Page 66 of Mr. Brightside
I worked behind the bar for a while, but now I’m clearing cups and wiping down tables. That’s one of the things I love most about being the boss: I can lean in to my natural tendencies to make the rounds and move from one task to the next instead of being stuck in one place.
We’ve got a killer playlist going tonight, and there are already a few people on the dance floor, even though it’s not even eleven. I’m going to check in with my staff and see if they’re okay pushing last call back an hour. There’s no way this place will be cleared out in an hour.
Speaking of the time… that’s my second favorite thing about being the boss. I get the final say in the schedules. And lately, I’ve been coordinating mine and Cory’s shifts so he works at Clinton’s on nights I’m here at The Oak. Not only does that mean our days off are aligned, but it also means he can come hang out with me after he closes.
Someone calls me from behind the bar, but I can’t tell who. I grab my rag and spray bottle and make my way toward the front, stopping to say hi to a few regulars as I snake through the crowd.
“Oh my God, I love your shirt!!”
I freeze where I stand when a woman about my age wearing a pink tiara and sash waltzes right into my path. I assess her from head to toe, noting the penis emblem on her sparkly crown as well as the stiletto heels she’s carrying in one hand.
Bachelorette party. Yikes. By the looks of it, they’ve been at it for hours. And I just walked right into the line of fire.
“Seriously. This looks sooo good on you,” she croons, running her hot pink nails down the front of my V-neck. I bite back a laugh and push down the urge to tell her there’s half a dozen other guys behind the bar wearing the exact same shirt. What can I say? I picked a universally flattering style when I selected the black V-neck uniforms for The Oak.
“Jake! Seriously.”
Saved by the bell. Or, in this instance, the Teddy. He’s leaning over the bar and waving me over, desperate to get my attention.
“Congrats on your impending nuptials,” I tell the bride-to-be, winking as I walk away.
She lets out a little pout, but I’m grateful I escaped before her friends could zero in on me, too.
“We’re out of peach schnapps,” Teddy informs me when I get within range.
“Seriously?” I can’t even remember the last time I poured a drink with peach schnapps…
Realization sets in when I hear a high-pitched chant start up across the room. “Sex on the Beach! Sex on the Beach!”
“Say no more,” I assure him, rapping my knuckles on the bar. “I’ll be right back.”
Before I can turn around, a hand glides over my shoulder. The touch is smooth, familiar. Recognition comes when I hear the voice in my ear on the next breath.
“Small business ownership looks good on you, Jake Whitely.”
I drop my rag and spray bottle and pull him into a hug. “Drew!” I exclaim affectionately. “It’s so good to see you, man.”
He returns my embrace but lingers a bit longer than is comfortable. “Ditto,” he murmurs in that low baritone that used to make me shiver.
When he finally pulls back, he gives me the proper once-over that makes me inexplicably squirm. “How have you been?” he asks, running that same hand up and down my bicep a few times before letting it rest on my shoulder.
I shrug him off as subtly as I can, but he notices. He’s always been perceptive.
“I’ve been great.” And I really mean it. I do a quick scan of the bar. Everything that I ever wanted—plus a few things I never knew I’d have the privilege of calling mine—have fallen into place over the last month. I’m not exaggerating when I say this is the happiest I’ve ever been.
“I hear congratulations are in order?”
He scans the bar, then glances at the logo on my V-neck. This shirt’s getting an above-average amount of attention tonight, that’s for sure.
“In more ways than one. I bought Mike out, so now I own Clinton’s and The Oak, which you probably heard,” I explain with a sweep of my hand. “Got married recently, too.” I hold up my ring finger and grin, loving the way the platinum band has this vibrant blue shine to it in the low lighting of the bar.
Drew’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, then draw together in momentary puzzlement. “Huh.” He rubs his chin and regards me once again, but this time, it’s like he’s seeing me in a new light.
“And now I know why you didn’t reply to my texts when I got back into town a few weeks ago.” He gives me a friendly wink, but it’s a bit more suggestive than I’m comfortable with.
Actually, I didn’t respond to his texts because I deleted all my old hookups from my phone. Anyone who wasn’t a platonic friend or coworker got the boot. It took… an embarrassingly long time. But it was the quickest way to draw the line. Now, when unknown numbers text or call, I delete and ignore them—or block them if they’re persistent.
I like Drew—he’s in his early thirties and has this phenomenal body that’s all smooth edges and hard lines, like polished marble. He travels a lot for work, and he was never the clingy type. Plus, he was always up for sharing a joint and cuddling after sex. But he’s never been subtle or passive. When he sees something he wants, he goes for it. That makes him great at business and bossy in the bedroom. But I know for a fact he’s not used to hearing no. I feel compelled to make sure he understands that I’m married, and that it’s a big deal to me.