Chapter 2: The Sighting

Ethan Ten Years Later

It’s gonna be a long fucking night. I can feel it in my bones. My bar is packed, everyone waiting for drinks three deep with every table full. Our town is celebrating the recent conference tournament win for the Warriors’s basketball team. To top off the evening, though, there’s a huge birthday party taking place. I’m not complaining, though. While a crowded night for us means I’ll be spending more time restocking the bar tomorrow than usual after they deplete our stash, it’s also excellent for the bottom line.

This is all happening in the bar I own, work tirelessly to keep in the black, my employees happy, and the place fun while always maintaining its safety.

If they weren’t spending money like the drunks they are, I’d be a little more pissed about how unruly they’re being. But, considering they’re dropping cash in front of us faster than a stripper on a pole drops it like it’s hot, I’m smiling my mega-watt smile and swapping drinks as fast as they can order ‘em.

I’ve worked in this bar since I was in college. Started out as a bouncer of sorts then transitioned as a bar back, learning the basics of filling the perfect draft beer and how to pour a strong drink without over serving. It’s also where I learned the flirting game for bigger tips but not pissing off the protective boyfriend. Eventually I began bartending and realized money behind the bar was far better than the hourly wage dealing with the drunks. The tips alone covered my personal bills and helped pay my way through college to earn my degree in business. Even after I graduated, I stayed working here on the weekends for extra cash.

A few years ago, I was working in an office, stuck behind a desk all day, and hated every minute of it. When the previous owner called me up out of the blue to let me know he was planning to sell the place and asked if I was interested, I took it as the sign I’d unknowingly been waiting for.

The Flying Goat is my baby. After signing on the dotted line, I shut the bar down for two months and completely gutted the interior. It was almost strictly a college bar, but I wanted to create an environment that welcomed everyone, not just students but couples looking for a date night or ladies enjoying a girls’ night out. I expanded our menu, hired a new chef, brought in a pool table, ripped out the old chipped and cracked linoleum flooring that was covered in substances I still don’t want to think about and replaced it with a dark wood, had a stage built so that we could have live, local bands, opened up a back patio that we use in the warmer months, and changed the name from The Northend Bar and Grill to The Flying Goat.

I line up another row of shot glasses and fill them with some middle-shelf tequila before setting them on the tray, placing a bowl of limes in the middle along with a salt shaker. Completely unoriginal.

Two days ago, we received a call letting us know about a large group that would be coming to party together for someone’s thirtieth birthday. The women are squealing and the guys are getting rowdy, everyone having a great time. I’m glad we have the far corner of The Goat that’s raised slightly for groups just like this. There’s only five stairs to get into the area, but it gives the effect of being set apart from the rest of the bar which makes parties feel more exclusive. Especially because we rope off the area with reserved signs.

Penny, one of the servers who’s been working the party, carries the tray over to the table and everyone cheers, toasting before tipping back their shots. I roll my eyes and grin at my friend Rex, the other bartender I have working with me tonight.

I usually only bartend when there’s a big party or we’re just incredibly busy, which tonight we are. Having two male bartenders is only part of our strategy. I’ve learned that having women behind the bar for men to flirt with causes problems when we’re busier than normal. Having men creates just enough competition for the men that they order more drinks, dropping more tips to show their worth.

It’s ridiculous but a game I’ve learned how to play well.

Rex leans in close. "They’re gonna be hurting tomorrow," he murmurs into my ear just loud enough for me to hear but no one else, looking at the crowd out of the corner of his eye while he fills a glass from the tap. I glance over at the group and suppress a laugh.

"Yup."

He greets a new customer, spreading his palms wide on the bar top and leaning over just enough to get in her space. She preens under his attention. "What can I getcha, sweetheart?"

I chuckle and shift my focus to the line of customers that are waiting, not caring enough to listen. Women fawn over Rex like the tattooed bartender badass he is. Rex and I met in college and while this bar is my life, it’s just a side gig for him. Computer nerd by day, the minute he walks through these doors, charming the pants off the ladies without even having to try. The women love his dark rimmed glasses, black button-down vest covering up the gray shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, showing off his tattoos. He calls it his "signature look". He’s the perfect contradiction of nerdy bad boy and the women can’t get enough. Rex plays up the stereotype, keeping his dark beard trimmed and maintained neatly. I’ve seen more women reach out, wanting to touch any part of him as if they can’t help themselves.

