CHAPTER 1
DECKER
“You look worse for wear tonight, man. I know how you feel.”
The comment sets my teeth on edge. This guy—I think his name is Evan—perches on the other side of the bar in his fancy suit and presumes to know me? He knows fuck all about how I feel. He’s just one of the countless patrons who shuffles into a musky bar, hoping their local mixologist will talk them off an emotional ledge. I might be a lot of things, but I’m neither a therapist nor a friend.
I blink and relax my jaw. Christ, I need to chill out. With a deep breath, I wipe down the workspace behind the bar and attempt to be civil. “Just tired.”
Evan’s a nice guy, perhaps a little too chatty, but he tips like a high-roller. I’m certain he bats for the home team, yet in the few months he’s been coming here, he’s never hit on me.
“Want another?” I lift my chin in the direction of his empty glass.
He pulls up something on his phone and considers his answer with a furrowed brow.
For a Saturday night, the bar is quieter than it should be. I’ve worked here since it opened six months ago. Long enough to know that fifty-percent occupancy isn’t going to pay the premium rent. I’m beginning to wonder if Blue Dixie has what it takes to survive Manhattan’s booming bar scene. More and more buildings are being converted into craft breweries and artsy hipster bars, while Blue Dixie clings to a charming antebellum ambiance that belongs in the South.
This place can burn to the ground for all I care. Except I need this job. I have too many friends struggling to find work, bussing tables, collecting trash, something, anything in this pathetic job market. I can’t stomach the thought of being unemployed. Again.
“I’ll have one more.” Evan slides the empty glass toward me and rests his forearms on the wooden ledge. “Beats going home to a lonely apartment, you know?”
I do know, but if that was an invitation to go home with him, he’s eying the wrong guy.
His dark stubble is thicker than usual, the creases around his eyes deeper. Given his exorbitant tips and high-dollar suits, he’s rolling in money. Maybe he spends it all on liquor and drugs, because at the end of the day, the size of the bank account doesn’t matter. Life shits on everyone.
An old bearded man two stools down stares into his full pint, seemingly lost in his own woes.
I turn to refill Evan’s top-shelf whiskey and collide with Shelby’s bony body. She reaches up to touch my chest, and I jerk back with a growl. The owner of Blue Dixie struggles with simple concepts like business ethics and personal space.
“What do you need, Shelby?” I pour Evan’s single malt with a scowl in my voice.
“Need to see you in my office.” She crowds closer, brushing her hips against mine.
Frizzy bleached hair, wrinkles bracketing her mouth, and underweight in all the wrong areas, she’s not my type. In her late thirties, she’s ten years my senior. She’s also an easy lay—another major point against her.
“I have customers.” I pivot away, slide Evan his drink, and move down the bar toward the pretty brunette who just settled in. “What can I get you, gorgeous?”
“Um…” Her gaze travels down my chest, lashes fluttering and cheeks deliciously flushed. “How about something…” Biting down on a nervous smile, she returns to my face. “Hard?”
My dick twitches. Oh, I’ll give her hard. If she hangs around till the end of my shift, I’ll chase her sweet ass right into her bed and fuck the shyness out of her.
“Decker.” Shelby’s voice scrapes against my senses. “My office. Now.” She waves at the waitress working the tables on the far side of the dark room. “Tracy, can you cover Decker for a few minutes?”
“In five,” Tracy calls back and returns to her table.
“Five minutes.” Shelby drags an acrylic fingernail down my back. “Don’t make me wait.”
She sashays toward the rear of the building in a spectacle of black leather, bird legs, and knobby hips.
God only knows what petty bullshit she’s contrived this time to get me alone. Every stubborn bone in my body vibrates to leave her waiting all night. But my rent is two months late. If I lose this job, I’m as good as homeless.
I prepare one of my custom cocktails for the pretty brunette, going easy on the Cuban rum and Everclear. I want her sober when she’s riding my cock tonight.
“If you’re looking for something harder…” I set the wine goblet in front of her. “I’m off the clock at midnight.”
I leave her with a startled squeak in her throat and move to the other end of the bar to check on Evan and the quiet bearded guy. Both are nursing their drinks.