On The House 5

Chapter 1 -- A Tuesday Escape

The night offers a constant stream of vehicles along the still-busy street, a low hum of horns and engines booming across the busier roads not far from where I stand. Heels rapidly walk past me as I stare at the wooden door of the dive bar, its patterned window hinting at warm lights inside.

I bite my lips, uncertain. I know I should prioritize resting over drinking a weekday's night away in this seemingly aged bar that I only noticed now despite driving by here to and from my apartment--ah, yes... my capacious studio apartment that I previously shared with a guy whose name shall not grace even the tiniest vein in my mind.

Suddenly, I don't mind drinking until my liver burns on this random Tuesday.

A bell chimes against the door I decisively pushed past through, and immediately, a comfort embraces my body. I see lacquered ceilings lit perfectly by orange lanterns. Few patrons litter the round tables, while a small group of people surround and play pool at the back of the room. Laughter fills the room, and I beam, feeling lighter than ever these past few days.

I turn towards the almost empty stools, if not for the bald guy drinking alone at the counter's far end. I sit several chairs away from him.

Upon sitting, wide shoulders and an impeccable waist greet my eyes. His arms with a rolled-up plaid shirt expertly move across the shelf of liquor bottles. His movements flex his back against the fabric of his shirt, and I silently watch. This is definitely a bonus--I am alive and blessed.

I do need a drink, though -- more than I need a man.

Or do I?

I cough, secretly embarrassed by the thought. The bartender turns, and now I'm immediately more embarrassed. I notice his chestnut hair that perfectly curls on his forehead, and a thin stubble complementing his... fine features. The skin around his light eyes wrinkles as he smiles at me, hands busy cleaning a cocktail shaker. I inhale one deep breath through my parted mouth, trying to find words as I doubtlessly stare.

"Hello, Madam." Oh no. His voice is hot, too? I shift on my seat, and he continues to break the ice. "Can I get anything for you?"

Thank god he asked; I could just stare at him all day if he didn't. "Just a glass of whiskey, please," I managed to answer.

"And that's on the rocks?" he clarifies, to which I nodded and mumbled 'please.' A corner of his lips quirks up, tugging a string inside my brain. He turns to leave, but only after his eyes quietly trace my face. I gulp and try to appear unfazed.

I am so looking forward to that glass of whiskey.

Chapter 2 -- Unwanted Attention

However, before the bartender can even return, footsteps ring nearer to where I sit until I feel an uncomfortable presence beside me. My alarm goes off.

"Hello there, sweetcheeks," the bald guy who previously sat several chairs away from me greets, his nasal voice penetrating the air that I doubt anyone wants to share with him. I stiffen, looking at the bartender's back as if to send signals.

"Aww, don't be scared now. I'm just a chill guy," he says. I bite my cheeks as disgust enough to rouse my hair climbs up my spine. Fuck, I look harder at the bartender, although that certainly won't do anything.

He opens his mouth again, to which I will say amen to if he stopped, to spout trash. "You're too pretty to be deaf." I roll my eyes. "I see. Choosing not to answer me at all?"

"Fuck off," I hiss. My eyes burn through his in a controlled rage. I fight the urge to gouge out his eyes which look nauseatingly depraved. I almost vomited the words out, "There's your answer."

He raises both his hands, surprised and hopefully insulted by what I said. "Woah! A little feisty, huh? I like that," he whispers, humid air washing my eardrums as he draws nearer. He turns his head to the bartender. "Hey, bartender! Put the girl's drink on my tab!"

The bartender's back tenses, but he doesn't move. Worry grows in my chest as I continue to make pleas through my eyes. The bastard continues to mumble beside me, "Geez, everyone's deaf today. What a drag," he airs out a musky sigh before landing his appalling gaze back at me. "So, wanna hang out with me tonight, sweetcheeks?"

His hand flies over to my knee. My stomach churns. "You--!"

"I don't know if you're unable to sense body language or just plain stupid," the bartender starts, a glass in his hand. His eyes show restrained intensity; a quiet threat, tickling my abdomen in a strange way I shouldn't feel in this situation. "It's quite obvious that this nice lady doesn't want to concern herself with you."

He looks at me, rage softening into a concerned expression. "Here's your order, miss. On the house," he offers, voice still tight. The glass of whiskey thumps against the counter, and I mouth him thanks.

