Duke
Murphy’s is in rare form tonight. Drinks fly from the bar to the masses. Loud music vibrates the floor. The bar doesn’t have a reputation for a quaint atmosphere, but fuck, it seems every idiot itching to fight has walked through the doors. First, two scrawny guys try to take off each other’s heads, and then a two-on-one girl fight near the bathroom.
Guys brawling is one thing. We have too much testosterone. We can’t help what sets us off sometimes. When douche bags run their mouths or overstep, you have to handle business. Girls rough housing is something I’ll never understand. The female population is meant to be delicate, not running around throwing punches and yanking each other’s hair out.
They’re supposed to be like her. The pretty girl at the end of the bar who quite literally covers her friend’s ass hanging out the bottom of her dress. She’s petite, but the heels help cover more ground before her friend gives the back end of the bar a show.
With only her profile visible, I lean over the bar to get a glance at the beauty. The lights above the bar make her skin glow. She has the softest of brown hair with highlights. All of those things are nice, but the dress makes it difficult to glance away. The color strikes me in the chest, drawing my attention away from anyone else around her.
Several minutes pass. Drink orders are shouted in my direction, but they go ignored. Nothing can tear my eyes away from this girl. She’s mesmerizing and familiar. I can’t put my finger on where I know her from.
Lydia, the only female bartender around this place, forces me out of her way as she picks up my slack. She’s used to my antics and laughs when I gawk at my current distraction.
We slept together once, a year ago, and instead of never speaking to her again, which is usually how it goes, she and I became friends. She was new to the area, and Derks gave her a chance behind his busy and lucrative bar. Lydia and I get along because we both understand it was too much whiskey and a lack of sleep that brought us together the first night.
At the end of the day, I’m not a saint and don’t pretend to be. I’ve learned, through trial and error, it’s safer to be upfront and honest about my intentions to the females who trail in and out of my life. I prefer less mess to clean up.
“You look like a fucking creep, just so you know.” Lydia laughs as she leans around me to grab a bottle of vodka. “Go talk to her. The girl is hot.”
“A girl like her takes more than witty banter and flirting.” I grab the bottle before she can, and she rips it from my grasp, pouring the shots before handing it back to me. We are fluid behind the bar, guessing the other’s move before we make it.
“Well, that’s all you have in your arsenal, so you’re fucked.” She pats me on the shoulder and scampers to the cash register to empty her bulging pockets. “Better yet, stand here. Stare at the pretty girl at the end of the bar for a little bit longer.” Her loud voice carries over the music, and I glance around to make sure no one heard her.
Fuck it. What do I have to lose?
As I approach, the girl twists, revealing her flawless face. My stomach punches into my throat. Of course, she’s even more beautiful up close. The only problem is flirtation won’t work with this one. She’s spoken for. Taken. Committed. Take the pick of appropriate words. The worst part is she’s the girlfriend of one of my fraternity brothers.
Shit.
“Duke Anderson,” she sneers. My name sounds like a curse soaked in venom. The hatred is loud and fucking clear. But why?
Where her animosity stems from, I’ve never quite understood. Jacob and I are brothers. We’ve taken an oath to have each other’s back. We hang out occasionally, but Charlotte has never warmed up to me. Of course, to get warmed by the fire, she’d have to pull up a seat, and she’s always twelve paces away.
“In the flesh,” I banter back, extending my hands in a bullshit display of satisfaction. Her intoxicating blue eyes flash to the tattoos on my arms.
She swallows hard and shakes her head.
So, I affect this girl; whether it’s good or bad, the jury is still out. I have every intention of poking until she snaps. Girls like Charlotte Novak are easy to rile up, and maybe a small part of me enjoys the thought, even when nothing will come out of it. The thrill’s in the chase most of the time.
Take a shark for instance. He doesn’t sink his sharp teeth into a surfer and gobble them up. No, he nudges them with the tip of his nose, swims away, and then comes back to finish. Sharks play with their food. Consider me a great white.
