~ Emma
I watch Nick, waiting for his response. Wait to find out how he’s going to answer me. I already know what I want to talk about. Time to turn this little game of his on its head. I didn’t even want to play it in the first place, but if he’s going to push, then I’m going to push back.
After all, fair’s fair.
And two can play this game.
“Don’t mind,” he shrugs, pulling a tray of glasses from the small dishwasher under the bar. The steam billows out, momentarily obscuring him from view.
“Alright then,” I say. “Why don’t you tell me more about how it is you came to be the owner of this place then?”
His reaction to my question tells me what I already knew. He doesn’t want to talk about it. And I know I’m being a bitch, but right now, I don’t care. Nick didn’t care when he pushed me to answer his questions, tell him all the things I loved and hated about my job. It’s not like he even stopped when it was obvious I didn’t want to talk about it, when I felt uncomfortable about where that particular conversation was going.
Shit, he even made me cry when I first walked in here.
“Easy,” he answers, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “I always wanted to open a bar, so I worked my arse off to make it happen and then I did it.”
I watch him, not believing a word he’s telling me. He won’t even look at me now and he’s suddenly weirdly focused on drying the clean glasses and putting them away. His explanation is definitely not the whole story and he doesn’t even realise how much his body language betrays him. It’s so obvious how much he doesn’t want to talk about this, how much he’s lying right now, that I can’t help but want to know more. Want to push a little harder.
“That’s it, huh?”
“Yep,” he says, glancing over as he reaches for a bottle of scotch on the shelf behind him. I watch as he pours himself a generous drink, not bothering to offer me one this time, before he picks up the glass and throws it back in one go. He winces, before pouring himself another one. Then he replaces the bottle on the shelf, staring at it for a second as though he’s wondering if that just happened.
Or maybe he’s wondering if he isn’t going to need more of it to continue this conversation.
That’s when I know I’ve hit a nerve.
“Alright then,” I say, lifting my beer to my mouth, my eyes on him as I take a long swallow of the cool liquid. I’m not sure if it’s the lack of food, the lack of sleep, or the fact that it’s been a couple of months since I drank this much in one sitting, but I’m starting to feel the effects of all this alcohol.
I’m sure it’s what gives me the confidence to say what I say next.
“So how come you’ve never really opened the bar then?”
Nick’s head snaps up, his eyes finally locking with mine. “What?” his asks, practically spitting the question at me.
“Well,” I say, lifting my hand and waving it around the now almost empty bar. “It’s like you’re ninety-five percent here and five percent missing,” I continue. “You’re not all in. Not for someone who claims to have always wanted this.”
I’m not sure if this is entirely true. Maybe the kitchen just isn’t open on certain nights. But I get the feeling there’s more to it than that. It definitely felt like them ordering in food was a common thing and given the set up for serving food is already here, it doesn’t make sense that he wouldn’t have opened it.
Nick shakes his head at me as he pulls the towel from the back pocket of his jeans and starts wiping down imaginary marks on the bar. I can tell I’ve pissed him off with my words; the muscles in his jaw are already rippling under his skin as he tries not to speak.
It’s kinda fascinating to watch, the way he fights the urge to start a fight with me, the way his jaw clenches, the muscles pulling and contracting. I try to imagine the rapid fire of nerve impulses that are holding it all in place, the grinding of teeth as he struggles to comply with his brain’s commands.
Just when I’m about to ask again, push it that little bit further, the other bartender calls out his name. Nick’s head snaps up and even though I can’t see his face, I can practically feel the relief that flows through him at the distraction. I’m certain he’s going to walk off and ignore me, not answer my question, but then he stops, eyes staring at the wood panel in front of him.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Emma.”
And then he walks off and I’m left feeling like shit for the way I just acted towards him.
I spend the next ten or so minutes sitting at the end of the bar, nursing the last of my beer as I watch Nick. He’s completely ignoring me now, pretty much ignoring everyone actually. There’s still a couple of customers left and even though he’s polite enough to them, he’s nothing like he was when I first walked in here tonight.