He plays his role well, even though, for him, it’s not just for show. He’s the most authentic person I know. Unapologetically the king of one night stands. He’ll forever be single and happy that way. Not that I’m much better. Neither of us are best friends with commitment. For me, it’s more that I haven’t found a woman I’m interested enough in to pursue something long term. For Rex, though, he can’t stand the idea of only being with one woman for the rest of his life. I can’t wait for the day he meets someone who proves him wrong and brings him to his knees.

A group of three ladies come sidling up to the bar, every one of them showing extreme cleavage. I’ve been here long enough, it’s easy to recognize the single ladies on the prowl, and these three are owning the top criteria: barely there clothing and over-the-top makeup. Judgmental? Maybe. But when one rests her elbows on the corner of the bar, pressing in so her tits about pop out of her top, I know I’m right. In fact, I’m not entirely sure she’d shove one back in if it did happen to fall out. The way she’s leering, it looks like I’m her target. If she thinks she’s remotely original, she’s wrong. If their attire doesn’t give away their intentions, their drink order definitely will. When it sounds like they googled ‘shots with sexual innuendos’ before they walked in the door, I know what kind of good time they’re looking for.

"We’re looking for a flaming orgy," she says, voice high-pitched and baby-like. In other words: incredibly annoying. "Think you can help us out with that?" And my record stands. They’re definitely on the prowl.

Her friends all snicker and she runs a fingertip over my forearm, thinking she’s being cute and sexy. She’s not. I do my best not to jerk away from her, knowing this is part of the gig. Her touch makes my skin crawl, though.

"Comin’ right up, sweetheart," I drawl, holding eye contact. To Rex and me, they’re all sweetheart. Sometimes we shake it up with a darlin’. It’s the most annoying part of bartending, half the women thinking we’re only here for their quick lay. A box to check off their list. She licks her red stained lips and I spin around to grab the various liquor bottles. I notice Rex press his lips together, trying not to laugh at my expense.

He knows I hate the unwanted touching and assumption that just because I sling drinks for a living, I’m nothing more than a guy drinking all night long and looking for a one night hook up. I don’t know where the stereotype came from, but it’s annoying.

Shots poured, I slide the glasses her way. When she notices I don’t pour an extra, she pouts, doing her best to sound and look innocent, turning her head to the side. "You’re not going to join us?" I want to remind her that I’m working so why would I be drinking alcohol but I know it would fall on deaf ears. She doesn’t care about me. She cares about the fact that I’m a good looking guy, no cockiness there, just a simple fact, and she’s horny.

"Not tonight, sweetheart."

Her bottom lip pokes out then she pays, fingers deliberately trailing across my palm as she slips the cash into my hand. "Keep the change," she purrs. Wasted effort, sweetheart. I keep up the act as best I can, letting her touch linger a hell of a lot longer than I’d like and wink while giving her my most charming smile. Thinking she won, she smiles widely and turns to hand out the shots to her friends.

With them distracted, I take advantage and move down to help the next customers. Unsurprisingly, it takes no time for a group of guys to step in and indulge in the attention the type twos are seeking.

I’m looking down as I wipe my hands on a towel and say, "What can I get ya?"

"Well, definitely not a flaming orgy that the trio of boobs was asking for."

I snort out a laugh at the nickname for the girls who just walked away, shaking my head before I look up. Any sort of response is caught in my throat when my eyes land on the gorgeous woman sitting in front of me. My mouth quirks up in the corner and I rest my palms on the wooden bar top.

"It doesn’t sound appealing to you?"

She taps her chin and pretends to think. "Interesting, maybe. Appealing? No. I’m a little too possessive for that. I’m not one for sharing. I like a little more, one-on-one attention."

I lean forward, getting a little more into her space. "I like the sound of that."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. I failed sharing in kindergarten."

She giggles, head falling forward just slightly. Where the group of girls who were here earlier giggled to garner my attention, I can tell she’s genuinely amused. She tucks a piece of her long blonde hair behind her ear, her finger trailing down her jaw. I notice a small birthmark below her temple and I have the unexplainable urge to reach out and touch it.

"Can I get a peach whiskey lemonade?"

I grin. "A what, now?"

"Don’t tell me you don’t have peach whiskey!"

"Sorry, I don’t get a lot of requests for flavored whiskeys here but I’ll see what I can do for you."