The blonde observes us like a tennis match, shifting her head back and forth. She’s pretty in a slutty kind of way. It’s hard to judge a girl accurately when they’re standing next to a creature like Charlotte. Most girls can’t be classified in the same category as her. Charlotte’s a different kind of beauty. I may not be picky most nights, but I can appreciate how lucky guys like Jacob are to snag girls like her off the market.
“You guys know each other?” her friend asks. Her interests lie in what causes the palpable tension half the bar can sense building around us.
“No.” Charlotte shoots a direct venomous look, and it hits me in the chest. Damn, this girl really hates me.
“Yes.” Our responses overlap. Mine is much warmer than what she delivers.
Technically, we don’t know each other. We share common friends and have crossed paths occasionally. Jacob keeps his worlds separate and tends to lock her away in an ivory tower. So, outside a random encounter on campus, we don’t see much of each other.
The first time I caught a glimpse of her, Jacob and I were freshman. The frat brothers gave him shit, roasting him for tying his time up with her. When she came to campus later that year, I understood, for the first time, why he wasn’t willing to give her up just to have a good time. She laughed in a way the whole room paid attention, even when we weren’t privy to the joke. It wasn’t just how beautiful she was; it was the way she carried herself that made me pause and pay attention.
“Oh, this sounds like a story.” Her friend jumps up and down, her large rack bouncing with her anticipation.
“There is no story,” I speak up. “What can I get you to drink, honey?” I smile at the blonde. It would go to waste on Charlotte, and I don’t hand them out lightly.
“I’m Rachel, and I’ll have Sex on the Beach,” she says, her voice deep and suggestive. She throws in a cute wink for good measure. This one is trouble. No girl who orders a Sex on the Beach ever has good intentions.
“It’s nice to meet you, Rachel. Anything for you, Char?” I ask, hoping she’ll wipe the scowl off her perfect face.
Her attention is on the dance floor. The envy in her eyes is nearly hidden as she takes in a couple grinding against each other. She tightens her resolve, erasing the jealousy from her expression when she addresses me.
She exhales an angry lungful of air. “Char? Only my friends call me that, and we aren’t friends. Let’s not pretend like we are.” Her eyes narrow as she leans on the bar, aggressive and driven to deliver a lecture. “You haven’t even bothered to come to the hospital. He’s always defending you to everyone, and you don’t even have the decency to pop your head in to check how he’s doing or show your support to his family.” She leans away from me and crosses her arms over her chest. “You could at least tell them what happened. You were the last person to see him, right? He stormed out of my apartment and raced to you. I assume it’s your fault he’s not waking up. I hope you can live with yourself.”
Well, that fucking stings.
I shake my head, mixing Rachel’s drink and serving it, while trying to pretend Charlotte’s words don’t hurt as much as they do. Rachel glances at me, sympathy swimming in her eyes. It doesn’t dim the initial burn beneath my skin.
“Fair enough.” I nod and back away for some much-needed distance. The temptation to give her the truth, to ruin the perfect little reality she believes she lives in is too strong after her harsh words. Though I don’t know her, she deserves better.
I send Lydia to get Charlotte’s drink order, tossing my credit card at her. “Whatever they need, they can have. Put it on my card at the end of the night.”
Lydia’s gaze burns into me with a thousand unasked questions. “You sure about that? Blondie looks like she can kick ‘em back.” She slides my card into the front of her apron with the bar’s signature, neon green emblem on the front.
“I’m sure. Tell Randy to keep an eye on them, too.”
She opens her mouth to say something, but I shrug and aim my attention elsewhere, dismissing the worry in her eyes.
One thing I’ve learned is inhibition lowers with a few drinks. Girls do things they normally wouldn’t have the courage to do. Everyone else may be in a drunken haze tonight, but I’m not. My mind is straight, and I’m sober. Behind the bar, I witness the way Charlotte’s dress rides up, barely covering her ass, her lean, tanned legs exposed. A few times I have to nod to Randy to intercept a handful of guys before they get too close.
There’s no reason on God’s green Earth why I should give a fuck about what a princess like Charlotte Novak thinks. I do, though. The entire night, her words are stuck in my head, playing on loop. It’s more about the way she looks at me with such disdain that has me on edge. Her animosity is why I spend most of my shift watching her shoot back Tequila Sunrise after Tequila Sunrise. She dances all over the floor in front of the DJ stand. By the way she glances around her to see if others are watching, I’d say she isn’t comfortable.
