Just Before You Go

I’d been living in Huntington Beach for exactly 63 days.
My family and I were originally from Minnesota, where we’d lived all my life. I came from a wealthy family, my father was a surgeon and my mother was a teacher. We’d had a charmed life by any meaning of the word. We were raised in a house of love and endless encouragement. I accredit my success to such an upbringing.
My brother followed in my father’s footsteps and earned himself a medical degree. He was a practicing doctor in a busy hospital, working out of the emergency department. I’d shot high as well and had earned myself a bachelor degree in social sciences and then moved on to earn a law degree from Columbia University. I’d been home for maybe a year, living in my childhood bedroom to save up money while I was otherwise unemployed.
And then my parents decided to make the move to California.
“I’ve been offered an incredible job,” my father had explained to me. “I’ll be making triple what I make here.”
“Then you obviously should go,” I’d encouraged. “I’ll find an apartment, no worries.”
“You can come with us,” my mother had suggested. “If you’d like to. We’ll happily set you up with an apartment until you get settled.”
A temporarily free apartment in California? I didn’t need much convincing to join in on that adventure. Besides, I loved my parents dearly and the idea of living across the country from them didn’t sit well with me.
And so, we moved to California. My brother, Luke, stayed behind—he was less impulsive than I was. He’d always said my impulsive nature would get me into trouble one day. Rather, I’d found, it was always leading me into new opportunities. Eternally an optimist.
We’d looked at what felt like a thousand apartments before finally settling on a home for me. It was a small house downtown, just a couple of blocks walk to the beach. It was pricey and for good reason. The natural light alone was enough to make me greedy to occupy the space. My parents paid the deposit and I promised to get a job as quickly as I could.
Although my parents were wealthy and generous, I was always careful to mind how much and what I allowed myself to accept from them. We all got along, I was anxious about money ruining that. Lending money was always a tricky business.
So, I applied at every law firm in town. No one was hiring newly licensed lawyers. However, one of the office’s offered to let me interview for the receptionist job. The pay was shit but I thought it might be a good way to get some experience and maybe move up. It was part-time work which meant I’d need a second job if I was going to fully support myself.
As luck would have it, I’d worked as a bartender for most of my adult life and nearly every bar and restaurant in town was hiring. I’d settled on one that was dark and dingy but the people were great.
After six weeks at both jobs, I found myself in a pretty good routine. I’d work three days a week at the office and three nights a week at the bar. The money was steady enough that I was making ends meet—not comfortably, but enough.
It was a Wednesday, which wasn’t one of my normally slotted shifts but Jenny, my closest work-friend, had contracted some form of virus and was otherwise unable to work. I was happy to cover her shift; I liked money almost as much as I liked her. Covering shifts was always a sure way to instill a form of bond in coworkers.
It had been a pretty slow night, a couple of the regulars had shown their faces, played a game of pool and then left. Our cook for the night, Shaun, had emerged from the kitchen in a frenzy; apparently he was so bored that he’d considered stabbing his hand with a knife, “just for fun”.
“You really shouldn’t do that,” I giggled. “I don’t want to clean that up.”
He scoffed at me, “Like you’d clean up my blood. You’d be in a heap on the floor.”
I was admittedly squeamish. I couldn’t handle blood and vomit—it made me woozy and disoriented to look at it. It made little sense considering my father’s work and how much I’d seen in my life because of it.
Shaun and his lip ring returned to the kitchen, citing my boring personality as the reason for his fleeing. I really wasn’t that boring…I didn’t think.
Perhaps he felt that way because my life was comfortable and his was not. I was self-assured and stable in who I was, while Shaun was going through women and relationships like socks. He lived on his brother’s couch and was always calling in sick to work. We were all fairly convinced that he was an alcoholic.
“Can I get a drink?” a man asked me.
I turned around to find a man with dark hair hiding under a hat sitting at my bar. His deep brown eyes caught me off guard and inexplicably, my brain stopped functioning all together. I just stood there, staring at him like an idiot.
“Hello?” he grinned. “Earth to the bar keep.”
I shook my head to regain my focus, “Sorry. What can I get you?”
“Two shots of whatever whiskey you like,” he told me, still grinning. “And then a bottle of—”
“Whatever I like?” I interjected playfully.
He nodded once, “Precisely.”
I did as I was asked, trying not to judge at the sheer speed this man was downing drinks at 7:00 on a Wednesday.
As he finished his first beer and asked for a second, he said, “I think I’ve been stood up.”
“Oh?” I asked fake-curiously as I grabbed another brown bottle from the fridge.
“My friends were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago,” he told me.
“Maybe they’re running late,” I suggested weakly.
