Hendrix (Caldwell Brothers #1) (7 page)

Chapter Seven

Hendrix

Livi is a bit different from the other bartenders I have hired. When she showed up an hour early with a damn duffel bag, note pad, and pen, I should have told her to turn around. She said she was a quick learner, but there was nothing quick about trying to teach someone how to pour a draft without head or pausing when she held the pen up while writing down the answer to a simple question.

The fucking cash register was laughable. I mean, ours is ancient, but it isn’t that difficult. Tap beer is two bucks, bottles of Miller Lite three bucks, and shots, every one of them that actually sells, two bucks.

We have peanuts and popcorn that go on the bar, free of charge, on nights we don’t serve food. I show her how to use the popcorn machine, and she writes down step-by-step instructions for that, too.

When she took off those layers to expose her black knee high boots and black half shirt, I was in complete shock. When she looked up at me from playing nervously with that shirt, trying to pull it down, I noticed she had on make-up, and I’m not gonna lie, I got a little hard.

There is an innocence to her that screams at me to protect her. There is more hidden behind those eyes, and I can’t help but be intrigued. She licks her lips and all I want is for her to lick my dick.

A few hours later, I see Jared out of the corner of my eye. “Hey stranger,” I say as I hand him his first of four drafts. Jared is no stranger. He comes in five nights a week after working second shift, orders the same damn thing, and then leaves buzzed. “What’s the difference between your job and a dead hooker?”

He takes a drink and shrugs.

“Your job still sucks.” I smirk.

“Oh, yeah? How do you get a nun knocked up?”

“No idea.” I chuckle as I pour the one and only shot he’ll order.

“Dress her up like an altar boy.”

My joke was better, but I laugh. “You got me there, man.”

“Who’s the new skirt?” He nods to Livi.

“This is Olivia. She’s testing the waters here.”

“Don’t drink the water, Olivia. The beer is better,” he yells to her.

As I look back, she blushes. “Yes, sir.”

“Did she just call me sir?” Jared’s laugh booms through the bar. “Damn, Caldwell, she’s a keeper.”

I laugh a bit at him and turn back to Olivia who is cleaning up.

“You can head out. I got the rest.”

She smiles. “I hope I did all right.”

“You did just fine.”

“I noticed you seem to really know these people who come in.”

“Yeah.” I grab the bar mop and drag it across the bar, again. “This place is like a second home to them, just like it is to me, so a lot of them are like family.”

“I see.” She nods as a small smile plays on those naturally pouty lips. “All right, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I sit for a minute, wondering why the hell I didn’t say no. I mean, she can’t tend a bar to save her life. She screwed up ninety percent of the orders, over-poured shots, took goddamn notes with every correction I gave her, and doused Jared, a regular, when she tripped over the bar mat with his draft. Deciding not to overthink it, I shake it off and continue cleaning up.

After the last customer leaves, I shove the cash drawer in the safe and lock it up. It has been a long, strange day. I’m letting some crazy ass broad, who doesn’t know shit about bartending, continue to work for me even though I’m damn sure she cost me more than she made me. I do kind of like watching her rub her ass, though. I can’t stop thinking about it, even if I try.

After locking the back door, I toss the trash and take a deep, cold breath before I get in my Chevy and fire up the engine. Damn, she sounds good.

I sit and blow into my hands, waiting to give her a minute to warm up, a little foreplay. Don’t wanna shock her. I pull my gloves out of my coat pocket and put them on while I wait.

Pulling out of the alley and onto the street, I take a left to head home. Two blocks down the road, I see something you don’t normally see at three in the morning in these parts: a woman walking down the street alone.

I slow as I pass by, thinking it may be someone I know. Low and behold, it fucking is. When Livi rubs her ass, I know for sure it’s her. Before I even allow myself to question why she’s walking, why I’m stopping, or why I even care, I crank the car, doing a U-ey and then pull up beside her.

As I roll the window down, she picks up her pace, walking quicker.

“Olivia, you need a ride?”

She lets out a breath, visibly relaxing as she turns toward me. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Livi, get your ass in this car before you get mugged or something.”

“It’s not far and—”

“Now,” I yell, making her jump. I didn’t mean to scare her, but fuck if I will let one of mine walk home at night.

She quickly makes her way around the car and jumps in. Her teeth are chattering as she holds her hands up to the heater vent.

“Not warmed up yet.” I pull off my gloves and hand them to her.

“Thank you,” she replies as she takes them and shoves her hands inside. “Oh, God, that feels good.”

Fuck. Quirky, little Livi has things stirring inside me with the moan and the “Oh, God.” My dick twitches at the moan as I imagine her moaning with her mouth wrapped around me, sucking me off. She makes me fucking crazy.

“Address?”

She rattles it off.

I immediately feel annoyed. “Look, kid, you live six blocks away, and you were gonna walk home in this temperature, this late at night?”

“Yes,” she answers, rubbing her cheeks with my gloves.

I force myself to look away. I am seeing a porno in my head that started with this, then her touching herself in other places, followed up with me busting her little twat apart. I have to shake the thought from my mind.

I don’t like this shit. I don’t fixate on a chick. This confuses the hell out of me and why I’m so drawn to crazy fucking Livi. I don’t want to just fuck someone anymore. Now that my mom’s gone everything is different. I have felt dead inside until quirky Livi has been around. Before, I just fucked around, ‘cause, let’s face it, they wanted to fuck me, too.

Once I pull out onto the road and make another u–turn, we pass my place and travel north.

“You just move here?” I try making small talk.

