Across the Pond

Sydney

I. Didn't Cha Know.

The low, sultry beat vibrating through my earphones perfectly matched the steady thrumming of the pulse in my veins. It was undoubtedly my favorite time of day: 1 a.m. when the bar just closed and the only thing standing in the way of a very sexy ménage a trois made up of me, a bubble bath and a chilled bottle of vodka was the side work checklist that needed to be completed every night. Monotonous, sure, but I almost always sent the other bartender home to do it myself. I could listen to whatever music I wanted and groove while stocking bottles and washing glasses, it was how I chose to unwind after a hectic shift.

I couldn't help rotating my hips in perfect time where I stood running the tip of my pen along the labels of liquor bottles displayed on lighted glass shelves. I took a lingering moment to check out my reflection in the mirror behind them and was satisfied to see I didn't look as sweaty as I felt. My hazel eyes were weary but bright, flecks of green nestled within dark amber that became prominent when I was in a good mood. I'd long stopped wearing anything more than lipstick to work so at least my face wasn't melting off. My skin - the color of burnt cinnamon and just as hot - had a slight sheen to it as a result of running my ass around a bar for eight hours. Still, it was my happy place and I was glad to be there.

The bar, Antonio's, wasn't owned by a guy named Antonio and hadn't ever been to my knowledge. In fact, it had recently sold to a currently nameless guy I'd probably meet soon. Whoever bought it made a great investment because we were packed every night of the week - especially now that it was the middle of May and classes at Yale ended, but in the nineteen months I'd worked there every shift held a steady-to-heavy stream of business. If I walked out with less than three hundred in my pocket I considered it a slow night. At least I could claim to be moderately successful since graduating from college with what my dad charmingly called a pre-law degree that's just a

two hundred-thousand-dollar piece of paper collecting dust on a shelf

. My dad's great.

At 24 I had no grand ambitions, no real goals as of yet. The only thing I wanted was to enjoy being young, black and rich. Well not

rich

, but not destitute either. In the two years since leaving Yale behind I'd been a tornado of indecision, funding my own vacations and parties and shopping sprees...though not lately. It was almost as if there was this voice in the back of my mind telling me it was time to calm down and I was going to have to start getting my shit together, so I considered it my last summer of being reckless. Luckily working at the bar left my days free to hang out at the lake near my duplex, go swimming and get day drunk or whatever. It was a good life to have.

Forcing myself to focus I got back to my list and swayed instinctively to Erykah Badu, Goddess Queen that she is. It had been a good night since I got to hang around my favorite co-worker and best friend, Colin. We sang and danced and flirted with the cute boys who would come in for pretentious lagers and overpriced bourbon. Every night we worked at least two or three guys offered to take one - or both - of us home. Some nights such as this one Colin obliged and I closed alone anyway. I never indulged but it didn't stop the boys from coming back the next night to try again.

Feeling like I was about to burst into flames I took off my collared short-sleeved black shirt and threw it on one of the stools across the counter, fanning my exposed skin in my tank top with the clipboard. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sudden movement at the end of the bar. I pulled one of the buds from my ear and called out in annoyance, "Can I help you?"

A tense throat cleared. "Gin martini, please."

The silkiness of an accent made my brain short circuit for a second. British maybe, or Australian. I decided I didn't give a shit either way. "We're closed, my dude. You'll have to get drunk at home like any other normal person on a Thursday night."

"Surely, you're able to make an exception for the new owner. I assumed the appeal of purchasing such an establishment was to be able to have a drink when I desired. Also, it is now technically Friday."

Definitely British

. I tossed the clipboard and pen onto the marbled countertop with a sigh, picking up a bottle of Watenshi Gin and the good vermouth between my fingers as I made my way down the bar. "Most drinks only cost ten, fifteen dollars. I'd say you grossly overpaid."

"You may be right," he replied, occupying one of the stools as I scooped up a shaker in my free hand. I set the clear glass on the granite in front of him and popped the rubber lid, eyeing pours into it before topping it off with a generous scoop of ice. I replaced the lid and gave it a good shake, but it wasn't until I grabbed one of the martini glasses that he spoke again. "And which bartender might you be?"

