The Bartender (Modern Love World) Read online

  The Bartender (Modern Love #1)

  Piper Rayne

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  The Bartender

  Dedication

  FREE DOWNLOAD

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Piper Rayne

  The Bartender

  (Modern Love #1)

  By: Piper Rayne

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2017 by Piper Rayne

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  ISBN: 978-1-987925-13-5

  Cover design: Djordje Grbic

  Line Editor: RJ Locksley

  Proof Reader: Behind The Writer

  Created with Vellum

  Who knew sleeping with the enemy could be this fun?

  Was the one night stand a good idea?

  Well, no. Probably not in retrospect.

  In my defense I had just moved back into my grandparent’s house, I’d lost my dream job, and a guy on Tinder had stood me up. It was like life had suddenly stamped ‘LOSER’ on my forehead.

  So when the guy behind the bar started giving me THE look…you know,

  the one that promised I’d be screaming his name into the wee hours of the morning? When that guy also has the perfect amount of scruff on his chiseled chin, biceps bulging out of his t-shirt, and a cocky grin you knew he’d earned in the sack…when he gives you that look, you don’t bother to figure out what your six degrees of separation are. You jump on that horse and ride it!

  Pun fully and completely intended. And accurate by the way.

  I fully admit to feeling sorry for myself and acting impulsively, but by the time I’d figured out WHO the bartender was, I was already falling for him.

  Dedicated to all the ladies still looking for their very own unicorn cock.

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  THE BRUSH-OFF

  The Prequel to The Bartender

  1

  This is the start of an amazing new chapter in my life. At least that’s what I keep reminding myself. How else will I get through today without curling up into a ball in my bed and feeling like the world’s biggest loser?

  I reach my friend Tahlia’s apartment door and knock. Seconds later the door is whipped open and there stands one of my oldest, prettiest, richest friends. But I love her despite her perfect life.

  She smiles wide and her blue eyes sparkle. “I’m so happy you’re home,” Tahlia says as she envelops me in a hug before dragging me through the door. She still smells like the expensive perfume she’s worn since high school.

  “Me, too.” For the most part, that’s true. Returning to San Francisco, the city I grew up in, is a welcome change. I never quite made the same connections in Sacramento that I had with the girls I’d known since junior high.

  Returning to the house I was raised in, which also happens to house two seventy-somethings? Not so stellar. But beggars can’t be choosers, as they say, and I was one bad decision away from being penniless and selling my body on a street corner.

  “Ah! Is that Whit?” Lennon screams from the living room. Before I can blink she’s bounding down the hallway toward me, her cropped near-black hair bouncing as she does, the tattoos covering her arms a blur as she flails her limbs around like she’s preparing for take-off.

  “You look like an interpretive dancer on crack,” I say with a laugh as she barrels into me.

  She squeezes me tight and then pulls away. “Really?” She turns the corners of her mouth down. “I’ve been trying so hard to lay off the crack. I’m pretty much just sticking to meth now.”

  I roll my eyes at the most outgoing and insane of my two best friends.

  Some things you need to know about Lennon are that she’s rarely serious, is always pushing you out of your comfort zone, and prides herself on being able to tie a cherry stem with her tongue in ten seconds flat. Enough said.

  “Someone who didn’t know you might just believe you,” Tahlia says as she pulls her blonde hair back into a ponytail with an elastic she has around her wrist. She’s still wearing her suit so she must’ve just gotten home from work at her father’s company.

  Must be nice. The work part, I mean, not the working for her father part, because that man could be Tony Soprano’s half-brother, minus the Mob. At least I think so.

  “Like I’d care,” Lennon mumbles as she heads back the way she came.

  “I’m going to change out of this outfit,” Tahlia says. “Head on in and pour yourself a glass of wine. I stopped and picked up some appetizers for us. They’re laid out on the table in the living room.”

  “Awesome. I could use something to dull the edges of the fact that I moved back into my grandparents’ house this afternoon.”

  She gives me a sympathetic head tilt and rubs my back before we start down the hall. “It’s only temporary, Whit. You’ll be on your feet again in no time.”

  “Or on your knees. If you’re lucky,” Lennon calls out.

  We’re both laughing as Tahlia turns right to head to her bedroom and I move the opposite direction in search of the alcohol.

  Her condo isn’t huge, but it’s modern and sleek and I’m sure must cost her more than I made in a month, since it’s in downtown San Francisco. Glass walls showcase the city lights beneath us and, coupled with the open-concept design of the kitchen, living, and dining room areas, the space feels airy and light.

  Lennon and I catch up for a few minutes while we wait for Tahlia to rejoin us. As usual, her antics equally make me laugh and cringe. We all went to college in the Bay area and kept in touch through college. After college I left town to take a job at the local Sacramento newspaper, but there’s something comforting about knowing I’ll be seeing them on the regular now that I’ve returned to my hometown. We’re back to being the three amigos, as unlikely as our group is, given our differing personalities.