I hold up a finger to her, the universal sign of stay right there, and push through the small door at the end of the bar. I grab a peach from the kitchen, grateful that we have some even though it’s not peach season in Michigan. Penny was messing around with a recipe for a cobbler she sometimes makes when it’s not as busy here.

Returning, I toss it up in the air and catch it, my mood lightening with every step I take that brings me back to the beautiful blonde. I wink, lifting the peach like it’s a prize when I get back behind the bar and grab a bottle of whiskey off the top shelf and a shaker. I slice up the peach, muddle it in the bottom of a shaker then mix together the perfect blend of simple syrup, whiskey, lemonade, a few slices of peaches and ice.

Glancing in her direction out of the corner of my eye, I notice she’s watching me with curiosity, a faint smile on her lips. It almost causes me to lose my focus, wanting to toss everything aside, kick everyone but her out, and close up the bar so I can get to know her.

I hold her attention as I remove the lid, fill a tumbler with ice and drop in a sprig of mint then pour the mixture into the glass. Feeling proud of myself, I slide it over to her, raise an eyebrow, and wait while she takes a sip.

Her eyes close and even over the noise of the crowd, I can hear her moan. It could be because my arms are crossed, elbows resting on the bar as I focus solely on the beautiful woman across from me, plump lips wrapping around the straw.

"Good?" I ask her, needing to hear her voice again.

Instead, she nods, beautiful golden brown eyes sparkle and small lines crinkle in the corner. The way she licks her lips after taking another sip makes up for the fact that she’s denying me the chance to listen to her talk.

"Meets your approval?" I ask again.

"It does."

"Glad to hear it."

She lifts the glass in my direction and places some cash on the bar before sliding off her seat and turning her back on me.

"Wait," I call out to her, wanting to tell her she doesn’t need to pay me but somehow knowing it would just annoy her.

She turns around and I ask, "What’s your name?"

Pressing her lips together, she holds my eyes for what feels like a lifetime before she says, "Liv."

"Liv. I’m Ethan."

"Ethan," she repeats and I nod, swallowing hard. Her eyes light up and she smiles. A beautiful smile that transforms her face from beautiful to gorgeous.

I stand, frozen, watching as she joins the birthday party. I hate that she’s walking away from me, but glad that she’s here with the party which hopefully means she’ll be here for a while.

She climbs the stairs and someone stands up, throwing her arms in the air as she pushes people out of the way to get to her. Her friend hugs her tightly, smiling broadly as Liv holds her glass out so she doesn’t spill. Something about her is familiar but I can’t put my finger on it. Her beauty is striking. She reminds me of a girl I met once years ago.

Someone pushes me from the side and I look to my left. Rex is giving me a strange look, laughing after he attempted to knock me over while I was sidetracked by Liv. "What the hell are you doing just standing here?"

"What?"

"You’ve been standing here staring at the birthday party for like ten minutes."

I scoff. "Bullshit."

"Maybe not ten but a stupid amount of time. Get your ass to work."

"Aren’t I supposed to be the one telling you that?"

"Typically, yes, but I’m not the one standing around like a moron."

Rolling my eyes, I, for some reason, do as I’m told. Even through the steady line of customers, Liv is still on my mind. She’s come back one time, asking for another drink for herself and the birthday girl.

Rex shook his head at my ridiculous amount of chest puffing over her wanting one of my specialty drinks and I decided right then that I’d be adding it to our drink menu.

The birthday party abandoned its post in the secluded upper level a while ago, scattering through the bar and mingling with the rest of the crowd. They’ve been back and forth between playing darts and sitting at the bar for the last hour. I love that she’s having fun, not just sitting at a table, watching everything. She’s right in the thick of things. Making sure her friend is enjoying her party. If I had a karaoke machine, she’d probably have monopolized it. I also love that she continues to come to the bar, ordering drinks and waters directly from me rather than any of the servers.

It’s getting late and the crowd has shrunk in size considerably, including almost everyone that I saw hanging out with the birthday party. But not Liv. Still, even though the crowd is small, they all cheer when I toss a bottle Rex’s way and he lets it drop almost to the floor before bending at the knees to catch it. He stands back up, swoops his arm in the air, releases his grip on the bottle and snatches it again quickly.

Everyone laughs and claps at his theatrics, a few catcalls are hollered from the back area by the pool table. Even though we’ve been at it off and on all night, they still can’t get enough.