I strained the booze into the chilled glass and carefully set the shaker into the oversized sink when I was done. "Shouldn't you know that already?"

"I haven't met the entire staff yet, and since there are no photographs with the employee files I haven't the foggiest idea who you are."

"Fair enough," I nodded in amusement at the attitude in his voice. I wasn't able to see his face too clearly since the lights above us were still dimmed but what I could make out was that he was impeccably dressed in a starched white dress shirt and dark vest. Long fingers absentmindedly spun the latest iPhone on the space next to him. I gave him a mock salute. "Asydneya Rose James at your service."

"Ah yes, Asydneya. It would be difficult to forget such an unusual name."

"What can I say, my birth mom did a lot of drugs." I held up a jar of pearl onions and one full of green olives for him to choose, which he did by pointing to the olives with his last three fingers. I added them to his drink and slid the final product to him. "My parents kept it when they adopted me, something I've yet to forgive them for. Sydney for short. Hellbeast to my sisters and occasionally my mom when I'm really pissing her off."

He took a lingering sip and hummed a content note of approval. Something about the sound made my skin prickle. "Fascinating tale."

"That's me, the fascinating drink slinger. Your turn."

Another lengthy sip and he sat the glass down, twirling the stem carefully between his thumb and pointer finger. "Maxwell Charles Holland III."

I laughed and grabbed my checklist, if he was going to keep me late I figured I might as well get my side work finished. "Oh no, no. I just told you something very personal and embarrassing. You owe me, tit for tat -- my tits, your tat."

"Are you usually so inappropriate with your superiors?"

"Only until I find one who can shut me up. Hasn't happened yet; ask Tony, he'll tell you. Now spill it, Boss."

I thought I saw a fraction of a smile on his face until his phone vibrated loudly, when he turned it over to check the screen whatever I thought I saw slid away just as quickly. He stood abruptly, drained the rest of his drink in one swallow and reached into his vest pocket, placing a bill next to his empty drink. "Another time, perhaps. Thank you for the service Miss James, my apologies for keeping you."

He disappeared through the side kitchen doors and was gone just as fast as he appeared. I gathered the glass and put it in the sink as well, then pocketed the hundred he left as a tip. Shrugging at the speedy departure I plugged my music back in my ears, figuring I'd only have time for the vodka or the bath before I passed out and had a pretty solid idea which one would win out at the end.

***

II. Sparks

.

"Sorry Syd, Eli has a cold."

"Aww man!" I whined, taking a sip of my overpriced espresso during my walk three doors over from the coffee shop to work. "What a bummer, I really wanted to take him to that kite thing in the park tomorrow."

"I know, Shane was looking forward to having some time alone. By the time I get home to feed Eli and get him to bed I'm

exhausted

."

I listened to the rustling of papers in the background, Tess's work day ending just as I was rushing to begin mine. Between being groomed at her father's accounting firm, business school at Yale and a very energetic fifteen-month-old, these five-minute chats were all we had time for lately. Even with classes out for the summer she was still busy, much busier than I was. I missed her like crazy. "Aww. Big Red not getting any?"

"No, we're still having sex, but if I don't cuddle and talk about my feelings afterwards he gets so pouty about it."

I laughed at the thought of her giant husband having sensitive man feelings as I strolled in through the back of the kitchen to the employee break room. After setting my drink down on the bench and opening my locker I stashed my bag so I could start tying my apron. "Well let me know when you guys want a free weekend, I'll totally kidnap little man for a few days."

"That would be awesome, thanks." Tess fell silent while I tightened the black polyester strings around my waist. "Are you doing okay?"

"Tess..."

"I know, I know. You hit the two-year mark and didn't want us asking anymore, but I'm your best friend, I haven't seen you in weeks and I'm pushy. So, are you?"

I rolled my eyes at her overprotective prodding but I knew it came from a good place. I thought of the best way to answer while making my way to the floor. "Status quo babe, I'm fine."

"Okay." Another moment of silence. "Let's do a girl's day soon, okay? I miss you."

"You need to be missing your husband's dick, apparently." She giggled quietly as I made my way to the front of the house. The man responsible for keeping me late was standing by the back tables talking to some of the servers.

