Cruel Beloved

“Are you avoiding me?”

I jump and almost drop the tray of glasses in my hand. Turning around, Whiskey’s standing there. I push past him and walk around the bar. It’s safer with something separating us. “No, I’ve been working.”

Whiskey doesn’t sit, he stands there watching me as I fidget doing everything else there is to do apart from look at him. Because if I look, I’ll see him between my legs. And if I stare long enough, I will see those whiskey-colored eyes as they fuck me.

“You’ve been avoiding me. That’s okay. I’ve been avoiding you as well.”

Whiskey’s answer takes me by surprise, so I look up at him. He smirks, sits, and taps the bar with his finger. “Whiskey, neat.”

“How ironic,” I say with an eye roll as I swing around and pour him two fingers.

“I’d like you to come back with me tonight.”

I slide the glass over to him, and he eyes it for a second before he looks back at me. “Is that so?”

“Yes, come home with me.”

As he says it, Chase walks in. Tonight is his last night here, as the band is off on tour. He notices me and winks, and when he does, my cheeks redden instantly.

“You can’t fuck him, you know that, right?”

My eyes snap back to Whiskey, who has the tumbler to his lips.

“I know,” I say through gritted teeth.

“If you will excuse me.” He gets up, and I watch as he heads to Chase. I don’t even bother following, instead I start wiping the bar, waiting for him to return a few minutes later. Whiskey heads straight back to the bar and sits as if he didn’t go anywhere. Then he picks up his glass, and I notice his knuckles are red.

“Tell me you didn’t hit him,” I say, looking over at the back door then back to him.

“I didn’t hit him.” Relief washes over me. “I punched his fucking teeth out.”

What the fuck! My eyes snap to him, and my hand covers my mouth.

“Oh my God, tell me you’re joking.”

The back door flies open and Chase walks in holding his mouth.

“Lucky he doesn’t need it to sing,” Whiskey says. When I look back to him, he’s smirking.

“Carla…” I turn to my manager who’s nodding for me. I look back to Whiskey as dread fills me.

“Can I have a minute?” Whiskey stands and walks to my manager before I can even reply. He says something in a hushed voice before my manager looks back at me.

“Give me a few minutes, Carla,” my manager says.

I wait, biting my nails, and avoid serving anyone until they both come back out. When they do, Whiskey’s smiling and walks straight back to his seat.

“Carla…” my manager nods for me to follow him. I look back to Whiskey who simply smirks as I leave.

Terror fills me. Damn him! I’ve been at this job for so long it’s become my second home. I love working here, and my manager, Keith, who owns the bar has always liked me as well. We have the best working relationship.

“Look,” he says as I sit. He takes a seat too. “What happened just before cannot happen again.”

“Are you firing me?” I ask him, afraid that’s what’s going to leave his mouth.

“I was going to.” Then he shakes his head. “They are high profile guests, Carla. We can’t have them mistreated. We can’t risk other acts not signing up because of this.”

“I’m sorry.”

He holds up his hand. “As I was saying, I was going to fire you. Until your husband purchased the bar. So no, you won’t be fired.”

My mind goes into overdrive.

He what?

No.

No way.

He wouldn’t have.

Pushing my chair back I jump up. “Can I go now?”

“Of course, go home for the night.”

Walking out of his office, I see a glass half full of beer which he must have ordered. So I walk straight over to where Whiskey’s sitting, step up behind him, and tip half a beer over his head and take great pleasure in doing so.

Swinging around, anger is evident in his eyes, then he settles when he notices it’s me.

“He told you?”

“Of course he told me, you ass. Who do you think you are?”

“I bought it for you, rich girl, as a bonus for my misjudgment. You might as well walk out with something, right?”

“You blackmail me, then buy me a bar to make up for it?” I say, my voice high.

“Yes, you love this place. So, I bought it for you.”

I shake my head.

“You don’t do that, Whiskey. What, do you think because you call me ‘rich girl’ that this act would impress me?”

He grabs my arm and pulls me with him to the bathroom. It’s not busy yet, but it will be soon, especially when the band starts for the evening.

“It’s an ‘I’m sorry’ bar.”

I laugh at him. “You can’t be serious?” My hands go to my hair and I pull at it. “You don’t buy people bars because you’ve done something wrong and say it’s a way to make it up to them.”