I know now that I’ve really have pissed him off. That maybe I went too far with my questions.
I should take it as a sign and an excuse to leave and go home. It’s late enough that Owen won’t give me shit for bailing and I’m fairly certain Nick won’t even notice I’ve gone.
In fact, I doubt he’d even care.
I’m not even sure why I care.
“What’d you say to get him so pissed off?”
I blink, realise the other bartender is now standing in front of me, hands on hips and an unimpressed look on his face.
“Nothing,” I say, shrugging as though it’s no big deal.
“Bullshit,” he says, reaching for another beer and sliding it in front of me. What is it with these two and giving me drinks all night? Are they trying to get me drunk?
I pick up the bottle, my thumb scratching at the label. “I just asked him about this place,” I say. “It was nothing.”
I’m so full of shit, it’s not funny. It wasn’t just nothing and I know it. Like any good virus, I found the weakness, the tiny little crack that lets the bad in and I exploited it, took advantage of a lowering of the defenses and used it against him.
For just a second, it surprises me how callous I can be.
I’m supposed to have some sort of empathy, a caring nature that lets me not just do my job, but do it for the right reasons.
The other bartender shakes his head, stepping closer as though he doesn’t want anyone else to hear what he has to say to me.
“This place isn’t nothing,” he says, his voice low, but not so low that I miss the seriousness of what he’s saying; or the anger in his words. “Don’t fuck with him about it, okay? Because you have no idea what you’re talking about,” he adds, echoing Nick’s words from earlier.
I open my mouth to speak, but he shakes his head at me and walks off. What the hell is this about?
By the time I finish my beer, Nick still hasn’t returned. The alcohol has definitely kicked in now and I know I should just grab a taxi and go home, forget about this night. Forget about Nick.
I slide my phone from my purse and open the taxi app so I can book one. Once it’s done, I slide on my coat and head towards the door. It’s only as I walk towards it that I notice the bar is now empty, not a single person left inside.
Nick and the other bartender are nowhere in sight and I wonder how it is I’ve missed everyone disappearing. When I reach the glass door, I pull on it, only to find it’s locked. I glance up and pull on the bolt at the top, before reaching for the one at the bottom.
“I thought you were staying?”
I freeze, my hand on the handle, unsure what to say. I thought he wanted me to go?
“Emma?”
I half glance backwards, my eyes on the floor rather than Nick. “I didn’t think you’d want me to anymore.”
I hear him step closer. “Why?”
I swallow hard, my eyes closing as I wonder what the hell is happening here. “Because I practically insulted you and your profession.”
“No, you didn’t.”
I look up confused and see Nick standing a couple of feet away from me. His eyes are watching me, but the lighting is too low for me to see what he’s thinking.
“Yeah, I did,” I say, nodding.
Nick shakes his head, stepping closer as he holds something out for me. I stare down at his hand, see the coins in his palm and watch as he reaches for my hand now. His touch startles me. The coldness of his fingers, the gentle way they lift my hand and place the coins into my palm. My eyes never leave our hands, not wanting to look up and see his face…or let him see mine.
My heart is racing in my chest, pounding against my sternum so hard it almost hurts.
“Go and pick out some music,” he whispers, his voice husky.
I nod automatically as I close my fingers around the coins and walk past him towards to jukebox at the back, wondering how the hell everything has changed again.
As I do, I hear Nick re-bolt the front door, the metal clang loud in the now empty bar. I stick some coins in and pick the first thing I see because my heart is hammering so loudly in my chest I need to hide it before he hears it too, before it completely gives me away.
When I turn around, Nick has set out two glasses on the bar, one with ice and one without. I watch as he reaches up to the highest shelf behind the bar, the movement causing the hem of his long-sleeved tee to pull free from his jeans.
My eyes immediately gravitate to his waist, fixating on the strip of bare skin that’s now exposed as he stretches, the movement pulling his whole body taut. My mouth goes completely dry, my hammering heart now reaching pounding status in my chest.
But then the material lowers and that brief glimpse of skin disappears and when I force my eyes up, I find Nick staring at me again, a strange look on his face.
Shit.