Page 3 of Gone for You

I swallow hard, lookEthanin the eye and give him a little wave. I think I liked the name Hotstuff for him better. “Hey.” I want to cry. In the whopping five minutes that I was in Ethan’s presence, I felt something. And Ineverfeel anything. I’m notoriously picky when it comes to guys and tend to keep people at arm’s length. I’ve only had one relationship in my life and that was in the eighth grade. Which, of course, wasn’t really anything more than holding hands and stealing a peck on the lips at the middle school dance.

“Hey.” A single nod, clenched jaw, and determined look tells me everything I need to know. I’ve just been sister-zoned. Dammit.

Chapter 1

Ethan - Ten years later

It’sgonna be a long fucking night. I can feel it in my bones. My bar is packed, everyone waiting for drinks three deep with every table full. Our town is celebrating the recent conference tournament win for the Warriors basketball team. To top off the evening, there’s a huge birthday party taking place. I’m not complaining, though. While a crowded night for us means I’ll be spending more time restocking the bar tomorrow than usual after they deplete our stash, it’s also excellent for the bottom line.

This is all happening in the bar I own, work tirelessly to keep in the black, my employees happy, and the place fun while always maintaining its safety.

If they weren’t spending money like the drunks they are, I’d be a little more pissed about how unruly they’re being. But, considering they’re dropping cash in front of us faster than a stripper on a pole drops it like it’s hot, I’m smiling my mega-watt smile and swapping drinks as fast as they can order ‘em.

I’ve worked in this bar since I was in college. Started out as a bouncer of sorts then transitioned as a bar back, learning the basics of filling the perfect draft beer and how to pour a strong drink without over serving. It’s also where I learned the flirting game for bigger tips but not pissing off the protective boyfriend. Eventually I began bartending and realized money behind the bar was far better than the hourly wage dealing with the drunks. The tips alone covered my personal bills and helped pay my way through college to earn my degree in business. Even after I graduated, I stayed working here on the weekends for extra cash.

A few years ago, I was working in an office, stuck behind a desk all day, and hated every minute of it. When the previous owner called me up out of the blue to let me know he was planning to sell the place and asked if I was interested, I took it as the sign I’d unknowingly been waiting for.

The Flying Goat is my baby. After signing on the dotted line, I shut the bar down for two months and completely gutted the interior. It was almost strictly a college bar, but I wanted to create an environment that welcomed everyone, not just students but couples looking for a date night or ladies enjoying a girls’ night out. I expanded our menu, hired a new chef, brought in a pool table, ripped out the old chipped and cracked linoleum flooring that was covered in substances I still don’t want to think about and replaced it with a dark wood, had a stage built so that we could have live, local bands, opened up a back patio that we use in the warmer months, and changed the name from The Northend Bar and Grill to The Flying Goat.

I line up another row of shot glasses and fill them with some middle-shelf tequila before setting them on the tray, placing a bowl of limes in the middle along with a salt shaker. Completely unoriginal.

Two days ago, we received a call letting us know about a large group that would be coming to party together for someone’s thirtieth birthday. The women are squealing and the guys are getting rowdy, everyone’s having a great time. I’m glad we have the far corner of The Goat that’s raised slightly for groups just like this. There’s only five stairs to get into the area, but it gives the effect of being set apart from the rest of the bar which makes parties feel more exclusive. Especially because we rope off the area with reserved signs.

Penny, one of the servers who’s been working the party, carries the tray over to the table and everyone cheers, toasting before tipping back their shots. I roll my eyes and grin at my friend Rex, the other bartender I have working with me tonight.

I usually only bartend when there’s a big party or we’re just incredibly busy, which tonight we are. Having two male bartenders is only part of our strategy. I’ve learned that having women behind the bar for men to flirt with causes problems when we’re busier than normal. Having men creates just enough competition for the men that they order more drinks, dropping more tips to show their worth.

It’s ridiculous but a game I’ve learned how to play well.

Rex leans in close. “They’re gonna be hurting tomorrow,” he murmurs into my ear just loud enough for me to hear but no one else, looking at the crowd out of the corner of his eye while he fills a glass from the tap. I glance over at the group and suppress a laugh.

