Page 55 of Bourbon and Lies

She holds out her hand and wraps it around my forearm. “I think I love you too, babes. Oh”—she throws her arms up—“that reminds me. How would you feel about helping me out at Midnight Proof?”

Chapter 24

Laney

I’m a decent bartender,but it’s been a while since I worked in a busy bar. The end of tour tastings at the distillery sometimes get rowdy, but it isn’t anything like tonight. Midnight Proof is as packed as a new club’s opening night in New York City. They’re at capacity, between the private event happening on the second level, which took the attention of two out of the four cocktail waitresses. And the main level, which has every seat filled. Not to mention, the standing-room-only bar. It’s chaos.

Hadley floats between helping me behind the bar and her waitresses on the main level. The outfit she plucked for me was mild in comparison to some of what the other waitstaff wore. Bustiers and fishnets, satin scoop-neck tanks that needed tape to stay in place, and skirts pinned high and fitted tight.

I didn’t have a chance to look at the time, let alone at the people who came to sit at the bar. There have been plenty of open tabs and cocktail orders to fill for me to pay attention to who had tables on the main floor.

“Hey,” a voice says a bit louder from the other end of the bar.

I glance over to make sure it isn’t something serious. I had dealt with plenty of impatient people before. Usually, a smile and the fact that I was helping someone else would tone them down long enough until it was their turn.

“I said, hey!”

I finish straining the strawberry basil gin blossom I was making and slide it across the bar, grabbing their card. “Do you want me to keep it open or close it?”

The woman waves me off and tells me to keep it open. I look down at the bar and just about everyone is drinking something. I don’t think there’s anyone waiting now except Mr. Impatient.

“I know you heard me, girlie,” he says as I walk closer, recognizing that I’ve met him before. Outside that night with Hadley.

“Waz, right?” I smile, trying to ignore the way I’d rather tell him to go away. “What can I get for you?”

“You already made me a drink, but I asked for a Manhattan, and you made me an old fashioned.” He tsks. “I’d like what I asked for, Laney from Colorado.” It’s not a secret and people more than talked in Fiasco, but I don’t like him in particular knowing any details about me. He has the ick-factor. “I didn’t realize Hadley was hiring justanybodyto work here now. Thought you’d need to have some experience bartending to pour twenty-dollar cocktails.”

With a smile, I look down at the glass. It’s in a coupe glass with the pierced brandied cherry. I wouldn’t have strained an old fashioned or put it in that glass, but I have a feeling he couldn’t tell me the difference between the two drinks if I had the ingredients separated and laying in front of him.

“I’m so sorry about that. Let me make you what you asked for.” I notice a few couples watching the exchange and another few people as I turn around, taking a peek at what is going on.

The jazz band starts a new set on the main floor with a heavy beat of percussion. It’s loud enough that the chatter around the room dies off and pays attention to the new set.

The asshole takes a big sip of his “wrong drink” and pushes it across the bar right in front of where I set up the mixing glass with ice. He crooks his finger at me, motioning me to lean closer.

Jesus, I really don’t like this guy.

“Want to play later, girlie?”

I can’t even keep it together to quip back. I laugh at the question.Girlie?He can’t be serious. I try to keep my decline as high-level as possible. “I think I’m good. You have a tab open, Waz?”

I reach for both the sweet and dry bottles of vermouth and a bottle of rye bourbon. When I move back to make the drink, a movement to my left catches my eye. The large frame in a black t-shirt could be anyone, but it’s become a habit of mine to look for the way Grant stands so confidently. If I had looked long enough, my guess is that his hands are slung into the pockets of his jeans as his eyes lock on me, watching what I’m doing and who I’m talking to. I feel his attention on me, and with it, I feel bold.

So when Waz leans over the bar just slightly and starts talking, it’s a foregone conclusion that I’m done being polite.

With eyes from the few patrons around who heard the initial exchange watching, I decide I might as well show off a bit. I slip the cap off the new bottle of bourbon and pop in a new pourer. Giving it a turn at its neck, I flip it over the mixing glass for an exact pour of two parts. That gains me a few more eyes from the folks sitting around the bartop closest to me. One would think that would have this asshole ease up a bit, but instead, he doubles down.

“Does it make your panties wet, honey, to show off that like that?” He drags his tongue along his teeth, and then says, “I hearyou’re sliding that sweet ass around to anyone who’ll pay you attention.”

Alright, let's play, you sleazeball.

I take a quick glance to see if I’m the only one who heard that. A few people have stopped their conversations, watching this little show, and I can spot a certain Foxx getting a bit closer out of the corner of my eye. That confirms it was heard.

Putting the bourbon down, I grab the sweet vermouth in one hand, giving it a nice flip for a splash. With my other hand, I select a highball and fill it with some ice. I had a fairly unhealthy obsession with watching the movieCocktailwith Tom Cruise when I was in college. As much as I swooned over the love story, I was just as intrigued with earning great money at bartending. It was easy to mimic, the flare of tossing bottles, but it took a bit longer to figure out how to make a great drink.

I toss the dry vermouth up higher with enough space for a two-turn flip and a single shake. The soda water gun fills the water highball as I take the stirring spoon to mix the Manhattan properly.

I pause before I pour the Manhattan in the coupe glass. “Nothing sweet about me, Waz, so don’t fucking call me ‘honey.’”That’s reserved for someone else.I hold the strainer and my arm up to pour high into the glass. He’s stopped paying attention to my other hand. Bad call. A stream of soda water spouts out and soaks the front of his dress pants. Bullseye. Before he even reacts, I smile big and wide. “How do you feel aboutmemakingyourpanties wet?”

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