yourself, you had a rough week so you need to be cheered as well.”

“That’s a great idea.” Jumping off her stool, she smooths the fabric of her vintage biker jacket, brushing lint off her black jeans. “Want to dance?” she nods her chin at me. “Forget about everything.”

Why the fuck not? I need to get out of my head more. I chug the last drop of whiskey and round the bar. “Lisa you’re in charge.”

“You got it, boss.” Her voice trails behind me and disappears quickly.

The blast of music fuels my energy upbeat song after another. We dance and laugh. My breath mingles with hers as her hands latch around my neck. I brush my body against the soft curves of her hips while our eyes stay locked. Our chests rise and fall rapidly, and sheens of sweat form on our skin as an hour ticks away.

“Thanks for the free exercise,” Amber is panting against my skin, “If I can’t have sex at least I get to grind against a smoking hot club owner.”

I lick my dry lips, needing to cool myself down. “You’re pretty bold with your statements.”

“I was raised to say whatever the hell I want,” she pauses, “Within reason.”

I exhale with a chuckle. “Like almost running over someone.“ I toy.

“Like almost cutting the air supply but pressing the brakes just in time.“ She retorts with a smirk. “Get over it. You’re here, alive and well, grinding against your almost killer.”

A burst of laughter breaks out of me.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room, see you later.” She is about to turn when I stall her by clinging onto her wrist.

I inch closer, “Can I have your phone first?”

“Why?”

I deliver my words slowly, “So, I can give you my number and when you’re ready you can tell me?”

“Tell you what?” she steps back to look at me.

“About the sadness in your eyes that look like mine.” It’s honest. My lips curl up softly into a half smile.

She remains quiet but slides her phone into my palm. As I type the digits on the screen my roommate’s rugged look catches my attention when he passes the entrance but doesn’t walk inside, probably heading for a smoke.

Slightly exhausted Amber and I part ways. I stretch my ringed fingers, grab a water bottle from the table, and lower myself onto the C-shaped burgundy couch in the VIP section, needing to catch my breath.

It’s crazy to think my life started in this building as a twenty-year-old. I witnessed its transformation from an abandoned building to one of the main attractions around here—Luka made sure of it with his striking vision.

Eight years flew by like a hurricane and I’m sitting here as a co-owner of a club I helped run from day one. I get to enjoy this every day and earn my keep.

Luka and I grew up together. He moved here from Australia when he was seven. We spent all our time with each other, riding motorcycles and figuring out our next move.

He is like a brother to me.

I don’t know what I would’ve done without him. We were always there for each other, through every milestone, heartbreak, and celebration. I had to bear the news when his parents were killed in a ski accident—that was one of the hardest days of my life but I knew we would get through it.

We always did.

I shove my hand into my front pocket, extracting my phone as it pings with a new message.

Nana

Don’t forget your doctor’s appointment tomorrow.

It’s like I summoned her and now a jolt of anxiety rushes through my body.

Ronnie

As if I could. It’s not my first.

Nana

Don’t patronize me, Rowan, I will send you a box of chicken wings from the restaurant later.

A grin stretches across my mouth. She’s the only person who scolds me and offers food in the same sentence.

Ronnie

Thank you, Nana.

I love you.

Nana

I love you too, honey.

After I graduated high school, I traveled with Luka. My parents decided to leave New York, get a van, and chase sunsets and crazy adventures. They always talked about it so when they decided to go, I was happy they dared to chase their dreams.

Since my parents are not around much Nana keeps me busy with her booming voice and iconic personality. We always shared a special connection. Her sharpness and intuition about different aspects of life resonated with me growing up and I wanted to soak in more knowledge from her.

Nana always said, “When someone wants to be in your life they stay. They fight to stay. Being a constant thing in someone else’s life is hard but it is possible.”

Ronnie

I’ll come by tomorrow after my appointment.

As I hit send, I get another text.

Luka

I’m not coming down today.

I got to help Dylan unpack.

Ronnie

Don’t worry, I got everything under control.

I slide my phone back into my pocket when Amber lowers beside me.

Two fingers press under my chin, nudging my head in her direction, “An ex?” her eyes try to read mine. “That’s why you were in a somber mood.”

“That obvious?”

“Kind of.”

I sigh heavily, scratching the back of my neck. “It’s over but she refuses to receive the memo.”

“Maybe you need to take a drastic measure.” Her brows wiggle once, and the corner of her mouth twitches.

“Such as?” I expand my fingers over my thighs while I drape my other hand over the backrest.

“Kiss me,” her lips smash to one side, “Let her know you moved on,” she claims sharply but her skin is flushed. Even under the dim lights in this section of the club pink tints her cheeks down to her chest.

“You want to do that?” I question and a flash of excitement crosses her eyes.

“I offered, didn’t I?” Her tone is still playful.

Damn.

I lean in, and my breath blends with hers. Lips almost brush but not quite. “Not like this,” I whisper against her mouth, eyes flicking to hers.

“Why?”

I expect her to look offended, disappointed even but she beams instead.

“I want that kiss to be meaningful and not for show.”

“For the record,” her voice is tender but still clear, “I would’ve kissed you for real.”

A ghost of a smile hovers across my lips. “For the record, I would’ve done the same.”

Her leg vibrates against mine and startles us both, breaking our momentary trance.

“Shit, I need to take this call.” She hauls ass out of the club.