First, there were the assholes. They were easy to spot. They were always after one thing and one thing only.
Pleasure.
It didn’t matter if it was sex or money, fame or comfort. It all amounted to the same thing. Every move they made was purposed to bring them self-gratification and they were all too happy to reach out and take whatever they wanted to make it happen. Most of them didn’t give a second thought to those they hurt in the process. Hell, they usually took a little more pleasure in doing it.
Then there were the nice guys. These guys were a little harder to read because they didn’t set out to do people wrong. They were sweet and nice and treated you like a princess right up to the point when they didn’t get what they wanted or after they’d had their fill of it. These guys would hit you with all kinds of valid excuses, rationalizing their actions to make themselves feel better. Half the time they left you feeling like you were the one who’d done something wrong in the first place.
Last, there were the good guys.
Guys with character. The ones who’d sacrifice for someone else, even if it meant it cost them something, or they had nothing to gain. Even if it meant the end result might not stack in their favor. They just did it because it was the right thing to do.
Charlie Cohns?
He was one of the good guys.
He gave me a little salute before he turned to grin at Tamar, one of the other bartenders, who slipped under the small opening at one end of the bar, arms full of bottles needing restocking. She was older than me by a year or two, had flaming red hair, and pretty much looked like a modern-day pin-up girl, all curves and tattoos and flawlessly applied makeup. Plus the girl took crap from no one. She was the perfect fit beside Charlie who was as casual as they came.
Her full red lips spread into a seductive smile. I was pretty sure she didn’t know a different one. “I leave for five minutes and this guy is already slacking off? Get back to work, old man.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He cocked his head her direction, eyes on me, and mouthed, “Slave driver.”
Laughing, I situated the last of the drinks Charlie had poured onto my tray. “Now Tamar is the real reason this bar is still afloat. You’re lucky she headed east when she did.”
“Now don’t go fillin’ this one’s head any fuller than it already is. She already thinks she owns the place.”
Tamar maneuvered to set the base of all the bottles on the far countertop, arms wrapped around them like she was hugging them. Glasses clanked as they settled, and she straightened up to her full five-foot-one stature. Her five-inch heels still didn’t bring her close to Charlie’s chin. She tossed her hair off her shoulder. “What do you mean, think?”
Charlie laughed and tossed a balled-up towel at her, which she snatched out of the air.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of thinking anything, sugar. Now help me fill these orders. This old man is falling behind.”
Somehow that smile turned soft and she went to work.
Without a doubt, it was Charlie who owned all of us.
Both Tamar and I loved him for it.
With my tray balanced, I moved back through the expanding crowd, smiling my most welcoming smile, and saying excuse me and sorry so I could shoulder through. Music blared from the speakers, all thanks to our sound guy Derrick. A local band was setting up on the stage. They played here often, always a big draw for Saturday nights, both for our regulars and the tourists looking for a good time after they’d spent a lazy day on the beach.
I dodged a few grabby hands from a group of college guys who’d clearly had too much to drink and were in danger of skating from nice guy zone straight into asshole territory, but I’d worked here long enough to know how to deal with them. I just grinned and let it slide right off my bare back.
I stopped at a couple of tables and dropped off drinks, grabbed the order from a group of younger women who had pulled two tables together to accommodate their party, and let my gaze wander to see if I’d missed anyone who needed attention in my section. It got stuck on the lone figure hidden away in the farthest corner booth who hadn’t been sitting there the last time I made my rounds.
Weaving through the crowd, I edged toward him. Somehow my footsteps grew slower the closer I got. He wore a black beanie, his head down and his attention trained on his phone lit up in the backdrop of darkness. My eyes were drawn to his hands that held the expensive device, all big and strong, seeming to be just as powerful as this guy’s presence. He wore a long-sleeved button-up shirt, the cuffs rolled up his forearms in a careless fashion, revealing intricate ink scrolled along his skin.
A knot of intrigue formed somewhere in my chest.