Damn

,

he's

tall

I thought in passing. That was saying something, at 5'10" I was taller than average anyway and he towered at least a head above everyone else. "I gotta go, the new owner is here so I should probably go kiss his ass."

"Kinky. I'll call you tomorrow."

I hung up and tucked my phone in my back pocket, ducking underneath of the bar and deciding since I'd already met him I'd get started on my opening duties instead. I pulled on a pair of latex gloves before grabbing a container of lemons from the fridge, closing the door with my hip. The sound must have alerted my manager, Tony, to my arrival because his chipper ass appeared across from me right as I started slicing the fruit. "Syd! You picked a great day to be on time for once."

I kept my focus on my task, not bothering to look up. "Odds are it had to happen sometime."

Tony chuckled good-naturedly and I couldn't help but grin. I gave him so much shit but he knew it was all in jest, he was one of my favorite people in the whole world. He hired a foul-mouthed slacker solely on the word of another foul-mouthed slacker whose only redeeming quality was the ability to make pretty much any cocktail from years of being in a sorority. He continued talking even though I was pretty much ignoring him. "Mr. Holland, I'd like to introduce you to Sydney James. Apart from the bad attitude she's the best bartender we have on staff."

The scent of sandalwood and vanilla wafted into my nose through the sharp citrus of the lemons. "I'm well aware, I had the pleasure of meeting her yesterday evening. Rather, this morning. Pleasure to see you again, Miss James."

"Boss." I blew the bangs out of my eyes and looked up. Every overhead light in the bar was on so I finally had a good look at Maxwell Charles Holland III. His dusky blond hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail like mine. A straight, almost Evangelical nose was perfectly placed above a pair of pink lips most women would kill for. Yet another three-piece suit minus the jacket -- slate grey with a white shirt. It was all very good.

Until I hit his eyes. Navy blue orbs that reminded me of the sea at night, or at the very least some potent ecstasy I'd taken several years ago. I'd never seen eyes so purely bright and sinfully dark at the same time. His blank facial expression never wavered as his head crooked to the side, his eyes still fixed on mine like he was trying to work out a complicated puzzle in his head. My pulse began to race and my tongue tingled against my teeth and all I could get out was "Oh, son of a

bitch

."

The corner of his mouth twitched discreetly even as Tony hissed at me. "Sydney,

language

."

"Shit. I mean, sorry," I apologized and set the knife on the cutting board, peeling off my gloves while avoiding Holland's eyes at all costs. "I need to...in the back...I gotta go get something." I made a beeline for the kitchen, ignoring the looks of confusion from the chefs and went straight into the walk-in freezer where I paced frantically once the door shut behind me.

Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

I hadn't experienced so much as a stirring in almost two years then suddenly

bam

, desire hit me so hard in that one moment I thought I might hurl. I pushed my fingers through one of the white wire shelves and tried to steady myself. It was when I was in the middle of one of those meditative breathing exercises my older sister Rachael was always squawking about the door creaked open. "Miss James, are you alright?"

No, I'm not alright. I want you to ram your dick in the back of my throat.

I turned to face the accent, Holland standing there with his foot holding the door open. He was also holding my espresso I forgot to pick up from the bench in front of the lockers. I straightened and fumbled over my words. "I'm fine, I'm hot. I mean, my body is hot. Temperature-wise."

What the fuck is wrong with me?

"I'm sorry, I need a minute."

He was still staring at me, probably because I was stammering like an idiot. "I thought...well, I brought..." He held out my cup tentatively. "Perhaps it's a lack of caffeine?"

The snort that burst from me surprised us both as I reached for it and my fingers brushed against his. I brought my cup against my chest like it would shield me somehow. "Probably too much at this point, but thank you."

Still with the staring, he nodded and began his retreat. "Right. Come when you're ready." With that he turned out of the fridge and I was alone again.

Come when you're ready. Oh, I'm going to as soon as I get home. Twice.

I physically and mentally shook it off, determined to fake it until I made it. I'd spend a long time getting my life back to normal and there was no way some hot-as-hell English dude was going to fuck it all up. With a renewed sense of bravado I left the chilly space and got to work.

***

III. Wicked.

I swiped the sweat on my forehead with the back of my arm before giving myself sixty more seconds of hits before calling it an afternoon.

