Love on the Rocks (Bar Tenders) (15 page)

Justin reached for Yena’s hand, locking their fingers together. Yena leaned forward, tilted his face, and Justin swooped in, pressing their lips together. His other hand rose to circle Yena’s waist, pulling them together as they kissed. It started out softly, a wet brush of lips and a meeting of tongues, and grew in urgency. Lust swirled through Justin, and he longed to do more.

Yena pulled away, and reluctantly, Justin let him. Yena drew in a deep breath. “Sorry, I….” He took a step back, lips twitching in a smile. “If you keep kissing me like that, I’ll be walking with a stiff one all night.”

Justin chuckled. “Mmm, know the feeling.” It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest they nip into a quiet doorway together, but the request didn’t materialize. He didn’t want quick fumbles on the street; he wanted Yena at home with him, back in his bed. “I’ll, um, speak to you soon,” he managed to choke out. Damn, he was horny.

“Yeah.” Yena smiled at him, edging away now. “See you, Justin.”

One more smile, and Justin turned to hurry off. If he didn’t leave now, he never would.

Dammit
.

T
HE
NEXT
day seemed brighter, even though the weather wasn’t as sunny. Justin felt more hopeful after seeing Yena last night, and that kiss. He felt dreamy just thinking about it.

When he was halfway through his shift, Justin’s phone vibrated under the bar, telling him he had a message.

“Justin, was that your phone?” Simon asked. Justin was already hurrying to the end of the bar, where they kept their phones and chargers.

“Yep!” He checked his phone, heart skipping when he saw the message was from Yena. Was it even possible to feel this giddy? He opened the message.

Hey. It was good to see you last night. On my way to Croydon now. I’ll catch up with you soon. Xx
.

Hope burned even brighter in Justin. He texted back immediately, not wanting to wait around. It was a quiet shift, but you never knew when a whole load of punters would waltz in. Justin didn’t want to take any chances of not being able to text Yena back.

Standing farther along the bar, in the corner between the sink and the lager pumps, Simon smirked at him. “Better not let Sam see you texting too much. He’ll be in soon.”

“Mmf.” Justin relented, and after his message had sent, he hid his phone away again. “What else can I do? There’s no one to serve.”

As soon as he’d grumbled about it, Justin realized he should’ve kept quiet. Simon produced a small pot containing soapy water and a cloth. “Go round and mop the whole bar. It’s looking pretty sticky.”

“Yes, dear.” Justin took the pot and trudged around the bar. He made a mental note not to whinge in the future.

“Sam and Tara will be in at five,” Simon said, picking up a plastic jug. “I’ll be in the cold room, changing the stout line.”

“Okay.” Justin sponged the bar top clean. “I’ll hold the fort.”

He soaped down the bar as Simon disappeared through the office door. Justin kept an ear out for his phone vibrating, just in case. He hoped Yena was all right. His dad, too.

Please let everything be all right
. Justin sponged harder.
Please let him want to see me soon
.

He worked his way around the bar. A ballad by Guns n’ Roses played quietly through the speakers. The daytime hours were relatively chilled out. There was only one patron sitting at the bar: a middle-aged man with a beard, reading a book and nursing his pint of ale. In fact, he sat directly in front of the ale pumps.

The only other customers were a group of students, occupying one of the booths on the far side. Justin reached the end of the bar and left the pot of water and the cloth there, near the stacks of clean glasses that needed putting away. Through the hole in the wall that was a window to the kitchens, Justin took a deep breath; the spicy meat scent of burgers and fries made his stomach wake up. He couldn’t fall into the trap of eating greasy food all the time, though. There was a perfectly healthy chicken Caesar wrap in his bag.

Ugh. Boring
.

As he walked past the door, he slowed down, spotting Tara. She was wearing her shiny black leggings, flat boots, and a red
Pineapple
t-shirt, so Justin guessed she had come straight from dance class.

“Hey!” He bounded up to her. “I have good news!”

“Oh?” She smiled. “Did you see your man?”

“Yes!” Justin couldn’t help himself; he felt elated thinking about it. “I went to see him in his bar, and he seemed pleased to see me.”

“That’s good.” Tara linked her arm through his, and they walked around the bar together. “He’d be a fool to turn you down, Justin.”

