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She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Part of her almost missed the days when smoke would hang in the air like a protective fog by this time of night. The jukebox was still playing softly from a patron who'd dropped too many quarters in it before closing time. She was boxing up empty beer bottles and singing along softly to Merle -- something she did only when alone. This truly was her favorite time of the night.
She had been working in the bar for almost four years and had come to love the quiet after 2am when everyone was gone and she could absentmindedly clean and decompress. Once the bar emptied, she was able to ease her defenses. Bartending was the perfect job for her already thick skin. She could toss an insult out while pouring a draft, shaking a cocktail, and rolling her eyes at a drunk all at once without breaking a sweat. That was the easy part. Those were muscle memory skills honed to perfection after way too many nights behind the bar. It was easy to make people happy when she had three feet of bar and a pleasant buzz between them.
"Shit, you're tone deaf Sasha," came a gruff voice from the dark corner stage area. She jumped a foot in the air and the box she'd been working on made a loud clanking sound. She squinted through the dim dusty light.
"God Jack, you scared me to death. I didn't think anyone was still here."
He smiled to himself, knowing she couldn't see him. If she'd been able to see him it would have been a smirk. "I hope not. I know you're mean but I don't think even you are cruel enough to subject anyone to what was just coming out of you. Was that supposed to be The Hag?"
She rolled her eyes and clenched her jaw. That man was one of the many reasons she preferred the quiet company of no one and the anonymity of a crowded smoky bar. Jack had been playing bluesy Americana to crowds who were too drunk to truly appreciate him for a couple of years now. Sasha didn't know much about him, but she knew enough to avoid him. He was dangerous. He was too talented for his own good. He was smart enough to write his own music and lyrics and bring them to life in a new and different way each night. He appeared to be sweet and vulnerable and sexy when he was playing, but when he was at the bar with buddies or fans he was the most arrogant asshole she'd ever seen in action. Her time behind the bar taught her many things. One big lesson was that the more they bragged, the deader they were inside. Sasha shook her head imagining all of the poor little silly girls who'd left the bar with Jack never to come back again. If it were her bar, she'd ban the fool once his sets were over. He was bad for repeat business.
She glared at him and said in an even tone, "That's why they pay you the big bucks and all I get are shitty tips and roaming hands."
He closed his guitar case, picking it up by the handle, and stood up. His plain black t-shirt clung to his sweaty arms and his faded blue jeans lead her eyes slowly down his long legs to his worn boots before she could stop their travel. Sasha felt her cheeks flush as he approached. She felt anger build at his casual gate while she was still working hard. If she were being honest, she'd also admit that part of her anger was pointed at herself for reacting to the presence of his rugged body. She tried to fight her frustration. It wasn't his fault that he was cocky and she was tired.
He eased into a seat at the bar, watching her. His eyes flicked from her creamy pale skin to her dark red tank top to her dark brown hair piled on top of her head. He tried to ignore the fact that she was beautiful and focus on the fact that she was mildly pissed and probably hated him a little more than most women did. That fact didn't stop him from what he was about to say.
"Well, you let me know if you need any help with the roaming hands. Tits I can't do much about." He shrugged as if he were going to offer some deep insight and said, "You could always try showing a little more cleavage. The guys in here are too wasted to do much imagining when you're all covered up like that." He gestured with his chin towards her chest.
She felt her slightly flushed cheeks go hot. "I said tips you degenerate." She let down the box of empties a little too aggressively on the floor and heard a few break. She cringed. Max would be pissed in the morning. He loved his recyclables right down to the penny. Sasha let out another slow hopefully calming breath.
Jack made a clicking sound with his tongue. "Now, now little barmaid, don't get too riled up. I was kidding. Your tits are just fine. Are you going to pour me a drink or do I have to get it myself?"
Sasha stood up, some of her hair falling in her face. She huffed out a breath and blew the errant strands out of her eyes. "Pour you a drink? First of all, we're closed and I'm trying to get out of here. Second of all..." She trailed off trying to come up with a second of all. "...I get paid until 2am to serve fools whom I'm none too fond of. Why would I want to do it for free at 3?"
Jack broke out into a grin at her reasoning. "You have a point sweet Sasha, but you're forgetting one thing."
She put her hand on her hip and waited, fully expecting his response to be something sarcastic designed to piss her off even more.
"What's that Jackson?" She smiled at the grimace the use of his full name caused. He'd made the mistake of letting one of his buddies from home drink with him one night. Several useful blackmail tidbits emerged that evening.