1-2-1-2-3-1-1-3-3-2-3.

It was another minute where I was focused. Controlled.

My gloves pounding the 50-pound bag was a welcomed sound, much easier to deal with than the thoughts that had been invading my brain lately the last seven days.

3-3-1-3-3-2-3-3-3.

Nana in the hospital.

Dad on my back about law school.

Maxwell.

Mom trying to set me up with every dude on the planet.

Maxwell.

3-3-3-3-3-3-3...

I forced myself to stop. I pulled at the Velcro on my wrist with my teeth until I could slip my left hand out, undoing the other one and tossing both onto the floor to pick up later. While I ran a clean white towel over my face I silently thanked Shane for getting some exercise equipment for the basement in my duplex. There were days when I'd just returned from the inpatient psychiatric hospital where I couldn't bring myself to leave the building. Some days I didn't want to see anyone, some the thought of breathing fresh air physically hurt. And some days like today I didn't need anyone witnessing my workout that bordered on punishment.

Satisfied with the hard burn in my muscles I called it a morning, more than ready to have a soak in the tub and hopefully get something resembling rest. Sleep doesn't come easily to me. It doesn't take a genius to figure out it's because I was assaulted by my ex-boyfriend at night, so if I must be alone I stay up from sunset and sunrise, doing whatever I can get my hands on. Thousand-piece puzzles, anything that requires a glue gun. It's not quite as difficult to fall asleep during the day but I need to really wear myself out to do it. Two-hour workouts after an eight-hour shift usually did the trick.

Locking the soundproof door behind me I barely climbed up the one flight of stairs to my house, I was already cancelling the bath in my head in favor for passing out on my couch when the ajar door to the condo next to mine caught my attention. The place hadn't had an occupant in over a year and Shane said he was thinking about using the place as an Airbnb, so I figured he was there giving it a once over. I stepped inside past the kitchen to the living space that was identical to mine, but I didn't see him. "Yo, my dude! Where are you?"

I heard footsteps coming down the hallway and I turned to greet him. But it wasn't Shane. "...Miss James?"

It wasn't so much that I was surprised it was Holland instead of my friend; it was more so because the guy standing in front of me with a puzzled look on his face wasn't the same guy I'd seen around the bar the last week since he showed up. His hair was down from its usual ponytail, silky golden strands ending right past his shoulders. The long hair looked great on him but not as great as his white polo shirt and dark fitted jeans. He was even wearing grey sneakers that were very well worn.

The casual appearance was even sexier than the suits...but the thing that shocked me the most was the full sleeve tattoo he had on his left arm.

It wasn't a specific picture. It looked like an elaborate tribal, but instead of the traditional black ink there were swirls of bright blues and deep purples, striking yellows against vibrant pinks. I wasn't even into guys with tats like that but the fact he hid it so well kind of made me wonder what else he was hiding. I knew I must have looked like a moron with my slacked jaw and wide eyes, but I was too stunned to care. "Holy

tattoo

, Bossman."

"Hmm?" He glanced down at his arm and had a little shake of his head. "Oh, that. I've had it for so long I tend to forget...what are you doing here?"

I still couldn't form a coherent thought, so I just pointed to the shared wall between our homes. Holland blinked slowly -- one eye followed by the other, like they were doing the wave -- before flipping through the moderate stack of stapled papers in his hand. I realized it was a contract when he got towards the end, where I could see my name in bold, capitalized letters under a section labeled TENANT. He barked out a loud laugh but there was no amusement in his voice when he mumbled, "McKenzie, you meddlesome wanker."

What?

"What?"

"It's, I..." He trailed off and began rolling up the papers into a tight cylinder. "I should have known something was amiss when he gifted me the building, he rarely does anything solely out of the goodness of his heart."

...whaaaat?

"Whaaaaat?"

"My brother. I mentioned...so then he bought the building from a...Mr. Thomas. I wasn't aware there was a tenant occupying the other half, I only received the deed an hour ago and haven't had a chance to read the contract thoroughly. I apologize."

"Oh. Okay." I rubbed my slick arm, becoming painfully aware of how sweaty I was - and it wasn't just from my workout. "Are you going to start charging me rent? Because you'll either have to give me a raise or I need to find a cheaper place to live."