“Hah.” Justin’s stomach flipped. “You’re sweet. He’s not a fool, just… I can’t help worrying about it, y’know?”

“Ah, the trials of dating.” She nodded sagely, placing her bag behind the bar. “I’ve got a date tomorrow, actually. I don’t know what to wear.”

“Ooh, who is it?”

“Some guy with a beard who comes in here often.”

“Beard?” Justin screwed his face up. “Oh, no.”

Tara laughed. “I like beards! They feel all sexy on my face when you kiss.”

“Feel like pubes, more like,” Justin said, which earned him a swat on the arm.

“No, they don’t!”

“Bloody do,” he insisted. “You can’t even see their faces with the massive beards around these days. Half of it’s hair.”

“Better hair than
bald
,” Tara said.

“Hm, true. I do like hair.” Justin’s eyes glazed over as he thought of Yena again, and his dark curly hair. “I like hair a
lot
.”

At that moment, Simon returned. He had a beard, so Justin quit the beard bashing. Simon started telling Tara about the beer lines anyway, and Justin zoned out. He couldn’t change a barrel; no one trusted him to do that yet.

“The
Hells
line on the left side is being temperamental,” Simon explained, as Justin checked his phone.

Tara seemed annoyed. “Those bloody barrels. I was hefting them around on my own yesterday, and Sam said it sounded like I was making
sex
noises.”

“Sex noises?” Justin looked up.

“Yeah, you know. Grunting and stuff.” Tara rolled her eyes. “He didn’t offer to help me or anything.”

“Hah. Such a gent,” Simon agreed.

“When’s Sam coming in again?” Justin asked.

“Soon,” Tara said. “Let’s go sort out those lines. Justin, stay on bar.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Justin chilled at the end of the bar as Tara and Simon disappeared into the back room. He checked his phone, opened and munched his way through a packet of crisps, then checked his phone again.

Nothing new yet.

When a motorbike pulled up outside the bar, engine chugging away, Justin knew that Sam had arrived. He poked his head into the back room and called, “Sam’s here!”

He thought he heard Tara swear. “Well, we’ll have to tell him one barrel of lager is useless. Someone must’ve knocked it over.”

Justin went back to the bar. Storeroom issues were nothing to do with him, and he didn’t know how to help. When Sam had parked his motorbike, he strode into the bar, still wearing his leathers and a helmet.

“Hi, Sam,” Justin said.

Sam nodded, possibly grunted a hello, but it was hard to tell. He disappeared into the back room, where the office also was, and Justin went back to his phone.

They were in there some time. Justin knew there weren’t any customers at the moment. None that needed serving, anyway.

Tara and Simon emerged, congregating in the usual “chit chat” area. Tara noticed Justin’s crisps. “Aw, I want crisps now. Put them away, Justin.”

Before he could respond, Sam appeared. He took one look at the phone in Justin’s hand and barked, “Justin, stop checking your phone, or I’ll send you into the stock cupboard.”

Contrite, Justin slipped his phone away. He couldn’t help but ask, “Send me there to do what?”

“Nothing,” Sam said. “I’ll just send you there.” He grinned smugly.

Justin believed him, so he didn’t argue.

“Now,” Sam said, addressing them all, “since no one replied to my e-mail, I’m reminding you now. Whether you’re scheduled to work or not, I need you here Wednesday at one p.m. We’re doing cocktail training, and it should last a couple of hours. If you already know how to make cocktails, it’ll still be good to refresh your memory.”

“I hope we get to drink them,” Tara teased.

Sam shrugged. “Yeah. Just don’t get drunk. The guy they’re sending us is a cocktail expert, and Pete, the area

Chapter Thirteen

T
HE
DAY
of cocktail training had arrived. Justin wasn’t too nervous, but he hoped he wouldn’t get picked on either. The bar wasn’t opening to the public until midafternoon today, to give them a chance to have their lesson without being interrupted.

Justin had arrived with Tara, and they found Simon already sitting at the bar. They pulled up stools and sat with him.

“Always feels odd sitting this side of the bar,” Tara said, as she crossed her legs and arranged her pleated dress.

The lights were all on, and daylight streamed through the windows. It was the brightest the bar ever got, before evenings. Sam pottered behind the bar, setting things up in a slow but orderly fashion. “Anyone want a soft drink?” he asked.

“Cranberry juice and water, please,” Tara said.