"Wow," the creep retorts with a snort I can only compare to that of a pig's. Where in the deepest trenches of hell does he draw these sounds? "I never knew bartenders could also read female minds. Mind your own business, prick."

Anger returns to the bartender's face as he draws his eyes back to the bastard and leans forward. "If you don't move away from the lady, I will be forced to call security on you and escort you out of the premises, banning you from entering this establishment--" he threatens, "--permanently."

The bar grows silent. I feel the heat of the patrons' gaze on us. The air around us must've been intense enough to capture their attention, which made the guy shift uneasily on the stool.

"Geez," the guy mumbles. "What an actual killjoy, man. This... snob woman is not worthy of my time anyway."

He rises from his seat and goes on to give me one last sneer, to which I replied with an equally scathing look. Who does he think he's sneering at?

"Whatever," he mutters before walking away. My stomach unknots and I manage to release the breath I held the whole time. The bell from the door chimes, guaranteeing his exit.

Chapter 3 -- Whiskey & Wounds

"Finally," I whisper to myself. The bartender sighs, and I turn to see him fixated on the door--probably making sure that the guy doesn't return.

"We never get enough of them," he mutters before turning to look at me, worry still visible on his features. "Are you okay, Miss?"

"I... I think so." I squeeze my arms in a protective manner. "Definitely better than earlier."

"I'm sorry you had to experience that. We just seem to never run out of creeps like them. Unfortunate how they don't know how to approach women properly."

I chuckle distressfully. "No women in their life willingly took the risk to teach them, I'd bet."

He seems to have sensed my discomfort and further creases his forehead. Something flutters inside me, again. His effect on women is probably insane, although I know I shouldn't generalize. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asks again. "You do seem out of it. You never really budge even when that asshole passed by."

"As long as he's gone and stays out of my way, I'll be fine." I smile at him reassuringly. "I think I already bothered you too much, actually."

"Oh no, it's okay!" he smiles back. "I should be minding my own business, really."

I quickly shake my head. "I don't mind it!" I may have stated that too cheerfully. He beams at me even more, amusement dancing in his eyes. Fuck. "I-I mean, your company is... well-appreciated."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I nod. My eyes roam around the patrons, I didn't notice there are fewer than earlier. "But you are this bar's only bartender, so..."

He presses his lips shut and stares. I accept the unspoken dare, unflinching. I have no clue where I got this courage from--maybe I do need a man tonight. My brain throbs at the thought, slightly disappointed in my resolve, or lack thereof.

Finally, he speaks. "You do need the company, you say? Well, since it is quite a slow day, I'd be happy to accompany you."

"Hmm." I survey the bar again, confirming that it is a slow day. "Alright. I'm down with that." My finger circles the rim of my glass. I decide to pick it up and finally take a sip, my eyes never leaving the man's. Bitter liquid stalks down my tongue and throat, and I almost wince from the much-welcomed discomfort. He looks down, watching the movement of my throat. I gulp one last time before putting the glass down.

Chapter 4 -- Bar-top Confessions

"I would assume you're not here to celebrate? You're here in need of..." He glances at my lips only for a second and I doubt my own eyes. "...comfort."

"Do you read minds?" I ask with a raised brow.

He chuckles. "No, I don't read female minds. I'm just observant, that's all. I've seen many kinds of people come and go here, you know?"

A curious wonder grows inside me. "Like what? Did you have any interesting interactions you can share with me?"

"Any interesting interactions, you ask? Hmmmm..." he takes a deep breath, eyes far and well in thought. "Well... I did have some memorable ones. There was a man who came here all roughened up." Amusement dances in his eyes, and I nod. "Weird thing is that he was wearing this expensive-looking suit... like he's from a wedding. Apparently, he's not only from a wedding... he's the groom. When he and his supposed wife were doing their vows, the bride confessed that she's actually in love with his sister and she's... well... into women. "

"No..." I gasp. "That's tragic! But like, good for her, though...?"

"Yep," he laughs with a nod. "I also had a visitor who was having issues with his relationship with his wife because apparently... he was falling for his mother-in-law."

"What the hell?" My face contorts into a mixture of confusion and disgust. "What in the problematic melodrama is this..."

"I know!" He laughs more heartily, his eyelids squinting and forming happy wrinkles. "I had my fair share of very fucked up stories here which makes the whole job rewarding... I get to know people more and how the world works. Different spectrums of life, you know? It's fascinating."