He shrugged, “I thought I was running late.”
“Are you in the right place?” I asked with a smile.
He nodded, “We come here every Wednesday…Never seen you here before though. Are you sure you’re in the right place?”
“I don’t usually work Wednesdays,” I told him like it was any of his business. “I’m just covering for someone.”
“Jen,” he said with a smirk. “She’s great.”
“She is,” I agreed awkwardly.
I made my way to the other end of the bar and began wiping it down. You wouldn’t believe the amount of liquids people spill in their lives. It would dry and become sticky and was a real pain in the dick to scrub off. I started working at the latest puddle of dried vodka.
“What’s your name, new girl?” the man called to me from his stool.
I glanced at him quickly as I answered, “Aria.”
“Aria,” he repeated once with a subtle nod. “I’m Brian.”
“Nice to meet you, Brian,” I smiled warmly before returning to the puddle.
“Should we shake hands?” he asked. “Or just make out now?”
My eyebrows pursed themselves together and I laughed real loud, “Now we can’t touch at all.”
Brian laughed.
I was just about to lecture him about the proper way to speak to a woman, and how maybe being so blunt with other women might work for him but it wouldn’t work on me, a chorus of loud testosterone filled the air.
I watched as Brian climbed to his feet and greeted the group—there were about five of them. Six, including Brian. Five men and one woman. She was hanging off the arm of arguably the most classically attractive one. He was muscular and had remarkably broad shoulders. When he smiled, dimples formed in his cheeks and I could totally understand why this woman seemed so engrossed in him.
They took a table near our corner pool table and I couldn’t help but stare. They were like this dark cloud that had stumbled into a rain storm, only furthering the dimness. They were intimidating.
Brian was on his way back toward me, a tall man by his side. I ducked under the counter and pretended like I was busy doing something down there.
“What are you doing?” I asked myself quietly. “Stand up. Stand up right now.”
I was horrified to find Brian leaning over the counter, watching me scold myself. He raised his eyebrows.
“Whatchya doin’ down there?” he teased.
“I, uh…I’m talking to myself,” I laughed nervously.
After I’d regained my standing position, and attempted to shift the awkwardness of being busted, I played into my role.
“I assume we need drinks,” I said firmly.
Brian nodded, “Round of shots for the group. What did Hilary say she wanted?”
The tall one shrugged, “I wasn’t listening.”
“It was something stupid,” Brian mumbled quietly.
“Hilary!” the tall one shrieked so loudly that I jumped. “What the fuck did you want?”
She shouted back that she was dying for a whiskey sour. Brian looked at me expectantly.
“That’s it?” I asked. “A whiskey sour and a round of shots?”
“And beer,” Brian added. “Lots of beer.”
I nodded and immediately got to work assembling a tray full of booze. I was envious, I’ll admit. Seeing groups of friends together, enjoying their lives, it always struck a nerve in me. I’d had a tight group of friends back home that I’d known forever. I’d left them behind in the move and we’d found it difficult to stay in touch. They’d all promised to come visit, claiming that they’d love to soak up some California air, but it had been two months and still not a single plan was even mentioned.
I wondered if this group was like mine; eternal in their friendship. They seemed to be through strangers’ eyes.
“Here you go,” I said, sliding the tray of goods to Brian.
“I’ll give you a real thanks later,” he said with a wink.
I tried not to laugh, “No thank you. I’ll pass.”
His tall friend snickered. Brian took the tray into his arms and disappeared back to his group. The tall one was still lingering at my bar.
“What’s up?” I asked curiously.
His crystal blue eyes were like magnets. It was happening again. One look and my brain shut itself down. I’m surprised I didn’t start drooling. It was like the monkey with the cymbals in my head. Circus music. The whole works.
“Can I have a couple shots?” he asked me, he pointed at the top shelf and squinted one eye. “That shit.”
On the tips of my toes, I strained but I got the bottle down. I pointed at it for confirmation, he just nodded. I poured a shot and slid it to him, he motioned for another. And then another.
“It’s Wednesday,” I told him as I poured the fourth consecutive shot. “You do know that, right?”
“There goes your tip,” he replied with a smirk, really emphasizing the ‘p’ in tip.
I giggled, “Fair enough.”
“They’re just a little,” he hesitated, looking over at his friends and then back to me, “Typical.”
“Is that bad?” I asked as I stretched my body to put the liquor back on the top shelf.
He shrugged, “It isn’t bad. They're my best friends. They just get a little...boring.”
“They don’t strike me as boring,” I told him seriously.
They were all tattooed all over and most of them had metal hung from their faces. They were loud and two of them were insistently yelling at each other. They were deep into a game of pool. The woman looked entertained enough.
“Same old,” he said, his eyes finding mine again.
“Your friend,” I said, gesturing to Brian with my head, “Brian. Is he always that flirty?”
The tall one grinned widely, “Yes.”
“Ah,” I sighed; I was annoyed to find I was a little disappointed.
Pompous men were not really my taste, so the disappointment moved along quickly.
