Prodigal Son(4)

“What’s on tap?” he asked.

I reached for the menu and set it on the bar, and he looked at it and laughed.

“Didn’t realize I’d have to read a novel just to get a beer.”

I could tell that he was being good-natured rather than genuinely irritated by the beer geek’s dream of a menu that I’d given him.

“Whatcha in the mood for?” I asked with a smile.

Was it my imagination, or did a flicker of interest in something other than beer cross his face?

“Something local and hoppy,” he answered. “I’m in from Arizona, so I’d like to try something new.”

I nodded and grabbed a couple of sample glasses, filling them and returning to place them in front of the gorgeous stranger.

“This is Boulder Brewing’s Hazed and Infused, and here’s Oskar Blues Deviant Dale’s. Let me know what you think. Name’s Krystal.”

I turned to walk the length of the bar, clearing empty pints and dishes and taking a couple of orders, looking forward to getting back to the sexy new face. While I scanned the bar, I realized just how much I was enjoying the new scene that my job provided. I was used to hanging out at the Sons’ clubhouse, and while it could be a lot of fun, I was starting to see the benefit of not having half-dressed hookers around while I was trying to catch a guy’s eye. I was also grateful for a break from Bug.

Bug was becoming a problem, and I was afraid that I was going to have to find a way to break things off with him. I wasn’t sure how he was going to take the news.

Bringing my focus back to the bar, I headed back to the blond stranger with a smile on my face.

“What do you think?” I asked, pointing at the beer samples.

“I like them both, but I’ll take a Hazed and Infused.”

“You got it. Want a menu?”

“Food any good?” he asked with a smile.

“Absolutely. The tamales are great, and the burgers are all good.” One thing that I liked about Falling Rock was that they made us taste everything on the menu so we could talk about it with the customers.

“Then yes, I’ll take a menu.”

I brought him his beer and the menu and checked to make sure that the rest of the bar was content for the moment. I didn’t usually start conversations with customers, unless it was obvious that they were looking to talk, but this guy sure didn’t look like an average customer. I figured he was worth a shot.

“So, you’re from Arizona?”

“Yup,” he answered. “Flagstaff. Just got in this afternoon.”

“Staying nearby?”

The man looked a little embarrassed, and he actually blushed before he answered. “Yeah. I’m at the Ritz,” he answered.

I raised my eyebrows. “Wow,” I said, surprised. He didn’t look like the filthy rich type, but I knew that the Ritz was an expensive joint.

“Yeah. I don’t normally stay in fancy places, but since…” he paused. “Well, let’s just say I decided to splurge for once.”

“Well, welcome to Denver. Let me know if you need anything, and I’ll be back in a minute to get your dinner order.”

The man opened the menu and I got caught up on the server orders that had come in while I’d been deciding if the man was worth full-on flirting with. I’d decided that he was. I filled pint glasses, mixed a couple of cosmos for the girls at the far end of the bar who were eying the stranger like he was dessert, and headed back to take his order. He decided on the tamales, and I was about to turn and put his order in, when he stopped me.

“So are you from around here?” he asked.

I couldn’t tell if he was really interested in me or if he was just uncomfortable being alone and trying to make small talk. Either way, I figured it was a good sign.

I leaned on the bar in a way that I knew made the most of the low cut t-shirt I wore. “Born and raised in Denver.”

“You like it here?” he asked.

Even though I’d only been at Falling Rock for a few weeks, I’d already developed the good bartender’s sense of when they’re needed. “Hold that thought,” I said, regretfully. “Be right back.”

I headed down to a group of guys about my age — mid-twenties -- and I took their order for half a dozen shots of Fireball. The cinnamon-flavored whiskey was one of our most popular shots, and I liked it because I didn’t have to mix anything. I measured the Fireball into a cocktail shaker, added some ice, and poured out four shots for the guys and two for the girls they were trying to pick up. The girls barely looked twenty-one, but I’d checked both of their IDs carefully. I hoped they’d be careful. The guys they were talking to looked like they could be trouble.