Emma Chase (10 page)

Chapter Ten

Emma

I avoid Braden like the plague for a week.  He calls, he texts, and he shows up at the apartment with lunch.  I don’t answer, respond, or open the door.  I even make myself scarce a couple of times by leaving the apartment so I won’t be there when he shows up.

I have enough sense to know that this isn’t his fault.  This is my fault.  I broke things off with him, and to have expected that he would sit around waiting for me for all of eternity was a stretch.  It still hurts all the same.

He knows that I’m avoiding him.  His texts and messages started out soft and sweet, but soon they became aggravated and now they have a hint of anger to them.  Still, every day I get something from him.

He knows I’m hurting over finding out about him and Tara.  I just need a little time to lick my wounds. 

While licking those wounds and crying into a pint of ice cream every night, I still manage to go to work and not run into him. 

Now, I have two weeks under my belt and things are falling into place.  I am more comfortable with my management position.  The regulars have taken me under their wings, and I am getting along well with the staff.  We have a mutual respect for each.  And then there is Murphy.  He is always flirty and bringing drama into the bar.  I’m convinced that the two girls who quit my first night on the job were fighting over him.  He’s slept with almost every single girl in town.  Well, those who aren’t smart enough to see through his bullshit.  He is hot, I’ll give him that, but he is an asshole.

It ha
sn’t escaped me that all of the bar and wait staff are actually pretty hot, and now I am wondering if this is a prerequisite to work at Holt's.  This includes Braden and Tristan, who are in and out a lot to help out during Happy Hour.   It would seem as though my new specials are definitely a hit.

I wander into the back of the bar and notice Murphy leaning against the bar, flirting with a gaggle of giggling ladies.  I swear the boy doesn’t work worth a shit, but he cleans up in tips, especially with the female patrons.

He grins at me.  “Hey, boss.”

“Murphy,” I clip.  “I see you’re keeping our fine customers smiling as usual.”

After I brush past him, I hear his footsteps following me into the office.

“So, I was hoping that I could take on a couple of extra shifts.”

“What?  You barely make it to the ones you do get.”

“Oh, come on.  That was one time and I’ve been faithful to you since.”

I roll my eyes as I shove my bag under the small desk in the corner of the coat-closet-sized office. I shrug off my jacket, revealing my electric blue button-up blouse and black mini skirt.  Sexy yet chic.

I look Murphy up and down, noticing that he was not wearing the signature Holt's staff tee that all of the other staff members are donning.

“What are you wearing?”

He looks at his attire and shrugs.  “Clothes, princess.  Too much?” he smirks.

I’m going to beat this man within an inch of his fucking life.

“Where’s your staff t-shirt?”

“I don’t have one.”

I turn, looking around the office to spot the box next to the safe that holds our supply of extra shirts. I pick the pink one and slap it to his chest.

“And now you do.  Change before you head back behind the bar.”

Murphy stands before me, looking confused.  His thick, wavy brown hair is a little disheveled, most likely due to the cute blonde who is waiting for him outside the office door on her barstool. This guy is a serious douche, and for the life of me, I cannot imagine why he hasn’t been dropped yet.

I walk around him to the bar as he follows me.

“Come on, boss.  I don’t need the shirt.  I wouldn’t wear it anyhow.  And, well it's pink.”

I whirl around on my heels and look up at him, pointing my finger in his chest. “If you want to work here, you
will
wear the shirt.”  I cross my arms over my chest and lean my hip. 

Murphy copies my stance.  “I don’t need the shirt.”

“Then you
don’t
need the job.”

“Jesus, Emma.  Fine, I’ll wear the damn shirt.” 

I smile with this mini victory.

Then, to my utter horror, the douche puts his hand behind his head, pulls his shirt off, and smirks down at me.  I could smack that look right off his face.

He takes great pride in his body.  Murphy is all muscle.  Not muscle like Braden and Tristan, but muscle nonetheless. Once again, if I didn’t think he was an asshole, he’d be hot.

There are
whistles and cheers coming from down the bar as more customers enter.  I turn to them, shining a bright, fake smile, and shrug.  “His penis might be small, but he’s got great abs.”

The men start laughing, the women look disappointed, and when I turn back to Murphy, his mouth is gaping wide.

He shrugs into his brand-new pink Holt's tee and serves the newcomers like a good little boy.

As the night wears on, Murphy doesn’t give me any more shit.  It’s a busy night. 

Murphy and I are serving up shots and flirting with the customers.  Our tip jar is filling up fast.  I love the nights when I get to work it behind the bar.

Within seconds after I am slipped a number by a drunken college kid who is majoring in business up at Western Carolina University, Murphy is behind me pouring a beer.  His eyebrow arch up in question.

“How many of those have you gotten so far?”

“Only ten.  There was this kid, the lawyer, the doctor, the land developer, oh and the landscaper.  I really liked him.  He told me if I went out with him he’d give me a great deal on a hedge trimming.”  I wiggle my eyebrows at him as he barks out a laugh.

He collects himself and clears his throat while shaking his head in disbelief. “You gonna take him up on that?”

“Well, it has been a while since I’ve given the proper attention to my hedges.”

Murphy laughs again and says, “You’re all right, boss.  Sorry for giving you a bunch of shit earlier.  Won’t happen again.” He heads down the bar to talk to one of the customers. 

Hmmm…

Olivia is hanging out by the island bar I had installed for my impending pool league, talking to some customers with Juice.  We talked to a few of the local leagues who decided to start playing at Holt's right after Thanksgiving.  That is only a month away, and seeing as most of the guys are planning to head out of town for the holiday, they decided to wait it out until everyone gets back.

