Page 3 of Spark
Mateo
Walkingawayfromthesexy guy holding the tequila bottle was the hardest thing I’ve done in months. But duty called, in the form of a punch laid square across the face of one of our regulars.
Grip firm around the bicep of the guy who thought throwing hands would be a great way to impress his date, I stride through the heated club. The scent of liquor and sweat wraps around me even as the sea of people scatter out of our path. Music pumping from the club’s speakers provides a background beat to the expletives pouring from the guy’s mouth.
Even with all of that, my neck pricks with an awareness. I can’t turn around to see if sexy Finlay with the amazing hazel eyes is still watching me, not while I have a job to do. The sooner I get rid of this nuisance, the sooner I can get back, and hopefully resume our conversation.
My shoulders and back ache from hours spent carrying cabinets and laying flooring. Keeping hold of a college kid who is wriggling like a puppy desperate to chase a squirrel isn’t helping the strain in my muscles. Thankfully, my co-worker Jalen has hold of the guy’s other arm. An amateur hockey player and youth coach and one of the biggest, strongest bouncers we have, Jalen orders people out of our way with a booming voice that snaps everyone to attention. We share a look over the guy’s head as we near the club’s double doors. This is the first person we’ve had to toss out tonight, but will likely not be the last.
The guy squirms and jabs a sharp elbow into my side, just under my ribcage. The tender spot, made more so from the bruise I’d earned hours ago at work from catching a wayward box of floor tiles there, raises my level of annoyance with the fighter even more. I tighten my hold and increase my pace. "Come on, man. Making a scene isn’t going to change our minds."
Jalen shoulders the door open and the sounds of conversations and passing cars greet us as we exit the building. A few steps onto the sidewalk, we release our hold of the jerk. He whirls around to face us, and his hands form fists. "It’s not fair…"
Arms crossed over my chest, I stare at him with a mix of disdain and indifference, an expression I’ve perfected in the year and a half I’ve had this job. A warm breeze glides over my skin and I breathe in a deep lungful of fresh air. "If you don’t want to get thrown out, then don’t fight."
"But… But…" Sputtering, he glances from me to Jalen and back again.
I take pleasure in the half-shrug I give him. "Those are the rules."
"Screw you, old man."
Under the bright lights illuminating the club’s sign, I get a better look at his face. He’s young. So much younger than me. At moments like this, I feel old. Ancient even. Working my way through college as a bouncer from the ages of twenty-one to twenty-four was one thing. Resuming that gig now, at thirty-seven years old—with a full-time job—is another.
His eyes flicker with defiance and he glances at my biceps and forearms and then at Jalen’s like he’s sizing us up. I raise my brow and don’t bother hiding a sigh. Usually, people aren’t stupid enough to try to fight us, but every once in a while, they are buzzed enough or brash enough to give it a go. And it looks like this kid is both.
The fact that I outweigh him by a good thirty pounds of muscle, and that Jalen has even more height and muscle than me, is apparently not enough of a deterrent. He takes a step toward us and raises one fist. In the corner of my vision, I spy Jalen readying himself. My muscles tense in response. No matter what this guy tries, we can’t punch him back or lay him out; management is really clear on that rule. Restrain, remove, and resolve are our only options.
He swings, and his body follows his fist, spinning him around in a full circle. Laughter echoes from the line of people waiting to get inside the club. Legs wobbling like a baby testing out its first steps, he falls to the ground.
"Damn it." In two strides, I’ve reached him. So has Jalen, and Francisco who was checking IDs at the front door.
Frustration swirls throughout my blood. This kid is taking up too much time. He’s still insulting us, feeling no pain from his half-sitting, half-lounging position on the sidewalk.
Behind me, several pairs of footsteps accompanied by male voices troop out of the club. For a moment, my pulse spikes. If the sexy Finlay is among those leaving, then I may need to weigh how badly I need this job with how badly I’ll want to throttle this drunken kid for costing me time with the first guy to catch my attention in months.
As the group passes me, I scan the men. Finlay is not among them.
Whew.
The drunken idiot’s date, blushing from her neck to her ears, rushes out of the club, followed by another woman. Clutching her phone, she offers us breathless apologies while she and her friend guide the jerk to standing, and then to a car with a gleaming rideshare sign that has come to a stop in the middle of the street. All three climb inside.
The tension in my body doesn’t ease until the car pulls away. When it turns the corner, I glance at Jalen and smile. "Nice teamwork."
He gives me a fist bump. "Glad he’s gone and that the alcohol laid him out before he hurt himself or anyone else."
"I think he’ll be hurting pretty good in the morning. Hangover city."
"You know it." He slaps Francisco on the shoulder as he returns to checking IDs at the door.
Back in the main room, the flashing lights and pounding base remind me that I still have four hours to go until closing.
Gina, one of our managers, flags me down. "Mateo, you’re on break."
"Thanks, boss." Before I can say anything else, she’s gone, talking into her headset and moving toward the bar area.
I should use this half hour to scarf down some food or catch a quick power nap. But as I turn toward the hallway that leads to the break room, I spy Finlay on the dance floor. He’s got moves. Patterns of light dance over his face, capturing his closed eyes and half smile, illuminating the slow roll of hips and the graceful way his arms glide through the air.
I’m impressed. Stunned, actually, that this man who has stayed in my thoughts since the second I spied him walking solo through the front doors, who looked so uncomfortable when we spoke earlier, seems so at ease in this moment.
