Running Home to You (The Running Series) (4 page)

Pushing faster, harder, deeper, we both begin chasing our own release.  I grab hold on the edge of the desk as Evan takes me higher and higher, thrusting forcibly against me.  His groin slaps against me again and again and I can feel my entire body begin to tense. 

He looks down at me with hooded eyes, a look of love, lust, and exultation painted across his face. Through gritted teeth he stammers, “Juliette ... I love you ... so fucking much ... it hurts.”

That’s it.  His confession sends me right to the edge.  All it takes is a few more thrusts before an uncontrollable wave of pleasure rocks my body, ripping through me, overtaking me completely, and making my body spasm uncontrollably.  My back bends into shuddering arches, my body tensing in the rigidity of climax. 

As I call out for him, I can feel Evan’s body quiver and quake as he finds his own release, closing his eyes and exploding inside of me. He pushes forward, pressing himself inside me as deeply as he can, lifting me partially off the desk as his throbbing length pumps me full. 

He releases my legs without breaking our connection and collapses on top of me, breathless. Still pulsing slowly inside of me, my muscles lightly clench in reaction to each throb.  I slowly rake my nails up and down his back and whisper in his ear, “I love you, Evan.”

Evan looks down at me, smiling and satisfied, "Juliette, you have no idea what you do to me."

"I think I have an idea," I counter, purring in contentment.  I still can’t believe that he is mine and that I am the only one who gets to see him this way, completely raw, unrestrained, and sexy as hell.

I
wake naked and alone early the next day.  The sunrise casts a beautiful glow into our bedroom.  I glance out the window and I can see the sun is shining brightly, just hovering over the horizon and reflecting gloriously on the ocean surface.  It’s only about seven in the morning and Evan’s gone for the day.  He has to be at the training center by six o’clock five days a week.  Today’s meetings will be brief thanks to the arrival of the Memorial Day weekend. 

I like to begin each day with an invigorating run on the beach.  Every time I take to the beach for my run, I’m reminded of our fateful meeting here.  It’s where everything began.  Evan still calls me Running Girl, and he’ll always be my Bossy Man.  These events are woven into the fabric of who we are and I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

Maddy knows our routine, too.  She’s sitting at the bedroom door, anxious for her morning romp.  After a quick visit to the bathroom, I brush my teeth and get ready to go.  I walk over to my dresser, the one Evan bought me a month ago and compliments his armoire perfectly, and I begin to rummage through the drawers.  Mornings in May are unpredictable.  Some mornings are cool and crisp, while others are warm and muggy.  Maddy is sitting patiently beside me, wagging her tail and watching my every move, so I quickly get dressed, toss up my hair, and throw on a pair of sneakers.  I grab Maddy’s leash, and off we go.

Since I’ve only barely just woken, I take a few minutes to stretch my muscles, concentrating on my quads and hamstrings.  Once satisfied, I plug in my earphones and crank up the music.  Daft Punk starts off my run with a high-energy techno pop song and I quickly set a good pace. 

As usual, the shoreline is dotted with the occasional surf fisherman sitting on a beach chair with a long surf rod dangling its line into the ocean.  There’s one fisherman who’s here most days, sitting alone in the same spot each time.  He appears to be in his thirties with jet-black hair, obviously here for some solitude.  Every morning I greet him with a cheery, “Good morning,” and each time, I am rewarded with nothing but silence.

Maddy and I continue to traipse along until we reach the boardwalk.  This is my stopping point, the point at which we stop to rest and play.  As soon as I take Maddy off her leash, she starts sniffing around, looking for an odd twig or small piece of driftwood to play catch with when she begins barking at something under the boardwalk.  I whistle and call for her, but she will not be distracted from her find.  Needing to investigate, I head over to where she is and I hear a voice call out, “Get the fuck out of here!”  As I step closer, I see a young couple, no older than sixteen, wrapped in a blanket, hidden beneath the boardwalk, just waking up.  I mutter my apologies and drag Maddy away. 

Well, that’s a first for us.  Now that summer is approaching, I wonder to myself if that is something that will become a common occurrence.

Anxious to be as far away from that situation as possible, I put Maddy back on her leash and we retrace our steps, heading home.  The lonely fisherman has gone, and before long we are home again, back on our deck where I do a few cool-down stretches, and then head into the house to shower and get ready for my day.

M
arcus and I have plans to meet with the bartending staff to do some final staff training and finalize the drink menu.  I’m the first to arrive this morning, as usual.  I like to arrive early just to look around.  Exactly on time, Derek and Marcus come walking through the doors together and join me behind the bar.  Each man has established his own routine already.  As the General Manager, Marcus sets his sights right on inventory, checking on stock and seeing that we have everything needed on hand.  As Head Bartender, Derek gets everything behind the bar ready before the rest of the staff arrives.  He starts prepping the fruit and condiments, filling the speed well, and checking on the beer taps, getting everything in order for today’s training session. 

While the boys are getting things prepared, I turn on the projection system and the music.  I like to be entertained while I work and clean.  As the owner, I take great pride in our appearance and making sure everything stays sanitary and organized at all times.  I look up at the white wall above the booths on the back wall and I’m rewarded with a picture of Evan in his football jersey on the practice field at Liberty Stadium.  The projector loops pictures of Evan and the entire New Jersey Sentinels team.  Laced among the sports photos are historical photographs of Asbury Park as well as pictures of desserts and cocktails.  I find myself staring at the slideshow, waiting for the next image of Evan to appear.  Eventually, a picture of Evan wearing his UMD Terrapin uniform flashes on the screen. 