He winks at a pretty girl with chin-length, straight brown hair and she blushes as he raises the vodka bottle high in the air while he’s pouring the liquor into the glass, topping it off with a splash of cranberry juice and wedge of lime.

I don’t even know if she ordered it but he gives it to her anyway and she lifts it to her lips. He leans over the bar, whispering something in her ear. She smiles over the rim of the glass and touches his shoulder flirtatiously. I shake my head, knowing exactly who he’ll be spending his night with.

Speaking of…

My skin prickles, a tingle runs up and down my spine. I don’t need to scan the crowd to know where she is. I move to the end of the bar where she’s sitting now, talking with a friend while pretending not to watch me.

The ‘trio of boobs’, as Liv so eloquently named them, sidles up next to her and orders another round of shots. Of course they’re still here. "Can we get some Slut Juice?" This time it’s a different woman ordering than before.

Liv coughs and I look at her out of the corner of my eye. She bites the corner of her bottom lip and I can tell she’s trying not to laugh.

"Comin’ right up," I tell them, knocking my knuckles on the wood. The girls giggle and I hear Liv mumble something about them already having enough slut juice. I’m glad my back is turned when she says it so no one sees how hard I’m working to keep a straight face.

Behind me, I hear the same high-pitched voice from earlier paired with cackling laughter when the girl who first approached me earlier tonight says something about my ass and how she hopes I’m going to cash in on that flaming orgy.

"You’re awful," one of them replies.

"What? Like you weren’t thinking it?"

"Maybe we can get ‘em both to join us."

I glance at Liv just in time to see her rolling her eyes.

Drinks mixed, I fill their shots and push them in their direction.

"We’re going to get you to join us sooner or later," the first one purrs.

"Babe?" I hear Liv call out. Scrunching my eyebrows, I look at her to see who she’s talking to. But her focus is on me.

One of the girls huffs beside me when Liv reaches out and lays her hand on my hand that’s resting on the bar.

"Eth? Did you hear me?"

Eth? "Huh?"

She looks at the girls and sighs like she’s really put out. "When he’s working, he’s so focused on making his customers happy. It’s one of the things I love most about him. Though, I have to admit, it kind of sucks when you don’t even hear what your girlfriend is saying." She offers them a sweet smile while trailing a finger over my hand. Liv turns and looks at me adoringly and sighs. Places her chin in the palm of her hand not touching me. "But just look at him. Could you stay upset with that face? Isn’t he gorgeous?"

One of the girls starts agreeing while one elbows her in the side. They spin around, hair flying behind them as they stomp away.

"You probably just cost me a tip," I tease.

"Oh please. You should be thanking me."

It doesn’t go unnoticed that her long, slender fingers are still resting on my hand. The bright pink polish on her fingernails is a stark contrast against my skin and something about it is so completely sexy. I’m also very aware that I haven’t moved my hand either. In fact, if anything, I’m inching it closer to her.

"Thanking you, huh?"

"Uh huh. I probably just saved you from about four STD’s."

"From who? The ladies?"

"Trio of boobs. Yes. I mean, seriously, who orders slut juice when it’s obvious it’s basically their blood type. Shoot. That was so totally uncalled for. I don't slut shame. I'm just in a bad mood suddenly. Ignore me."

I bark out a laugh and turn my body so I’m fully facing her. I notice her friend beside us is watching our exchange like we’re the most entertaining thing she’s seen all night. She’s looks to be about ready to pull out a bag of popcorn and settle in for a good show.

"I’m so grateful that you felt the need to step in, pretend to be my girlfriend so they’d back off. I mean, one can only handle receiving so many orgy invitations in one night."

She lifts a shoulder and I feel her hand flex over mine. "Well, yeah. I’m generous like that."

I lower my voice and inch closer still. "So it was all for my benefit, huh?"

Liv rubs her lips together and glances down at our hands that are almost linked together now. "Mm hmm. Your benefit only."

"No other reason to get those girls away from me?"

"You did seem awfully uncomfortable and I assumed you were being nice because it’s kind of your job."

I lean on the bar so I’m close enough to say into her ear, "You know what I think?"

She shakes her head slightly and I can smell the faint coconut fragrance of her shampoo waft through my senses. I want to thread my fingers through her hair, bury my nose in it, wrap it around my hand while I tip her head back and taste the long column of her neck.

I flip my hand over beneath hers and curl a finger so the tip teases the palm of her hand. I’m hoping for a shiver in response and smile when I receive it.

"I think you were jealous."