A Toast to the Good Times (16 page)

But I may have a tiny bit of a reputation.

Dad hated it, but it made sense for me to play my angle. He liked to jaw with the guys, get elbow deep in misery and complaints. He was mostly respectful to the ladies.

I liked to hand the guys their drinks and share an assortment of winks, smiles, and thinly veiled romantic suggestions with the ladies.

It was an art, and there were rules.

No married shenanigans.

No flirting with a girl who was clearly with a guy.

But tons of single women
—
or women unattached enough that they were willing to show up in public on their own and on the prowl
—
came to the bar, and they tipped well. It was easy enough to lean over and oblige their rowdy demands with the occasional kiss.

I have no problem turning the pretty young things down. There was no point playing with their hearts anyway.

But the older ladies, the one who cooed and crowed about how happy my being back made them...not throwing them a little peck seems in opposition to the spirit of the season.

But Mila watched me like a hawk, and she was a stickler for games and rules; I know for a fact she had a Dungeons and Dragons Guide and a multi-sided die in her room in Boston.

I wanted to roll around with her in bed, and I knew I’d need to be on my best behavior to reach my goal.

I did double duty with winks, slow smiles, and extra potent drinks in an attempt to satisfy my pouting regulars. Maybe it was a little slutty of me, but this business requires me to be part actor, part drink-maker, and I tried to embrace both aspects of the job.

“You got the girls on the end with the sweetie drinks?” my dad asks over the roar.

I look at them by instinct and salute the one girl who’s definitely using her cherry garnish to communicate sexy things to me. My tips will take a hit for all this toned-down flirting, but Mila is so worth it.

The girl peeks her tongue out, and there’s the cherry stem, tied in a knot, and I chuckle under my breath and grit my teeth.

“They’re all doing great, Dad.”

“What about the guy who needed the brews for the
pool players
? He was here a minute ago...” He looks around distractedly.

“Done with him. I got his order together while he hit the john. They’re all squared away.”

“Shit!” Dad curses under his breath. “I forgot to give Bergin his holiday
—
”

I grin at him. “You’re going deaf and blind in your old age, aren’t you? He snuck in half an hour ago. I found his envelope in the lockbox, and it’s all good. Take a breather.” I hold up a sopping wet, bleached white rag. “Look, we’re so caught up, I have time to wipe down the bar.”

My dad reaches a hand out, slowly, and gives me a pat on the back. It’s kind of jerky and uncertain, but I don’t have
given
an asshole thought or response to it.

It’s good.

And, since I’m not naturally a positive person filled with happy, nice thoughts, I wonder if all of this has anything to do with the fact that all night, between every drink I poured and mess I wiped clean, after every refill and trip to the cash register, I got to look down the bar and see Mila sipping her drink, smiling wide, singing along to some of the ridiculous Christmas carols, and chatting up anyone who came over to her.

I’m distractingly glad she’s here. I kind of wish I had enough money to employ her to sit at the end of my bar and keep me company on a regular basis, though it might make my bar
ridiculously cheerful. Which has been the antithesis of my vibe thus far. I peddle in grumbling, strong old-fashioned drinks, and a misery-loves-company protocol.

But I think it’s been fairly well established that I’m an unbelievable wanker in every way.

I slide the rag down the bar and lean close to her, catching a whiff of her lavender-scented hair. “So, how goes it?”

“Alright. I was kind of secretly hoping the girl trying to seduce you with the cherry stem choked on it. Not like Heimlich maneuver choking. Just a little embarrassing gagging, you know? Maybe I
am
turning into one of those psycho girls.” She chews on a piece of ice consideringly.

“I like that side of you. Yeah, the girls can definitely get a little crazy, but my dad will get pretty scowly at anyone who pushes the boundaries too far, so don’t worry about that.”

I glance down at my father, yukking it up with Rusty, who gives me a hearty wave and goes back to nursing his romance-laced tropical drink.

“You and your father are the most adorable bartending duo I’ve ever seen in my life. Honestly. You really seem like you’re in your element here.”

She looks around, and her eyes are all shiny and appreciative, like maybe she can’t see the cobwebs and general decay.

“Yeah, well, I grew up with that old grouch in this old dump. I guess maybe I do have a soft spot for the whole scene.”

I lean closer, willing her to lean back and kiss me again.

“It’s not a dump.” She presses her eyebrows down over her eyes and looks around like she’s seeing something that makes her happy, something that’s not a totally sad example of the ultimate dive bar. “Maybe the carpet is a little old. And weird. And it needs a good handyman to give it a once-over. But it’s homey. It’s warm and full of good energy and happy people, and you can tell that’s its usual state. This place has that kind of
Field of Dreams
vibe going, right? Like, I bet your grandpa just built this and people came.”

Thinking about my grandpa usually fills me with guilt over the whole inheritance fiasco.

Right now, though, it fills me with a weird happy/sad cocktail
—
like a 4 Horsemen Shot, all the best and strongest things, all mixed up.
 

I’m happy because Mila is dead-on, and I know my grandpa would have loved her theory
—
and her. Not to mention, he always had a serious thing for brunettes. And he was always telling me that I didn’t have a shred of sense when it came to picking girls.

I got it, and just thought he was being old-fashioned.

But now?

Now I know he was trying to tell me to wait. To wait for
her
.

“C’mere and kiss me,” I demand, but Mila pulls back and her look is all teasing, gorgeous flirt. I don’t know how I never noticed the fact that she could flash that kind of hot-as-hell sexiness mixed in with her general sweetness, but now I can’t tear my eyes away.