Apparently everyone who work
s here also hangs out here.

I
am at the tap filling a pilsner when I hear it coming through the jukebox.  A smile spreads across my face.  I turn, setting the beer down on the service bar. Murphy slaps his palms on the top of the bar like everyone else who is sitting at the bar or at a table.  The others in the bar are cat-calling, clapping, whistling, hollering, or owww-owwwing.

Everyone
is watching the space in the middle of the bar where Olivia is being swung and twirled by Juice to Bad Company's "Feel Like Makin' Love."  She loves this song.

Olivia's short hair
is flinging around and she is laughing.  Juice is also laughing and smiling big and bright for her.  Shocking to me, he is a good dancer.  I mean, really good.

He
is twirling her around like a man who knows what he’s doing out there and in front of the entire bar. 

I whistle and g
ive a little ‘Woot woot!’ to show my support.

Juice, with his fantastic dance moves, and Olivia look like they are each enjoying it as much as the other.  His body moves with the rhythm and she wears a big-ass grin. They seem like they’re having the time of their lives.

Juice spins her out to arm's length, reels her back in, grips her hip with one hand, and holds her tight to his body as he slows their movements and starts to sway.

Wow!  They look great together.

Olivia gives him a big hug and he releases her just after he gives her the sweetest, most tender kiss to her temple.

I walk over to them.  “What’s up!”

“My homegirl!” Olivia hollers. 

Tonight she has bright orange streaks through her hair.  She is dressed in black leggings, black knee-high boots, and a black-and-white skull sweater dress.  That has to be the coolest
sweater dress I’ve ever seen.  It is a short-sleeved turtleneck with a huge white skull design across the front made of roses.

Before I can get to her, Juice slams into me, lifts me up by the waist, and starts to twist me around in his arms.

I am giggling.  Yes, these people make me giggle. 

I really like Juice.  He’s a bit of a player with the ladies, but he is a good guy deep down.  Well, I guess he is a good guy as long as you aren’t sleeping with him.

He plants me back on my feet taking a pull at his beer, and tips it at the people standing around, introducing me to them.  I’ve been getting to know all of them since they are here on a daily basis.

There is Bob, an older gentleman who I knew through careful observation spent most of his afternoons here playing pool and making a killing off of it.  Big Pete, who is just that—big.  He enjoys happy hour every afternoon and again every evening after he went home and had dinner with his family.  Charlena, a petite, busty brunette who enjoys her darts and loves her Beam and Diets.  Bobbie, a biker chick in her fifties donning a tight red tank with black leather pants, platform heels, and dark brown hair with striking streaks of blond.  Bobbie’s biker husband Josh, a huge man who is just as comfortable in leather from head to toe with biker boots.  I always wondered how the two of them could fit on a bike together until I saw his massive
bike.  Mike, an older man who I recently found out is a widower—his wife died seven years ago—and never could bring himself to move on.  And there was Bernie, an upper middle-aged woman who has had her eyes on Mike for the past seven years since his wife passed away. 

Olivia approaches me and gives me a tight squeeze.  “How’s the night going?”

“It’s been fine.  I had to put Murphy in his place, but once established, he laid back and we worked well together behind the bar.”

“Is that a pink Holt's shirt he’s wearing?” Olivia inquires.

I giggle and answer her with a big, loud, “Damn straight it is!”

Her eyes light up and she lets out a snort.

I look over at the bar and my breath hitches as my eyes collide with Braden’s. My body instantly reacts to his smoldering look.  He looks like he wants to pounce.

My lower belly tightens as we continue to stare at each other.  Everything around me becomes background noise.  The only thing in the room at this time for me is Braden and how he is making my body react to him.

Juice’s face pops between us, making me flinch and breaking me free from Braden’s spell. 

Shit.

I give Braden a smile and a wave.  He nods and waves back.  No smile.  So I’m thinking he’s a little upset at the fact that I’ve been avoiding him lately.

I give Juice a kiss on the cheek and take his empty beer.  “I’ll be right back with another.”

“I can get my own, Em.  I know where everything is around here.”

“I got you.”

Juice shrugs.

I walk behind the bar and Braden steps in front of me.  I glance at his boots for a few seconds and I let my gaze travel up his body. His arms are crossed over his chest as he leans his hip against the bar.  He is smiling down at me.  Okay, maybe he isn’t mad at me.

“Hi,” I breathe out at him.

His lips twitch and he leans in close. “Hi back at
’cha.”

More awkward staring ensues and I am saved by new customers approaching the bar.

The next wave of crowds encroaches upon us, and for the next hour, we are too busy serving to have a conversation with each other.  I can’t help but wonder what that was all about, but I push it to the back of my thoughts and figure that is just one more thing on my ‘deal with it later’ list that continues to grow and get out of hand. 

I
see Braden out of the corner of my eye.  The more I try to stay away from him, the more I find myself near him.

A couple of times our bodies brush against each other in passing and it is like a bolt of electricity hitting me and landing at the spot between my legs.  I haven’t felt that sensation in a long time.

We are completely aware of each other’s presence.  I sneak a peek at him and catch Braden watching me intently.  He isn’t trying to hide anything.

I am mixing a shaker of SoCo and limes when Braden leans into me to hand off a drink over the bar.  I inhale his scent, which is a mix of his soap and beer with a side of
Jägermeister
.  His body is against mine, and my eyes close.  I almost can’t handle the sexual tension that is building inside of me. 

I stop breathing when I look up at him and see him scanning my body with his eyes.  They find mine again and I suck in a breath.

Braden’s jaw clenches and he backs away.  I turn back to find Murphy eyeing me, his eyebrows damn near disappearing into this hairline.