Monday evening, I work the dinner to closing shift, which equals bigger tips. Even though the day crowds have been growing, the money starts to flow when the sun goes down.
The first few hours of my shift, everything goes smoothly. In the past weeks, I’ve really gotten a handle on everything. I have the menu memorized backwards and forwards, and I engage the customers with a comfort I lacked in the beginning.
The second half of my shift, I’m serving a group of rich frat brothers. Groups of guys are the easiest to please. Get their drinks right and smile sweetly at them, and they cough up the dough like an ATM with a cold. Izzie taught me that. She may not like the hairier sex, but she certainly knows how to work them. This group orders round after round of expensive shots. They’re undoubtedly the loudest, drunkest, most testosterone-filled man-boys in the place. They flirt with me every time I bring them the next round. I smile and play it off with a chuckle and a wave of my hand.
Until one, clearly the alpha douchebag, gives me a hard slap on my backside, grabs my waist, and yanks me down onto his lap. Clearly, this guy’s never heard of whiskey dick, because he’s hard as a diamond. I attempt to jump off, but his arm keeps me from getting too far.
“Where you goin’, honey?”
“Please, release me,” I say with a stern voice.
“Why? Don’t you like me?”
“Don’t think she does,” one of his brothers jokes, laughing and punching another frathole in the arm.
“I have lots of money,” the scumbag with the grip on me states, as if I’ll be impressed. “I’ll pay you. One night. Five hundred bucks.”
I’ve had enough. I snatch the mug on the table in front of him and drain it over his head, wasting a perfectly good beer. He jumps to his feet with a burly scream, tossing me off his lap in the process. I land on mine after a quick stumble.
“What the fuck?!” he shouts, shaking himself off like the dog he is. “You crazy bitch!”
I take it back. That’s an insult to dogs.
The entire restaurant has hushed and is now focused on us.
“Is there a problem here?” Izzie asks, having come out from behind the bar.
“This fucking cunt decided to dump a goddamn beer all over me,” he complains, as if his behavior didn’t warrant every drop.
“Is that true, Rae?” she asks.
“Yes,” I reply with squared shoulders and a straightened back. I’ll own my actions. I regret nothing.
“See!” He points to me with an aggressive jerk of his arm. “I want her fired! Now!”
“That’s not going to fuckin’ happen,” a deep voice chimes in from over the shoulder of the drenched college boy.
Greier.
“Excuse me?” the drunk fool asks, turning on Grey, ready for a brawl. He acts as if he’s never had anyone say no to him before. He probably hasn’t. Entitled little prick. I know. I felt it.
“That’s not going to fuckin’ happen,” Greier repeats. “I saw what you did. You’re lucky she threw that drink on you. Because I wouldn’t have been so merciful. Now get the fuck out of my bar and take your low-life scum friends with you before I change my mind about handling you myself.”
The frat brat clenches his fists and puffs his chest like a cock on the defense, ready to challenge Greier for the alpha male position.
And then Tiny steps behind Greier, dwarfing him. The arrogant smirk on Grey’s face makes me giggle.
The bruised asshole turns back to me and glares, murdering me with his eyes. I smile sweetly at him, knowing he doesn’t have the balls to try anything.
He nods his head toward the door. His brothers stand, gathering their hats and jackets silently. The dog storms out with his tail tucked between his legs, and they follow close behind. The room erupts in cheers and claps, peppered with boos and hisses.
“Alright, everyone, show’s over,” Greier addresses the room. “Drinks on me.”
They get louder than before.
He cups his hands over my shoulders. They’re vibrating. When he realizes he’s touching me intimately in front of the customers and staff, they drop back to his sides.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No,” I assure him. “He got handsy and had a smart mouth, but I’m fine.”
His jaw clicks.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I want to get back to work and forget about ‘em.”
“If you need to talk, I’ll be in my office, alright?”
“Yeah, sure.” I nod and straighten myself out, heading to the kitchen to pick up another table’s order. Truthfully, I hate that he touched me. It triggered something. And it’s harder to shake than I hoped.