"Well for one, I'm not actually one of your many drunken puppy dog followers. More importantly you're forgetting the simple fact that Max loves me because I fill his bar. I suggest you remember your place and pour me a drink." Jack's tone grew darker and Sasha stood still. She held her ground, not following his order. Part of her loved the thrill that went up her spine at Jack's dark commanding tone.
They stared at each other, a standoff in the dark quiet bar. She let his words sink in. He was right. If she wasn't careful she'd drive him away and the bar would lose a lot of business. Jack may have been lacking in many areas, but he was talented. And he knew how to engage a crowd. Sales doubled each night when he played. Besides, it was common knowledge to anyone who worked for Max that closers could have a couple drinks on the house and a couple more if they wanted to pay.
"Fine Jack," she said softly, her voice even and deadly. His eyebrows perked as she acquiesced. She picked up a bottle of whiskey and set it on the bar along with a clean shot glass. "But pour it yourself and don't empty the bottle. I am trying to close."
He licked his lips. She tried not to watch as his tongue traced slowly along his bottom lip, but she felt a tug in her stomach from the sight. He slowly smirked. "That's more like it little lady," he said in a frighteningly accurate Duke impression.
He paused, mid pour. "Hey," he said simply, waiting for her to stop her new activity of straightening the bottles behind the bar. He kept waiting until she turned back around to face him. She looked at him with her eyebrows raised. "What Jack?" she asked wearily.
"First of all," he said clearly mimicking her intonation from earlier, "I do not appreciate the implication that I would drain this bottle tonight."
She placed her hand on her denim clad hip and locked her deep blue eyes on his dark brown ones. "It wouldn't be the first time. And second of all?" she asked teasingly.
"Well..." he paused for a moment, "and second of all, get another glass. I'm not drinking alone tonight."
She hesitated, but only for a brief moment. "One drink guitar player, that's all. And then I'm kicking you out. I'm beat."
He reached for the second shot glass and filled them both to the brim. He chugged his back while hers stayed poised at her lips. She took a quick whiff. She was a big fan of whiskey and impressed many patrons with her tolerance and her ability to drink just about anything. Sasha took a slow sip and set her glass down.
"Sasha, I know you're tired, but I didn't mean a drink of a drink. I meant you're having an entire drink." He poured himself another and downed it quickly, refilling his glass again and taking a little sip of his third.
"Easy Jack," she said softly, a little kinder than she meant to. Her bartender gut reaction to his sad haunted eyes was to get him talking and ease his pain, but her sensibility took over. "Don't make me cut you off," she finished in a harsher tone.
He scoffed, blowing a breath out of his nose in a bull-like fashion. "You're all talk, barmaid."
She arched an eyebrow at him and tossed back her shot, swallowing slowly, feeling it. She didn't usually drink at the bar, but once in a while on the right kind of night she wanted to just let it all go and cut loose. She knew better than to let something like that happen around Jack. She knew she'd never hear the end of it, although she did implicitly trust that nothing bad would happen to her around him.
He refilled her glass while she turned away to finish straightening the bottles. Jack enjoyed the moment of silence from her all too glib talk and took the time to appreciate the view. She was simple on the outside. Messy hair that looked like it had taken her five seconds to do -- which it probably had -- an old worn deep red tank top that looked softer than her velvety skin, and painted on blue jeans. His eyes paused on her jeans preventing him from making it down to her black cowboy boots and he ignored the feelings awakening in him caused by the sight of her fantastic ass. He let out a little sigh. "Fine," he thought, "she's gorgeous. She has no clue just how beautiful she is and would argue with anyone who tried to convince her. Big deal." He took another sip.
Sasha turned around to see Jack's eyes locked on her and a foggy dreamlike expression on his face. She also saw her glass had been refilled. "I said one drink Jackson."
He creased his brow at the use of his name again, which made her smile. "Settle down barmaid. Drink your drink then I'll let you close up. Lord knows we can't let you go past two shots on a Friday night."
She clenched her jaw at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He gave her a half grin. "Well... it means that I know a tightly wound girl when I see one and I'd hate to be in any way tied to the reason for your unraveling."
Sasha made herself relax her jaw for fear of breaking a tooth. "Tightly wound?"
He laughed. "Yes Sasha. You are tightly wound. You are the definition of tightly wound. You do a great job of denying it and hiding it when the tips are flowing, but as soon as the customers are gone and it's just you and I, you're back to tightly wound. And it becomes so easy to rile you up."
She took a breath. "Are you pretending to know me again? Do you remember what happened the last time you presumed to know the slightest thing about me?" She held his gaze, refusing to look away. She would not back down.
He glanced away first. "Yeah, well... I apologized for that repeatedly, didn't I?"
She felt her cheeks flush at the memory.