I take one whole swig from my glass. "Seems like you enjoy this a lot."

He takes my glass and fills it with another shot with ice and replies. "Well... It's not like I indulge in other people's misery. I mainly enjoy the diversity of the world. All those stories within a small bar like this... You know what I mean?"

I agree with a nod, pretending I'm not distracted by the passionate look on his face. "It's a good way to see the world in another person's eyes."

"Yup, exactly. Lots of perceptions to look at." He chuckles before slowly turning serious as curiosity graces his features. The warm glow of the lanterns hanging over us made his eyes softer, further inviting vulnerability. "How about you? What's your story?"

The bar seems to grow quieter as my mind reels in my bittersweet memories. A sigh escapes my lips. I think I'm gonna be one of his interesting stories to tell someday. "Well... my groom--ex-groom decided to break up with me a day before our marriage."

"Damn," he hisses, making me laugh. How is he able to make anything lighter? "Let me guess, cheating?"

I laugh even more. "So many of you have guessed that but... no," I answer with a gentle shake of my head. "He just didn't want it anymore."

He hums, eyes deep in thought. "So he just fell out of love, huh?" I drink, and he asks again, "Ever mentioned why?"

"Apparently, I was 'clipping his wings' and he felt like I was 'putting him up' in the life he never wanted," I groaned in disappointment. "Why did he even propose?"

"No offense, but at least they told you before you even tie the knot, you know? It could be harder and probably worse if you're freshly wed and then they tell you that."

"But he never told me anything before!" I gulp everything from the glass and slam it down the counter. "We could've come up with something if he did!"

"That's shitty," he says rather empathetically. "No excuse to just do that to you without even trying to talk things out." I feel the booze slowly hitting my head, so I just let myself get lost in his husky voice. I giggle. "How are you faring?" he asks.

"Me? Oh, who else, right?" We laugh, and though that's a stupid statement, I feel better and happier. "I've been numb these past few weeks, but now I'm... definitely feeling something."

"Do you, now?" He chuckles in that honey-like voice of his that is starting to feel like a caress. "But numb, huh? I can see that. Hard to process it especially if it's new."

"Yeah... wait, you seem to know not just a lot, but a lot lot." It's my turn to be curious. "I want to know more about you."

He grows amused, but he seems open to changing the subject. "Quite unfair if I start asking questions about yours without even telling mine, huh?"

He begins with a calm smile and a somewhat far-away look. I wonder if he's seeing something behind those turquoise eyes? "I used to love music growing up. I would sing at pubs, events, and even had some crazy gigs. That love vanished when my dad died when I was 21. I was singing in this pub, too, you know? It got pretty popular because of that." He rubs the back of his nape as my face softens into sympathy. He continues, his smile never leaving, "Also got divorced when I was 24... which was almost 10 years ago. Found out that my wife was cheating on me with her boss. She was already pregnant when I found out."

"Damn." It's my turn to hiss now. Now I'm ashamed of my sob story. He laughs at my look, easing my sympathy into a calmer feeling. "I can only imagine how you fared during that time."

"Yeah," he nods before giving me another glass of whiskey. "The denial stage was the most fucked up time for me since I was beating myself up too much and didn't process what truly happened. But it gets better. Especially if you come to realize that this thing that happened is actually good for you moving forward. You know, not spending too much effort and love towards someone is pointless."

This guy's age shows so much in his words, and his wisdom is strangely... sexy. My chin rests in the palm of my hand as I look up at him, marvelling at his masculine beauty. "Maybe this is your blessing--our blessing--in disguise," I wholeheartedly say, because my eyes are extremely blessed right now.

"In another perspective, yeah." He lets out a hand, offering a handshake to a newfound kin. "Congratulations! You escaped a possibly explosive and emotionally-wrecking relationship."

I reached out, accepting his offer. Sparks travel across my arm as my hand holds out to his, the texture of his hand rough against mine. How would this feel around my neck? I giggle, disguising my thoughts into giddy gratefulness. "Thanks! Congrats to you, too." He squeezes my hand before reluctantly letting go. I bite my lip, smiling. "You know, I'm loving this conversation."

"Really? I thought all my yapping was too much. Glad to know it cheered you up a bit somehow." He leans forward, and I stop myself from just crashing into him in a passionate kiss. "Now... tell me about yourself."