Envy is what I saw earlier. There’s a lack of carefreeness she longs for but can’t quite reach. Who’s stifled her confidence? Why can’t she allow the world to slip away and do whatever the hell it is she wants to do?
Close to closing time, scantily clad co-eds beg for my attention. None of them look at the ink spread across my skin like Charlotte had. Intrigue and curiosity seeped through the initial irritation she had for me. They brush their fingertips over the edges of my tattoos as they pass by, hoping to rile a beast inside of me. I push them off, dismissing the advances. My concern is on the dance floor. She pulls me in and I hate myself for that.
When final call is announced, Randy calls a cab for Rachel and Charlotte, on my bill. Charlotte stumbles to the exit where he waits to escort them to their carriage for the night. Randy speaks softly to her. As she turns towards me slow and unsure, her eyes grow big and gloss over. She leaves without saying a damn word. No polite wave, or curt nod. Well, fuck you, too, then.
The smirk on Randy’s face tells me I’m in for a wrath of hell from him. He’ll eat this shit up like Thanksgiving dinner.
When the last drifter is shoved out the door, I count down my drawer. Lydia, Randy, and Derks, the owner, perch on barstools, beers in hand, finding humor in the situation.
“Just spit it out, assholes. You all want to say something, so just get it over with,” I protest, popping the top on a Bud Light. The carbonation tickles my throat, and the taste is welcomed after the night I’ve had.
“Who was the bombshell?” Derks spins his empty beer bottle on the bar.
Unlike most successful businessmen, he chooses to stick around into the late hours when he could be home. Girls fall at his feet, and he claims it has something to do with his long, blond hair, not the couple of bars and the restaurant he owns. The cocky son of a bitch is good people. He’s been on my side through a lot of shit, and I’ll always be grateful for him.
“Charlotte’s her name. She just so happens to be Jacob’s girlfriend.” I run a towel over the bar to occupy myself.
“Like Jacob, Jacob?” Lydia’s eyes widen, and her lips flatten. I nod. She snatches the rag from my hand and throws it into the sink. “She doesn’t know, does she? I mean the way she glared at you, she couldn’t possibly know.”
They wait for my answer. Frustration paints their stares red.
“Not a clue, and it’s not my place to say anything.”
It could be my place though, if I choose it to be. The idea alone is selfish, and I may be a lot of things, but I’m not that.
“What if he doesn’t wake up, then what? Is it still not your place?” Randy interrupts. He’s everyone’s protective brother, always giving advice, even when unwanted, and always putting us in our place when we need it most.
“You can’t let everyone assume you’re the cause of this mess.” Lydia slams her hand down on the bar, and stands, fury simmering deep in her eyes. “The police have questioned you how many times, Duke?”
“That’s not relative. He’s going to wake up, and then, it’ll be his responsibility.” I chug my beer, and wave goodbye.
Like most nights, I come home to a quiet apartment, a perk of living alone. All I want to do is shower off today’s dirt and crash onto my mattress. The warm water spatters across my muscles, and my thoughts drift to Charlotte’s anger. No one can blame her for how she reacted. From the outside, it looks bad. From the inside, a little less so, when you know the whole story. I had nothing to do with Jacob’s accident. Everyone believes I was supposed to be with him that night. Jacob had told Charlotte, at least.
The cool air hits my wet skin as I step out of the shower and into my room. I push play on my iPod dock and up the volume. An angry, unfamiliar rock song blares from the speaker, playing my anthem for the night. With the towel around my waist, I fall to the comfort of my bed.
My phone rings several times as I stare up at the ceiling. There’s no need to look at the screen to know who it is. As of late, there’s a regular girl who only wants one thing from me. She scratches an itch for me, and she knows it. She’s content with the arrangement as long as she gets off in the end. Much like most girls these days, she and I together are easy.
“Not tonight.” I slam my finger into the ignore button.
How do I tell a girl I’m not in the mood to fuck, without sounding like a colossal pussy?