“I went to college here.”

“What’s a college girl doing working at my bar?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the road.

“Well”—she hesitates—“I need the money.”

I have to laugh to myself. All those people preaching ‘get a college degree,’ and here I have a college graduate working at my dive. “You finish?”

“Yes, I’m a social worker,” she answers, finally settling in and sitting back in the seat.

“Doesn’t pay enough for a car?”

“I have a car.” She doesn’t elaborate.

“But you like to live on the edge and walk the streets of Detroit alone when it’s freezing out? What are you, an adrenaline junky penguin?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “It’s not running at the moment.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Not sure,” she says, looking down.

“What’s your mechanic say is wrong?”

“Um, I’m not sure.”

Okay, something is off with this chick. She doesn’t answer questions. She doesn’t seem to know or care what’s going on around her. She changes her demeanor. She’s evasive. She acts lost or confused. I just don’t get her.

I know she’s intelligent, but I can sense there is a fight inside her about answering questions. She marches to the beat of her own drum. Fuck it. Maybe she is fucking crazy … crazy could be fun. I ponder that thought just long enough to feel the discomfort of denim rubbing my dick. Well, it would be fun if she didn’t work for me.

“Care to explain?”

“Not really,” she replies softly.

“Olivia, let me ask you another question.”

“Go ahead,” she dryly responds while looking out the window.

“Are you fucking crazy?” It’s a serious question.

She laughs again and shakes her head.

“I mean, we’ve established that you aren’t an adrenaline junky penguin. You say you aren’t crazy, yet you walk six blocks with no mittens covering your little paws, and you have a broken down car that isn’t running, but you have no idea what’s wrong with it.”

I look out of the corner of my eye to see she is smiling.

Well, hell, maybe she is fucking crazy.

“I can take a look at it.”

“Um—”

“I know cars, Olivia. Rebuilt this one myself.”

“It’s just…” She pauses.

“Just?”

“It got towed,” she blurts out.

I pull up in front of her building, stop, and then throw the car in park before turning toward her. Her face is red from either shame or embarrassment as she takes a deep breath.

“It got impounded, and I used all the money I had to get it towed to my building’s parking lot. So, I don’t have the money to get it fixed yet. That’s why I applied for the bartending position. I’ll figure it out. It’s just gonna take me a little time.”

“I can look at it.”

“I’m not asking for a handout.” She looks up at me, scowling a little. “Just an opportunity to make the money I need to get caught up.”

I stare back at her, a little floored. She is a little worker. Bat shit crazy, but in a world full of entitled fucks, Olivia is a breath of fresh air. Not only that, she is hot as hell. Her pale skin contrasts with the deep brown locks of her hair. Her curves are tighter than I’m used to, but like an hourglass I wouldn’t mind tipping her over and shaking her in a little less invasive manner than I’m used to.

“Not gonna allow you to walk home from my bar.”

“I’ll take a cab.” As her eyes narrow, I can see the wheels churning in her head.

“I’ll give you a ride.”

Her features slowly start to soften. “I’ll pay for gas.”

I don’t accept. “Tuesday nights are slow. Thursday nights are no place for a lady behind the bar; I think you see why.”

“It’s ladies’ night.” She smiles and looks down again, hiding her face from me.

“Did you see any ladies in there tonight?” I laugh.

“I made fifty dollars.” She is bargaining with me.

“On a Friday night, you can make three times that in tips. On a Saturday, when we have entertainment, four or five times that.”

“Shut. Up!”

Holy shit, I haven’t heard her voice that loud before or seen her face bust out into a bright as hell smile like the one she has now. It makes my still heart beat.

“You wanna give up Thursday nights for Friday and Saturday?” I can’t help smiling back at her. I also can’t believe I’m giving her my busiest nights when tonight was far from smooth. Hell, I guess it’s because I wouldn’t mind seeing her smile more often. It feels good.

“And Tuesday.”

My jaw drops a bit. “Three nights on top of a full-time job? What will your boyfriend say?”

She looks down once again and shakes her head. “I don’t have time for boys.”

Good answer, Olivia
, I think to myself.

“But I may meet someone now since I work for you.”

“Not at work you won’t,” I reply gruffer than I intended. I tell myself I don’t want to see her hitting on someone because watching crazy Livi crash and burn might piss me off. In reality, I’m thinking it might be something more.

She looks at me and nods quickly. “Of course not.”

*.*.*.*

Friday night is hopping. The facelift the bar got brought in a lot of curious neighborhood customers, and I am serving Prime Rib since hiring Olivia has freed me up to cook. She fucks up a little—okay, a lot—but she is seriously trying. I’m sure she will figure it out eventually.

While closing up, I notice her checking me out. “You good?”

“Yep, I was just curious. The tattoos, did they hurt?”

“Like a bee stinging. No big deal.”

“You have a lot of them.”

“Sure do. You have any?”

“No.” She starts cleaning the glasses that are still piled up. “I guess nothing ever meant enough to me to have permanently put on my body.” She laughs nervously.

“What’s so funny?” I walk a little closer, hoping that it’s me that put that smile on her face.

She shrugs. “I used to love Hello Kitty.”

“Hello Kitty?” I have no idea what the hell that is.

This chick is so random. Wow, everything comes and goes quickly, catch it while can with her.

“A little white cartoon kitten. I was just thinking…” She stops and laughs. Damn, I like that laugh.

“What were you just thinking?” And why the hell did I really want to know? I need to know, but why? I keep asking myself why. Crazy Livi is making me crazy.