Page 58 of Mr. Brightside
We collapse on the bed, panting. We’re a mess of cum and sweat, truth and vulnerability. I don’t dare speak the words out loud, but that was the most intimate and satisfying sexual experience of my life. I don’t ever want this feeling to end.
Chapter 26
Jake
There’snothingquitelikeNortheast Ohio in the fall. It’s still warm enough during the day to walk around without a coat. Then it cools down to this delicious crispness every evening.
We got home from our honeymoon on Monday, Clinton’s and The Oak officially became mine on Tuesday, September first. Cory started classes on Wednesday, then I held my first staff meeting last night. Now it’s finally Friday, and I’m more than ready to experience my first weekend as a business owner while also enjoying some quality time with my man.
I woke up this morning to that biting cold nipping at me outside the covers, but I had a warm, solid body next to me to keep me warm. We fell into a routine so fast, it’s stupid. We got the rest of Cory’s things moved into my condo—ourcondo—and we’ve taken to having coffee together at the kitchen island each morning. He likes his espresso iced, so I make it for him the night before, then let it chill overnight. I’ve had to run over to Acme every day this week because I keep learning about new things he likes. He never asks me to, but I’ll do anything to earn one of those grins.
I enter The Oak and exhale. No other place has ever felt like home. The walls are covered in old pictures and sports memorabilia from both Archway Preparatory Academy and Hampton High School. Fitting, really, since I attended each school for two years myself.
Cole and Teddy are both behind the bar, working through our morning prep list. The transition to owner feels foreign and yet simple at the same time. I hired this staff. I trained them all. They know my expectations, and we all work well together.
“Morning, boys,” I call out over the music. We play 80s, 90s, and early 2000s exclusively, which, according to my nieces, is technically the oldies. My favorite Incubus song is blasting through the speakers. It must be one of Teddy’s favorites too, based on how he’s giving Brandon a run for his money as he belts out the chorus.
Instead of joining them like I usually would, I circle around to the end of the bar and setup my laptop. There’s an office in the back of Clinton’s that I could use, and maybe someday I will. But just last week, I was a manager and bartender. It’s feels too soon to be holing up in an office and pretending to be some big shot owner.
I typically spend Fridays making schedules and setting up the specials for the weekend. Now I have to worry about things like payroll, tracking business expenses, and setting up meetings with the health insurance rep so I can get my staff full benefits.
It’s not the smartest financial move—Clinton’s makes steady but slim margins, and The Oak has only been open for just over a year. Despite being packed every weekend, we’re very much a new business. But I watched one of my oldest friends work her ass off, desperate to graduate from college and get a job with benefits so she could get the risk-reducing surgeries she needed. I’m in a position to make sure my staff never have to face something like that, so I’m doing something about it. Besides, Cory and I both work here now, and I want to make sure he’s covered and taken care of, too.
I’m still toiling away on next week’s schedule when Cole unlocks the front door at four. He greets our first customers, and I don’t even have to look up to know who just walked through the door.
Tommy’s staggered around this town his whole life. He’s mostly harmless, and we’ve shared enough conversations across this bar that I’ve grown to genuinely enjoy his company.
“Tommy,” I call out, lifting one hand in greeting. “How’s it going, man?”
He grunts as he climbs onto a barstool a few seats down from me. He’s got a leg that gives him trouble.
“You doing all right?” I push.
He finally settles in his seat and turns in my direction. “Fine, fine,” he insists with a wave of his hand.
Teddy sets a whiskey sour in front of him without any prompting, and Tommy gulps down a mouthful, then sighs contentedly.
“I hear congratulations are in order.”
I freeze at his comment. I’m sure word has gotten around. When you’ve lived in the same town your whole life, your business is everyone’s business, always. I just don’t know which life achievement he’s congratulating me on.
My eyes divert to my wedding band, noticing the way it shines under the pendant light where I’m sitting. Most of the time, I don’t even remember I’m wearing it, because it just feels right.
“It’s been a crazy week for sure,” I reply. There. That seems open-ended and safe.
Tommy takes another sip of his drink. “I didn’t think I’d live to see a day when Mike Hobbs wasn’t the owner of Clinton’s Family Restaurant. Or of this place too, I guess. But he made the right call, selling them to you.”
I smile and accept the compliment, relieved I don’t have to delve into details about my sudden marriage. Not because I’m ashamed or because I don’t want to talk about it. But my relationship with Cory is something I want to protect. I don’t want to talk about my marriage with a casual acquaintance, because it’s nothing like I expected. It’s sacred. It’s not for anyone but us.
“Well, I heard even more congratulations are in order.” The shrill voice has me slow-blinking and taking a deep breath before I look farther down the bar.
Skippy Baker-Brooks is perched on the end of a barstool smack in the middle of the bar, swirling an ice cube in her glass of white wine. I do my best to smile and feign interest—she’ll be here all night, and I’m not about to piss off a customer who’s one day tab will cover half my payroll expenses for the weekend. “Oh yeah? What’s that?” I ask indifferently.
Skippy was friends with my dad in high school—which tells me everything I need to know about her. Now she’s a realtor who “makes her own hours” and ends up sitting at my bar more afternoons than not.
“Don’t try to deny it, Jacob. I see the ring on your finger.”
I wasn’t denying anything. I just wasn’t offering up my personal life for speculation. I brush my thumb along the smooth platinum on my left hand.