Once the restaurant is closed and everyone is gone, minus Tiny taking inventory in the store room, I head to Greier’s office in the back, off the kitchen. He’s at his desk, his eyes glued to the screen of his laptop. He seems engrossed with whatever he’s looking at. I knock on the doorframe since the door is open. He looks at me from over the screen. It glows across his face.
“Hey,” he says blandly. “Come in.”
I fall back on the couch against the opposite wall. He powers off his computer and shuts the screen, sitting back in his swiveling chair.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
His eyebrows raise lazily.
“Mm-hm.” He clasps his hands behind his head. “Figuring out numbers and dealing with shit.”
“You look stressed.”
“Then I look how I feel.”
Even though my feet are killing me and I could pass out on this couch, I get up and walk over to him.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his hands moving to the armrests of his chair.
I set mine on his shoulders, right around his neck, and begin kneading the knots out with my thumbs.
“Holy fuck,” he moans, his head rolling back.
I work the stress out of his tendons, moving down his shoulder once they’re putty. Gravelly groans rise from his throat with every deep stroke of my fingers. I admire the hilly terrain of his upper back. Especially the muscle that connects the base of his thick neck to his broad shoulders. My hands relocate to his full hair. I drag my nails over his scalp, and his head falls back even further. His eyes shut. When they open again, mine are staring into them.
“Why are you doing this?” he asks.
“Consider it a thanks, for earlier.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You had my back.” I remove my hands from his hair and set them back on his shoulders. “Now I got yours.”
He takes my left hand with his right and stares at it, caressing the knuckles with his thumb.
“Are you coming upstairs?” I ask, entranced by his skin against mine. He favors my ring finger, and I gently take my hand away, hiding it behind my back.
“Um, no.” He sits forward, grabbing a stack of invoices from his desk. “I have more to finish down here. But I’ll be done in an hour or so.”
“Alright.” I walk around his desk and toward the door but stop before I cross the threshold. “In case I’m asleep when you’re done, don’t go to the guest room tonight.”
I smile and then walk through the kitchen. Tiny comes out from the storeroom, all three hundred pounds of him, carrying a crate of booze.
“Hey, Mr. Tiny.”
He looks at me with his kind brown eyes and smiles. He has the biggest, brightest smile. It forces you to return one as bright and warm, even when you’re feeling dark and cold. He can make Greier smile from time to time. At first impression, he’s a visual menace. But he’s the gentlest giant. A real gentleman. He deserves thanks for backing Greier tonight. Not that Grey can’t handle himself against that punk.
“Hey, Miss Rae.”
He walks down the hall and into the bar. I decide to follow him out and help him restock the bar. I’m not too eager to hang in the empty apartment right now. We unload the box and place the bottles on the shelves behind the bar, labels out.
“Thanks for tonight,” I casually mention while we move the most expensive bottles into the prime real estate, the top shelf.
“It was nothin’.” He shrugs his linebacker shoulders.
I face him. “It wasn’t.”
He glimpses out the corner of his eye. “Least I can do after everything he’s done for me.”
“If you don’t mind me asking…” I walk over to the bar and lift myself onto it, taking a seat.
He turns to me, leaning back into the counter behind him, crossing his burly arms over his burly chest.
“When Katrina hit, my family lost everything. The Ward. Our home. Our possessions. Our business. My great, great grandmamma started a restaurant right outta her kitchen, turned it into a thrivin’ business. Every generation of my family has worked there since. When it was destroyed, it was like we lost the heart of our family. Maybe even the heart of the community.”
My heart splinters for him and his loved ones. It must’ve been devastating to lose their whole world, like so many. Our government took too long to react and gave too little during the city’s resurrection. The scars of her wrath remain across New Orleans to this day.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. We were lucky. We had our health and each other when it was all said and done. But more than that, we were able to rebuild—because of Greier.”
“What?”