“I don’t want to give up on the romance of our futon make-out session later on,” she says, her voice husky.

I refresh her drink and watch her take a slow sip, shocked at how much envy I can muster for a glass. “Look, I bet I can slide out now that the worst of the crowd filtered through and
—
”

But the door bursts opens and a slew of people crush in, snowflakes flecking their hair, the girls’ hips already swaying and the guys’ fists pumping to old regular Lucy’s crowing rendition of Brenda Lee’s “Rocking Around the Christmas Tree.”

“Looks like we’ve got a live bunch. But I’ll take care of them quick and, no fear, I’ll have you on my futon soon.”

I point a finger at her and waggle my eyebrows, and she giggles into her ice, flushed with good drinks and bar warmth.

I go back to my station ready to show off for Mila a little. My dad gets up from talking to one of the regulars, but I wave him back. I’m happy to and more than capable of taking care of the crew, a few
of
them familiar faces from high school I don’t mind seeing on this trip back home.

“Landry!” A familiar voice breaks through the gaggle and Toni is standing in front of me, her mouth twisted in a knowing grin, her long blonde hair glistening with melting flecks of ice and snow. She leans in, and I know Mila’s eyes are on me, so I dodge her kiss with a friendly hug instead. Toni doesn’t even attempt to press for more. “You look good. Can I ask if there’s a reason?”

I look down the bar and she follows my gaze.

“Oh, Landry.” She draws a quick breath in. “You took my advice?” She slides a hand across the bar and grabs mine for a minute, her shiny, manicured nails contrasting with mine, which are bitten down to nubs. “Get me a wine, please, anything white. I’m going to talk to her.”

I pop the cork on a fresh Riesling and scowl at Toni.

“No funny shit, Toni. I know I was sucking your face the other day and all crying to be in your arms, but you were right as hell. I was ignoring what was staring me in the face. And I don’t plan on continuing to fuck up. So go easy. Please.”

She holds her delicate hand up to stop me from saying anything else.

“I’m completely happy for you. Honestly, I just want to talk to her a little bit. Just see if she’s as awesome as she looks. But I’m an excellent judge of character, and I get the feeling she’s amazing already.”

I pour her a bubbling glass and hand it to her with a twisted smile. “
You’re
an excellent judge of character? Really? ‘Cause you dated me, remember?”

“You were the singular exception to my good-judge-of-character rule.” She slides off the barstool and approaches Mila, walking gracefully on her four inch stilettos.

I’m all about focusing on Mila from now on, but it doesn’t stop me from appreciating that Toni is one hell of a sexy band geek.

I’ve never in my life wished I could hunker down and eavesdrop on some good ole girl talk, but right now I would kill to be able to overhear what they’re talking about.

Especially if it’s about me.

My heart is pumping like crazy. I believe that Toni has my best interests at heart and would never sabotage me on purpose, but she was always a loose talker when she g
ot a little in her, and she’s d
owning that glass at a fast and furious rate.

I’m planning to go stock some bottles closer to them, but Dad gives me an expectant look, I snap back into reality, and I realize with a start that I have a line of customers waiting.

I jump into the middle of the fray, and barely lift my head until another familiar voice jars my memory.

But this one isn’t appreciated like Toni’s.

“Hey man.”
Tyler
is in front of me, hands in the pockets of his fancy boy khakis.

If this was my bar, I’d beat him to the fucking door and kick his ass into the snow. Since it’s my dad’s bar, and he doesn’t put up with any spectacles ever, I bite my tongue and snap, “What can I get for you?”

“Whatever’s good on tap,” he says absently.

I’m annoyed as I tip the glass and let the amber liquid fill in in a smooth river.

I look down the bar at my father, who takes a minute to scowl in
Tyler
’s direction before he notices my twin look of disgust, nods, and goes back to his conversation.

Back when I was full of piss and vinegar and all packed to storm out of town, Dad tried to warn me that
Tyler
didn’t have the work ethic or passion it would take to run a successful bar. I should have known when the only goddamn thing he ever ordered was ‘whatever’s good on tap’ whenever we went to any bar anywhere.

Not that you have to be a professional drinker to run a bar, but you should have some interest in drinks.

Or knowledge about drinks.

Or business.

Or work.

Or not screwing your partner’s girlfriend while he’s learning to mix new drinks at your shared business, which he’s working hard to keep afloat.

I slosh the beer
Tyler
’s way and hope there’s someone else who wants or needs anything, but, of course, he hung out at the back of the line. I’m about to turn on my heel and go check on Toni and Mila, when
Tyler
says, “Landry, c’mon man, let me explain things for a second.”

I lean in closer to
Tyler
, and let the words slide through my clenched teeth.

“Explain things for a second? Like what,
Tyler
? Like how you decided to fuck my girlfriend behind my back while I was working my ass off to get things going on the bar that you and I were supposed to be opening? Remember that?”

I slap the dishrag on the counter with more force than I mean to, because I really don’t want to let
Tyler
know how much the whole thing fucked me up.

“I regret what I did every single day.”
Tyler
runs a hand over his blond hair, cut like he’s doing a
photo-shoot
for a Dockers’s commercial. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who to turn to. I’m back with my parents now. Heather and I broke up
—
”

“Wow. Yeah, you’re breaking my fucking heart here, man. Listen, maybe next time you should not be such a total asshole, and you wouldn’t be drowning in all this shit right now.”

I look for Mila, but she’s not down the bar, which means she’s part of the increasingly rowdy crowd.