I’m rocked back into the present when a bar towel snaps me on the ass.  “Ouch!  Derek, you jerk, that hurt,” I reprimand him, swatting him on his chest.

“Well, if you’re done ogling pictures of Big Mac, how about you get your little ass back here and tell us what you want done, boss lady,” Derek retorts.

“All right, all right.  You made your point.  Is the drink menu finished?  Did you guys get it narrowed down to less than ten house drinks?” I ask, hoping the answer is yes.  There are only a few days left until our doors open, and these details need to be ironed out quickly.

Marcus chimes in, passing me the final list.  “We have exactly ten house specialty drinks.  They are all completely different and uniquely original.  Can I make you one that I think you’ll really like?”

“Hell yeah, I can’t wait,” I tell him. 

I love watching Marcus make a drink.  He was a great bartender and an excellent teacher.  He taught me how to mix a drink with flair.  I only know one move, a flip-and-turn toss-and-catch move, but Marcus knows lots of moves.  He puts a few ingredients into the shaker glass and I’m so mesmerized watching him flip the bottles as he pours, I don’t even notice what he’s using.  He pours his concoction over ice, garnishes with a lemon wedge, and hands it to me for inspection.  It looks beautiful.

“It looks great, but what’s in it?” I ask.

“Tell you what, taste it and tell me what you think is in it,” he replies.

I take a sip and I’m fairly sure I can identify some of the main mixers.  “I definitely taste apple liquor.  But I think there’s also some cinnamon and ... I’m not sure ... maybe caramel?”

“Excellent!  You got it.  It has Goldschläger, that’s the cinnamon you tasted.  There’s some caramel vodka in there, too.  Can you guess what we named it?” Derek challenges me.

“How should I know what you named it?  Can you give me a hint?” I ask.

“Okay.  Think of a dessert that has all those flavors.  The name of that dessert is also a football term,” Derek explains.  He looks at me with a hopeful look in his eyes.  I’m going to ignore the reference to football, I’m afraid I don’t know enough yet for that to be helpful.  I concentrate instead on the cooking ingredients – apples, caramel, and cinnamon.

“Apple Pie?” I venture a guess.

Derek and Marcus both look at me and shake their heads.  “Jette, you can do better than that.  Even you know there’s nothing called an Apple Pie in football.  Come on, try harder,” Derek demands.

“You’re right.  That was lame.  Let me think.  Apple sauce?  No, that's not it.  Apple Crumb?  Definitely not.  Apple Fritter?  Apple Strudel?”  The boys just look at me and roll their eyes.  “Wait, I’ve got it – a Turnover!  That’s a football word, isn’t it?  Turnover?”  I’m so excited, I think I figured it out.

They both applaud my guess even though it took me a while to get there.  “Well, what do you think?  Do you like it?” Marcus asks.

“No, I don’t.”  I try and put on my most serious face.  For a moment, I think they actually buy it, too, because they suddenly look worried.  “I LOVE it!”  I give each of them a hug and a squeeze.  “Do all the drinks have football names?” I ask.

“Marcus and I struggled with that one for a while,” Derek explains.  “We decided on a compromise.  Half the drinks have football names, the other half have dessert names, five of each.  Here, look.”  Derek hands me the rough draft of the menu and I glance down at the names.  They sound great and look like they will taste even better.  I particularly like the Red Zone cocktail that contains Red Bull – clever.  Too bad I have no idea what a red zone is.

“Derek, would you mind running this over to the printer?  I want to talk to Marcus about a few things,” I tell him, handing him back the specialty drink menu.  Derek agrees, and off he goes.  I want to talk to Marcus in private before anyone else gets here and the bartenders should be here any minute now.

I turn around to speak with Marcus, and as a true professional, he’s cleaning up after himself.  I know Evan and I did the right thing when we brought Marcus on as General Manager.  My concern right now lies with our head chef, my best friend from college, Reese.  As GM, Marcus needs to stay on top of things in the kitchen, too.

I take a seat on one of the bar stools and ask Marcus to join me.  Marcus has a very intimidating way about him that can be misunderstood easily.  It probably comes from his military training.  Marcus was a Reservist, serving in the Army Reserve for three years.  His service ended before I even met him.  But I know him and his fiancée, Camilla, well enough to know that he’s really a great big teddy bear.

“Listen, I need you to be completely honest with me,” I tell him.  “How’s Reese doing?  I haven’t seen her in days.  Is she ready?  Is her staff ready?”

“She seems very confident and says she's ready.  She gave me her menu last week.  It looks pretty good.  We both agreed to a limited menu for the first month or two until she and her sous chefs get a good handle on things,” he explains.

“Isn’t that what this week is for, Marcus?  Running through everything over and over again so we’re ready when the doors open?”  I’m not convinced she’s ready.

“Do you want me to call her in right now?  Have her make you a tasting?” he asks. 

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea.  But let’s not do it today.  Do it tomorrow.  Let’s call in the servers so they can taste from the menu.  This way they will know what we’re serving.  Evan and I have plans, so I won’t be here.  Can you handle it without me?” I ask.

“Yeah, I should be able to handle that,” he tells me.  As he does, the door opens and Emmy strides in, ready to get back behind the bar.  At least I know Derek is getting his bar staff prepared.

We need to cut our conversation short.  The last two bartenders arrive, ready to start their final training sessions before the Soft Opening.  Last week, Marcus hired two new bartenders, Blaine and Clare.  Blaine will be working mostly nights while he attends college during the day and Clare will be bartending mostly day shifts while her twins are in preschool.  I leave Marcus to teach them the new drink menu and I know they are in excellent hands.