Sam nodded and asked, “Justin?”

Waving a hand, Justin shook his head. “I’m good, ta. Aren’t we gonna be drinking these cocktails soon?”

Simon chuckled, and Sam smiled knowingly. “Yes, but only if you make them properly, Justin. Otherwise they’re going down the sink.”

“Surely I get a few practice runs?” Justin teased.

“No,” Sam said flatly. He mixed a glass of cranberry for Tara and placed it on the bar.

Simon was already sipping from a half glass of beer, so Sam went back to setting up the liquor bottles.

George, the assistant manager, came out of the office, studying a piece of paper in his hand. He flicked his long black dreads over his shoulder, then approached Sam. “This dry stock order,” he began. “I thought you’d ordered the toilet rolls?”

Sam was frowning already. “No,” he barked, “I told you to order it.”

“Oh-kay,” George said slowly, a smirk appearing on his face. “Well, I haven’t. So we have no toilet rolls for tonight.”

Quickly, Simon offered, “Want me to nip out and get some?”

Sam gave a dramatic sigh. “No, I’ll go. I want to get some lunch anyway.” He vacated the bar, pushing past George and stomping off to the office.

Tara smiled at George. “He should have a cup of coffee too, while he’s at it,” she said quietly.

George discarded the order sheet and came around the bar to chat with them. “Don’t worry, he’s just tired because their new puppy keeps waking them up during the night.”

Justin snorted. “Yeah, but those pictures his wife puts online are all of Sam and the puppy sleeping. Like,
every
picture.”

They shared a chuckle, clearing their throats and smirking quietly when Sam stomped past. “Back in five,” he muttered. “I’ll get some limes while I’m there.”

When he’d gone, George addressed the others. “So, who’s ready for cocktail training?”

“Not me.” Justin laughed.

Tara nudged him. “You’ll be fine. You’ve even been practicing.”

Both George and Simon looked surprised. “Justin? Practicing?” George exclaimed. “What magical incentive was there to make this happen?”

Before Justin could quip back, Tara answered for him. “He’s been getting
private
lessons from a cocktail waiter.”

Justin rolled his eyes. Now he’d never hear the end of it.

George chuckled knowingly. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?”

“No,” Justin said. “Actually, I really did practice cocktail making.”

“Sure you did.”

Simon smiled, too, and glanced at George. “See if you’re any better than George at making a margarita without injuring yourself.”

George laughed, as Tara asked, “What’s this?”

Shaking his head, George explained, “This
stunning
woman was in the other night, and she wanted a margarita. But we were out of lime juice, so I thought, fuck it, she wants a margarita, I’ll make her one. So I used the fresh limes, but the first one I picked up and squeezed went
right
in my eye.”

“Oh no!” Tara said, while Justin guffawed. “What did you do?”

George shrugged. “I carried on making it, but I was squinting like a pirate or something, and she didn’t even comment on it. Like, I’ve just blinded myself trying to make you a drink, love, the
least
she could’ve done is ask if I was all right.”

“He didn’t get her phone number,” Simon summarized.

“No,” George said. “I just got a red eye instead.”

“Aw, poor George,” Justin trilled.

The door to the bar opened, and a figure clomped through the entrance in heavy cowboy boots. At first glance, one could’ve mistaken the long hair, skin-tight jeans, and red leather jacket for a woman, but it was Tracy, their heavy metal-loving supervisor.

“A’right,” Tracy called out in his cheerful Northern baritone. “Everyone up bright and early.”

One o’clock in the afternoon was considered early for most bartenders.

“Hey, Trace,” Tara greeted, as Tracy approached. “You’re all dolled up today?”

Tracy’s hair was back-combed, and he’d smudged eyeliner around his eyes. “Yep,” he said with a grin. “Goin’ to see a band later. Tara, you should come with me. I need a pair of tits to get me backstage.”

Tara threw back her head and laughed. George and Simon looked dubious.

“What’re you going to do backstage?” Simon asked. “Are there any women in the band?”

“No, all male,” Tracy said. “I want to meet the guitarist.”

“What for?”

George nodded, like he understood. “To fan him about his guitar technique?”

“Pretty much,” Tracy said. He nudged Tara. “Go on, come with me. I’ve asked Nina and Lauren as well. I wanna walk in with a girl on each arm.”