“Yup.”

He greets a new customer, spreading his palms wide on the bar top and leaning over just enough to get in her space. She preens under his attention. “What can I getcha, sweetheart?”

I chuckle and shift my focus to the line of customers that are waiting, not caring enough to listen. Women fawn over Rex like the tattooed bartender badass he is. Rex and I met in college and while this bar is my life, it’s just a side gig for him. Computer nerd by day, the minute he walks through these doors, charming the pants off the ladies without even having to try. The women love his dark rimmed glasses, black button-down vest covering up the gray shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, showing off his tattoos. He calls it his “signature look.” He’s the perfect contradiction of nerdy bad boy and the women can’t get enough. Rex plays up the stereotype, keeping his dark beard trimmed and maintained neatly. I’ve seen more women reach out, wanting to touch any part of him as if they can’t help themselves.

He plays his role well – even though, for him, it’s not just for show. He’s the most authentic person I know. Unapologetically the king of one night stands. He’ll forever be single and happy that way. Not that I’m much better. Neither of us are best friends with commitment. For me, it’s more that I haven’t found a woman I’m interested enough in to pursue something long term. For Rex, though, he can’t stand the idea of only being with one woman for the rest of his life. I can’t wait for the day he meets someone who proves him wrong and brings him to his knees.

A group of three ladies come sidling up to the bar, every one of them showing extreme cleavage. I’ve been here long enough, it’s easy to recognize the single ladies on the prowl – and these three are owning the top criteria: barely there clothing and over-the-top makeup. Judgmental? Maybe. But when one rests her elbows on the corner of the bar, pressing in so her tits about pop out of her top, I know I’m right. In fact, I’m not entirely sure she’d shove one back in if it did happen to fall out. The way she’s leering, it looks like I’m her target. If she thinks she’s remotely original, she’s wrong. If their attire doesn’t give away their intentions, their drink order definitely will. When it sounds like they googled ‘shots with sexual innuendos’ before they walked in the door, I know what kind ofgood timethey’re looking for.

“We’re looking for a flaming orgy,” she says, voice high-pitched and baby-like. In other words: incredibly annoying. “Think you can help us out with that?” And my record stands. They’re definitely on the prowl.

Her friends all snicker and she runs a fingertip over my forearm, thinking she’s being cute and sexy. She’s not. I do my best not to jerk away from her, knowing this is part of the gig. Her touch makes my skin crawl, though.

“Comin’ right up, sweetheart,” I drawl, holding eye contact. To Rex and me, they’reallsweetheart. Sometimes we shake it up with a darlin’. It’s the most annoying part of bartending – half the women thinking we’re only here for their quick lay. A box to check off their list. She licks her red stained lips and I spin around to grab the various liquor bottles. I notice Rex press his lips together, trying not to laugh at my expense.

He knows I hate the unwanted touching and assumption that just because I sling drinks for a living, I’m nothing more than a guy drinking all night long and looking for a one night hook up. I don’t know where the stereotype came from, but it’s annoying.

Shots poured, I slide the glasses her way. When she notices I don’t pour an extra, she pouts, doing her best to sound and look innocent, turning her head to the side. “You’re not going to join us?” I want to remind her that I’m working so why would I be drinking alcohol but I know it would fall on deaf ears. She doesn’t care about me. She cares about the fact that I’m a good looking guy – no cockiness there, just a simple fact – and she’s horny.

“Not tonight, sweetheart.”

Her bottom lip pokes out then she pays, fingers deliberately trailing across my palm as she slips the cash into my hand. “Keep the change,” she purrs.Wasted effort, sweetheart.I keep up the act as best I can, letting her touch linger a hell of a lot longer than I’d like and wink while giving her my most charming smile. Thinking she won, she smiles widely and turns to hand out the shots to her friends.

With them distracted, I take advantage and move down to help the next customers. Unsurprisingly, it takes no time for a group of guys to step in and indulge in the attention the type twos are seeking.

I’m looking down as I wipe my hands on a towel and say, “What can I get ya?”

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