“He’s the best guy ever though,” the tall one added as I cleaned the bar around him.
I nodded passively, “I’ll bet.”
“So what’s your deal?” he asked, his tone more excitable than before. “I don’t know your face.”
I half-smiled, “Like I told your friend, I don’t usually work Wednesdays.”
“Jenny sick?” he asked me. “Did she get hit by a bus? Is her heart in a cooler on its way to Texas to be sewn into a dying kid’s chest or what?”
I blinked at him a couple times in disbelief. He was just smiling away.
“What a huge leap,” I finally said, trying not to laugh.
“Got it,” he smirked. “She’s dead.”
“She’s not dead,” I giggled. “She has the flu.”
“Jimmy!” the muscular one called. “You have to play with Johnny! Zacky’s whining like a little bitch!”
He looked at them and back at me, stepping away from the bar before sliding the empty shot glasses toward me.
“Well,” he declared, stretching his hands out in front of him—I assumed in preparation for the pool game. “I’m glad Jenny’s MIA.”
I looked to him for continuation. He didn’t look like he was going to give it to me. As he made his way to his friends, I couldn’t help myself. It was the damn monkey.
“Why?” I called to his back.
He turned around, a smile plastered across his face, “You’re a nice change of scenery.”
With that, he was back in his group. I don’t know why, but I was totally thrilled to hear those words come from the creature’s mouth. I’d shared maybe two minutes with the man but his ice blue eyes were like hooks. I was curious about him.
I told myself not to be too curious. I had no time for men in my life at the moment.
But every so often, I’d catch myself staring. I’d always seemed to pick perfect moments when he was in his prime. Arms above his head, shouting happily about his victory. He ruffled Brian’s hair, who looked pissed more than anything. At one point, he was on the pool table, pretending to joust one of the other men. He was entertaining, I’d give him that.
But then someone would look at me and I’d feel instantly busted. My face would heat and I’d do everything I could to pretend I hadn’t been staring. Luck was with me in the sense that there were five men; it was impossible to tell who the new girl was staring at. I used that to my advantage.
They’d been in my bar for nearly two hours when they finally started to trickle out. I made a mental note that Wednesday shifts were full of men and entertainment—I considered asking Jen to permanently switch me shifts. But I thought she may have also grown to like them…she might be less inclined to give it up. Wednesdays were too slow to warrant two bartenders—maybe I could draw up more business…
I stopped myself.
I was acting like a teenager. I was a grown ass woman; I had a law degree for heaven’s sake. But there I was, totally smitten with the blue-eyed stranger. Jimmy?
Because my night couldn’t get any more awkward for me, the tall one was headed my way. I wasn’t going to repeat my mistake of ducking under the counter again, so this time I planted my feet to the floor and waited.
“I was thinking,” he said as he approached. “You’re more fun than Jenny. What days do you work? We’d like to come back and harass you at some point.”
“You want me to make it easier for you to harass me?” I asked mockingly. “What kind of fool do you take me for?”
“It’s easier to kidnap you if you just go along with it,” he told me cheekily. “Don’t make us do it the hard way.”
Must…resist…temptation……….innuendo….
“I work Saturday nights,” I finally relented. “I’ll be expecting a bag over the head upon my arrival.”
“It really is easier that way,” he grinned at me.
He tapped the bar twice with his fingers, drawing my attention down his long arms—the sheer amount of ink engraved into his skin astounded me.
“I’ll see you Saturday,” he said, his icy blues clashing with mine again.
He turned to leave but stopped himself.
“There’s a credit card on file,” he told me quickly. “Charge our tab to that.”
“Is it yours?” I asked; it hadn’t even occurred to me that they should probably pay for their drinks.
Like a fucking teenager, I swear.
“It’s Brian’s,” he grinned. “Buy yourself something fancy. My treat.”
And then he was gone.
The rest of my shift was torturous. They’d hyped my night so high that now the quiet was deafening and I was so bored I thought maybe I should stab my hand with a knife. But eventually closing time came and I was freed from my shackles.
I returned to my house, walking through to turn on lights. As I sunk into my bed, still wet from my quick shower, my mind went back to my shift.
Back to those men.
Back to those crystal blue eyes.
I didn’t have a name to pair them with and it was starting to drive me nuts. I wished that I’d been paying more attention when his friends had called him over. I was sure that they’d said Jimmy but it was impossible to know. Maybe they’d said Timmy. Or Johnny. No, Johnny was the other guy…
I sighed and forced myself to believe it didn’t matter.
But why was he still swimming around in my head? I’d never had a customer stick with me after work—unless they’d done something really off-putting. But that was out of a concern for my safety, not out of curiosity.
I was so curious about this guy.
Saturday, I decided. Saturday I would ask his name. That was all I’d need to shut up my curiosity; a name to put to the beautiful eyes. And then I wouldn’t care anymore.
All I needed was a name.

Notes

First chapter is always the hardest.

I live for the feedback; so please, oblige me.

xx