“Yup. See, my family is good friends with Madame LeRoux and Miss Izzie. When she told him our story, he donated the money my family needed to get the restaurant goin’ again and even offered me a job helpin’ run this place when he bought it from Tobias. Said I’d be doin’ him a solid. But I know different. He’s an excellent boss and businessman. He’s a good man. He saved me.”
“Yeah, he does that, doesn’t he?” He agrees with a nod. “It was kind of him to loan you the money.”
“Oh, he didn’t. He gave it to us. No questions asked. So, ya see, no thanks needed.”
He gave it to them?
Tiny returns his attention back to the shelves of booze and continues emptying the crate.
“You mentioned he bought this place from his father.” It feels wrong fishing for information on Greier from other people. But it’s not as if we’re talking about anything super personal. Just his livelihood, family, and personal life. “I thought he took it over.”
“Nope.” He sets the last bottle on the ledge, a bottle of Jameson. “Tobias was in debt and the bar was badly damaged. He couldn’t afford to fix it up again. Greier bought the building. Gave him enough money to pay what he owed, buy a house in Faubourg Marigny, and have some left over to do what he wanted with it. Greier wanted him to open a new place or something, but—”
“He squandered most of it.”
“So, you’ve met him.”
We smile at one another, but they’re of pity and sadness. We both know Greier deserves better than Tobias. He isn’t a bad guy. But certainly not the kind of dad who’ll play a game of catch with his son or teach him how to shave. If he wasn’t always bailing him out, I doubt Greier would see much of his dad.
Suddenly feeling the weight of the evening on my shoulders, I glance up at the clock over the bar. Two-forty-seven.
“I better get upstairs,” I state and jump off the counter. “Have a good night, Mr. Tiny.”
“Night, Miss Rae.”
After I’ve bathed the day away, I stand out on the balcony overlooking Bourbon, pearls of water beading my skin. A gust of velvety wind strokes the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs, blowing the fringe of my chiffon kimono until it dances around my bare ass. It’s delicious and feels a shade naughty. It’s late, and I left the balcony and apartment dark. Seems harmless enough.
Suddenly, Greier’s behind me, placing his hands on the railing and corralling me with his arms.
“I know I shouldn’t say this,” he whispers against my neck, “but you have a phenomenal backside. I could bite into it like a juicy apple.”
His clothed erection grazes it. Trying desperately not to melt like a popsicle, I breathe out an involuntary breath. It caught in my throat when his words brushed across the damp skin of my collar.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you today.” A mix of cashmere lips and jagged breaths caress the susceptible area tucked behind my ear. I clench my thigh muscles and gird my loins.
“It’s sweet of you to think of me,” I reply shakily, my voice cracking at the end.
“There was nothing sweet about what I was thinking.” His warm mass swarms mine, crushing me into the wrought iron lace railing. I whimper when it grinds into my clitoris.
“You promised to play nice,” I whisper between pants, my lungs betraying me.
“I never played well with others.”
“You shouldn’t…” I can’t even finish the sentence.
“Stop me, Rae,” the point of his nose navigates the shell of my ear, “push me away. Order me to leave you alone, to stop thinking of you every fucking second of every fucking moment, and I will. Believe me, it would make my life a lot easier. But if there’s even the slightest chance you want me too, don’t make a sound.”
His teeth briefly bite into my earlobe before his healing mouth dulls the sharp edge of the sting.
He parks his hands on my waist and spins me around, shoving me against a support with his body. His lips linger over mine.
“Last call.”
My head tumbles back, and my lips part like the red sea to welcome him inside. His hands disappear into my hair, his fingers grasping at the roots. Enticingly warm, his mouth covers mine, a comfy blanket on a snowy night.
Gradually, the dance intensifies, hands grope, mouths demolish, skin aches for more. All my senses zero in on him. He’s everywhere. He’s everything. Nothing exists beyond this dark balcony. Until the gentle keys of a piano play in the distance or maybe it’s in my head, a melody only we can dance to. It’s the most beautifully tragic song ever written.
The song of us.