"I already did, didn't I?" I complain, shocking myself with the unusual sultriness of my voice. He shrugs, sheepish yet expecting. "Okay, okay... so... I got engaged at 22, just after I, or we, graduated. Two years after, we broke up--which you already know by now--and I've never felt so... lost." I sigh, fully taking in another glass, which he immediately refilled.

He hums in gentle support. "You still have a long way to go. Being in your early twenties and being such a beautiful lady gives you lots of opportunities to meet new people. Take this as a learning curve for your future relationships." He really sounds like a 34-year-old guy. But hotter.

I'm supposed to grieve, aren't I?

"He was just... a part of every plan and goal I have. I... I don't know anymore."

I look down and see a droplet fall on the counter. Shocked, I raise a hand to my cheeks and feel tears that have unconsciously streamed down my face. I immediately wiped them off, but to no avail. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not in front of a prospect!

"Hey, it gets easier. But let yourself grieve. Especially if it helps you lessen the load. Here." He grabs a tissue from below the counter, carefully pulling a few pieces before giving them to me. "You look quite adorable even if you're crying like that."

"W-what...?" I ask, taken aback by the sudden honesty.

"Just being an honest man here," he replies, hands raised. He grins and I chuckle, putting my glass against my lips to drink some more. Suddenly, his eyes scan the room, which I mimic. Turning around made me realize that I am the only customer left. I don't mind being alone with this guy, really.

"Looks like I'm going to have to close soon," he mutters.

"I should probably go soon, too." I pretend to check my things and keys inside my bag. I don't want to go home, not alone, but how am I gonna ask him to just take me anywhere with him? Lunatic. That's lunatic. "Thank you so much for the free drinks and... really good company. I appreciate everything."

He smiles softly, making me want to beg for more time. "No problem! Do you have a car? Or will someone pick you up? I'm not letting you drive in that condition."

"Well... I do have a car..." Anything. Anything for more time.

"Just a car?" I nod, rather enthusiastically. He chuckles, seeming to understand my eagerness. "Okay... let me just refill that drink of yours, still in the house of course... while you wait for me to clean up. I'll drive you home."

Hell yeah. "But haven't I bothered you enough...?"

Please say no. "No..." Yes!  "... I insist, please. Won't let a sweet lady like you crash her car after a heart-crushing event, won't I?" He puts another glass on the counter. "Here."

Success! "Thank you. I really appreciate everything."

"I'll be back in a few." He turns and starts busying himself with cleaning the tables and arranging the chairs. I remain sitting, tapping my fingers and bobbing my head to the soft music playing in the background. The glass keeps me company, and I take sips every now and again. What should we do later? More conversations? Should we take this somewhere else? Will we write each other's biographies at this point? Should I take this chance to explore something... more?

I sigh.

"Oh, hey!" The bartender snaps me back to reality. "I'm sorry for making you wait, but I'll finish in less than 10."

"Oh! Please, take your time," I responded, and I, myself, am surprised by my patience. "By the way, can I ask where your restroom is?"

"The restroom's right around the corner." He points at the doorway beside the pool table. I spot a door, which I assume leads to the cubicles.

Chapter 5 -- Floodgates

I mumble thanks, and he goes back to cleaning, now with a mop in his hand. Upon entering the restroom, I immediately turn the faucet on to wash some sense into my head. The mirror shows my bare face, weirdly glowing from the interaction earlier. And then, the image of the bartender enters my mind: his stubble rubbing against my chin as he devours my lips, tongues clashing and fighting for dominance. The bulk of his large body dancing with mine--an erotic rhythm for a tango for two. I see him... feel him... buried inside something warm and--

I scream.

Water runs all over my head and chest as the broken faucet explodes water all over the goddamn restroom. Way to fucking ruin my moment, faucet. My hands scurry against the unbarred pipe where the faucet originally was.

"Fuck--help!"

The door crashes open. I turn to see the bartender's look of panic as he quickly surveys the situation. "Are you okay!?" He runs to the sink, replacing my hands with his. "Shit, the faucet gave out. I knew I had to fully replace this when those girls got too rowdy in here."

I stood there, watching his forearms upon which his wet sleeves cling to twist and turn as he fixes the damage. It took him a few minutes--a few excruciating minutes for someone as thirsty as me.