Page 7 of Duke

A DROP OF sweat trickles down my back as I sway my hips to the beat and pour three shots of Bourbon.

My feet hurt.

My back aches for a pair of strong hands to massage its knotted muscles, and more than a few tendrils have escaped the confines of my ponytail.

But I don’t care.

As he chords from the bass guitar fills the air and Mike gets going on the drums the crowd gets wild.

I grin.

It’s another Friday night in the dive bar I inherited and even though I busted my ass all day—I feelfucking fantastic.

This place is mine and the people in it—family.

I might favor the cool elegance of my mother in looks, but the wildfire that runs through my veins is all from Pops, and in here—I let it take over.

“I need four shots of Tequila, two Heineken’s and two Sam Adams for table seven,” Kim says, slamming her tray down on the bar near the waitress station. She practically had to yell for me to hear.

I move from side to side inside the large rectangle bar that sits in the middle of the room. Stan’s Café had a reputation as being a biker bar for years, but ever since my pops got sick and let me run the place—things have changed.

I’ve worked hard to expand our clientele to include students from the local community college where I used to take classes before I got into Bradbury where I go now.

Bradbury is a small, expensive private college an hour south and close to the border of Oregon and California. I am damn proud of myself for getting in just in time for sophomore year. I had to take a few semesters off to take care of Pops after his surgery, so I’m graduating a year later than I should—next spring.

My degree will be paid for by my own sweat and determination. Most nights I work myself down to the bone after doing invoices and payroll all day. I love the business side of running a bar, but I like being out here in the action, with the people even more.

Pops, never wanted me to go to Bradbury because he thinks it’s full of snobby assholes.

He’s right.

But they are smart, snobby assholes.

I used the skills that I learned in my marketing and advertising class to create ads and run the copy in local mailers and online.

It was a success, and I pulled in the suits who work in the nearby business park for lunch specials and happy hour. I snort, remembering a conversation that I overheard one day about how they felt “cool” eating here. As if coming to my bar was like going on some kind of fucking field trip. One man was afraid to sit his ass down. As if it would somehow cheapen his suit if his body touched anything. But I pasted a smile on my face and crooned over them. I took their big, fat tips and put it straight into my savings.

Those rich pricks are paying for my Ivy League education, and the inflow of cash was enough to renovate this place.

I always had good grades, but never the money to afford much better than where I was at. That’s starting to change. Pops had a fit when he found out what I was doing. He hates change and liked his bar how it was. But it always has been my dream to take what Grandpop started to the next level.

I felt sorry for upsetting him, but there’s not much he could do about it, since all the years he spent smoking a pack a day has caught up with him. He only has one lung left, and the other one isn’t that great. Hooked up to an oxygen tank for life now, he can’t easily leave the house.

Emphysema is a bitch.

Now, the bar and restaurant are mine to basically do what I want with it. But I don’t have the heart to tell Pops I’d like to sell when I graduate. As much as I love this place—I don’t want to pour drinks for drunk men and serve them fried food for the rest of my life.

I have dreams that I’m determined to pursue.

“Shanna! We need four shots of tequila.” I hear a deep voice shout at me from across the bar. I look up quickly, immediately averting my eyes when I notice the ruggedly handsome man who’s sitting at the bar watching me with eyes full of danger.

He’s here again.

This is the tenth time I’ve seen him in the past two weeks. He hasn’t uttered one word to me—he doesn’t need to when his eyes do the talking.

There’s an element of danger about him that I find kinda hot. It’s weird that he just showed up out of the blue one rainy night and has been a regular ever since.

I couldn’t help myself. I was curious. So, I asked Meat to tell me his name, and now I savor the sound of it on my tongue when I’m alone in the dark.

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