  Tahlia enters the kitchen with a strange expression on her face. I’ve known her long enough to see that she’s trying to suppress a grin. There’s something she’s keeping from us. With anyone else I’d start prying, but she’s like an overstuffed vault filled with confetti. If we give her enough time she won’t be able to stand it and it will all come bursting out.

  After she’s poured herself a glass of wine the three of us head into her living room, where Lennon makes herself comfortable on Tahlia’s brown leather chair while Tahl and I opt to sit on the cream suede couch.

  A small tray of pristine-looking appetizers sits on the circular coffee table acco
mpanied by small plates and napkins. I honestly don’t know why Tahlia wastes her talents at her father’s company. She’d be an amazing event planner. I know her mother drilled into her the importance of entertaining properly since birth, but she has a natural knack for making everyone around her comfortable and creating a memorable experience when you’re in her care.

  “Any luck on the job front?” she asks before setting her wine glass down on the table with an exaggerated flourish.

  “Nothing yet. I plan on applying for anything and everything I’m qualified for tomorrow, though.”

  “If you’re really stuck I know a guy who might be looking for someone,” Lennon says as she shoves one of the appetizers into her mouth. “I can’t promise it would all be entirely legal, but—”

  “I think I’ll pass,” I respond with a laugh and take a healthy sip from my wine glass.

  Lennon studies me for a second. “Yeah, I don’t think you could pull off a prison jumpsuit. Orange isn’t your color. Me, on the other hand… I could rock that baby like I was on the set of Orange Is the New Black.”

  All three of us break out in laughter at her reference since she’s constantly told that she looks like one of the characters from that show. I swear I don’t see it, so it must be that she’s used her body as a canvas for her tattoos.

  Tahlia presses her hands to her chest while she laughs and I’m practically blinded by the glare of a giant diamond on her ring finger. Of her left fucking hand.

  Lennon must notice at the same time because she spits half her wine out all over herself. “Holy hell, Tahl. What the fuck?”

  A huge grin spreads across Tahlia’s face and she lets out a squeal like she’s thirteen years old and just found out that One Direction just got back together. “I’m engaged! Chase asked me last night!”

  We all scream and flap our arms in unison, doing a really good imitation of Lennon’s earlier crackhead impersonation. We pop up off of Tahl’s expensive furniture and embrace in an awkward three-person hug. I’m understanding now why in most threesomes two people do all the work on the other one. Trying to spread the love out evenly between three people is pretty impossible.

  At least that’s what people who watch porn tell me.

  Anyway, moving on.

  Lennon and I inspect the huge hunk of rock on Tahl’s finger. It’s so big that I’m sure she’s going to end up having one massive bicep on her left arm and she’ll be reduced to wearing long-sleeve shirts even in the summer months just to hide it.

  “This is absolutely beautiful,” I say, moving her hand back and forth so the diamond catches the light. “How did he propose?”

  “Chase took me to our favorite restaurant and had the waiter place it on top of my dessert. He got down on one knee in front of the entire restaurant. Everyone started clapping and cheering.” Her smile is huge and lights up her entire face.

  My initial thought is that Chase’s proposal was a little cliché and unimaginative, but my friend is happy, so who am I to judge?

  “Have you told your parents?” Lennon asks as we all sit back down.

  Tahlia nods. “I called them last night. They’re thrilled. Obviously.” A small blush creeps into her cheeks.

  Tahl’s parents would be thrilled. She’s going to be marrying into the Webber family—one of San Francisco’s most prominent families with high-society lineage. Even those of us who don’t travel in those circles know about the Webbers. I’m sure Tahl’s mom’s vision for her life is complete now that she’s marrying well.

  “I’m so excited for you! Do you know when you’ll have the wedding?” I lean forward and grab my wine glass back off the table.

  Tahlia shakes her head. “Not yet.”

  “Well, that’s one off the market. More for me,” Lennon jokes.

  “You’re going to have so much fun planning this wedding,” I say then take a sip of my wine.

  “As long as I can get my mother off my back. I’m sure she’s going to want to employ some high-priced wedding planner so she can make sure all her ideas are made into a reality. Whatever though.” She waves her hand in front of her. “I’ll figure it out.”

  Good luck with that, I think but don’t say.

  “So, Lennon, what’s up with you?” Tahlia asks. “Why did you want to get together tonight?”

  Lennon mocks insult. “Can’t a girl just want to hang out with her two best friends in the world?”

  “Not really. Not you. You made it sound so formal,” I say.

  She fidgets in her seat and I realize that she’s nervous. Which is so not at all like her. Something is definitely up.

  “There was something I wanted to talk to you both about.”

  Tahlia and I both lean forward in our seats, anxious to hear what she has to say, but she’s silent. Finally, Tahl says, “And that would be…”

  “Well, I guess I should start at the beginning.” She tips her wine glass back and takes a couple of big gulps before setting it down on the table. “You know how everyone, especially my brother, is always telling me to get serious and figure out what I want to do with my life, right?”

  We both nod because, yeah. Lennon’s been told that more than a few times by her family.

  “Usually I just tune that shit out. It’s kinda like that teacher on Charlie Brown. All I hear is muh-muh-muh. But about six months ago, I was chatting with this girl named Carly and she’d been through so much—homelessness, addiction, not graduating high school. But she was still so motivated and had such a vision for her life that it sort of made me feel guilty for not appreciating how easy I’ve had it in comparison.”

  I almost feel as if I don’t know this girl in front of me. She looks like Lennon. She talks like Lennon. But Lennon is almost never serious like this.

  “Where did you meet this girl?” I ask, curious.

  “I met her at an AA meeting.” Lennon’s eyes flare for a second and she brings her hand to her mouth. “Shit. I don’t think I’m supposed to say that.”

  I don’t respond to that comment because I’m still wondering what the hell she was doing at an AA meeting. “What the hell were you doing at an AA meeting?” Tahlia says. It’s like she can read my mind.

  Lennon shrugs. “I was bored one night and I passed by a sign outside a church that said there was a meeting going on. I was curious so I went in.”

  “You just went into an AA meeting even though you’re not an alcoholic?” I ask, just to be sure I heard her right.

  “Pretty much.” She reaches forward and grabs one of the appetizers from the tray and places it on the plate in front of her. “Why, are you not supposed to do that?” She looks genuinely confused.

  “I’m pretty sure you’re not,” Tahlia responds in a serious voice.

  Lennon just shrugs it off again. “It was more boring than I thought it would be. No one really shared any crazy stories or anything.” She looks off into the distance like she’s deep in thought. “Shame really. I thought for sure when I sat beside the guy with all the neck tattoos and feather boa that he’d have some sordid tales to tell.”

  “Lennon, you tattoo people for a living and have tattoos everywhere yourself.” I bring the wine to my lips and take a small sip.

  “It doesn’t mean I can’t judge other people who have them.”

  Both Tahlia and I give each other a look and then roll our eyes.

  “You were saying,” Tahl says in an attempt to get Lennon back on track.

  “Oh, right. Well, we got into this long conversation about how her life was in the shitter five years ago, and how she clawed her way out. No one thought she could do it but she persevered and now she’s a very successful business owner.”

  “Don’t you enjoy tattooing people anymore?” I ask because I can’t imagine Lennon in a business suit. She’s… artsy. She always has been. Lennon is at her best when she’s able to express herself creatively.

  “You know me, I love adhering permanent art to other people’s bodies, but I don’t know. L
ately, I’ve felt like I need more, you know?”

  Tahl and I nod our heads and I think I’m able to hide my surprise. I love my friend, but I honestly didn’t realize she ever thought about anything beyond the moment.

  “It got me thinking,” Lennon carries on. “What am I good at? What am I interested in?”

  “Dudes with beards?” Tahlia guesses.

  “Not showering on Sundays?” I say.

  “Making people uncomfortable?”

  “Dining and dashing?”

  “Oh, I know,” Tahlia says, waving her hand in the air. “Our old high school teacher Mr. Butler.”

  “You guys are hilarious,” Lennon deadpans.

  Tahlia and I laugh. “All right. All right. What is it?” I ask.

  “Art! And sex!”

  Hmm. I guess we missed the obvious.

  “No argument there,” Tahlia says.

  Lennon takes a deep breath and if I didn’t know her better, I might think that she’s actually nervous about whatever she’s about to tell us.

  “I want to start a sex toy company.”

  Both Tahlia and I sit there in silence and stare at her for a full minute.

  “A sex toy company?” I ask, making sure I heard her right.

  Lennon nods with a big grin on her face. “Yep. Most women are so sexually repressed it’s ridiculous.” She cuts a look over to Tahlia, but doesn’t comment further. “Why is it okay for men to be sexual and enjoy sex but for some reason it’s taboo for us?”

  “I don’t know,” I respond honestly.

  “I want to create a line that’s artsy and sleek. Devices that any woman would be proud to have—ones she doesn’t feel obligated to hide in her nightstand, mortified at the thought of someone finding them. I want my customer to be a woman proud of her sexuality.”

  She hops up off the leather chair and scurries across to the kitchen, grabbing her large tote off the counter and bringing it back to the living room with her. When she takes her seat again she’s sitting cross-legged as she rummages through her purse.