The Bartender (Modern Love World) Read online

  “Everything okay?” Cole asks as he takes the seat beside me again.

  I sigh. “Yeah, I just found out that Pussylicker isn’t coming anymore.”

  Cole nearly spits out the sip of drink he’s just taken and has a coughing fit before he fully recovers. “Excuse me?”

  “I was waiting for a guy from Tinder to show up, but he just ditched me because apparently it was too much work to have a drink with me before taking me back to his place to bang me.” I spin my glass in place on the bar top.

  “You’re trolling for guys on Tinder?” Cole howls with laughter so hard he has to hold his stomach. I love the way the laugh looks on his face—the way it crinkles his eyes at the corners and how it showcases his perfect teeth. But all that aside, it’s irritating.

  “It’s not that funny.” This guy might be hot, but right now he’s working my nerves.

  “Actually, it is. Why the hell would a woman like you resort to finding someone to fuck on a dating site?”

  The way the word ‘fuck’ rolls off his tongue has all my womanly parts contracting and wishing that it was an invitation to do just that. But never mind that, because I’m annoyed at him, I just barely remember through my drunken haze.

  “What do you mean a woman like me?” I try to do air quotes around the last part, but my balance isn’t what it was three hours ago, and I almost topple off my stool, so I quickly grab on to the bar in front of me.

  “Beautiful. Intelligent. Likable. Smartass.” He ticks each word off on one hand while he speaks and he says it like he means it. I hold his stare for a minute before realization dawns.

  “Hey! I’m a B.I.L.F. You know, like a M.I.L.F. Only different.” I’m so impressed that I thought of that given my current state.

  Cole chuckles with an amused gleam in his eyes. “Only better,” he says.

  Our gazes lock for a beat and it’s at that moment I know that if I offer myself up to this guy, he’ll be more than willing to send me on the walk of shame tomorrow morning. Heat rushes into my cheeks and I look away. As much bravado as I had earlier about my Tinder escapade, I’m not sure I can do this. Be this girl so full of confidence that she bangs a stranger with no qualms about it.

  My elation has crash-landed on the ground as I realize I’m not able to pull the trigger and make an advance toward him. I also know I’ll probably regret it forever because this man is so far beyond good-looking that it’s a speck in the rear-view mirror. Not to mention the fact that he’s sexy as hell and seems to be a decent human being. Which is more impossible to find in the Bay area than someone who doesn’t think they’re allergic to gluten.

  I take a deep breath and finish the last couple of gulps of my drink and push the glass in Cole’s direction.

  “Another, please.”

  Cole tosses back the rest of his drink and I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat while the liquid slides down.

  Damn. That is sexy.

  Why is that sexy?

  “I’m going to join you for another as well.” He gets up off his bar stool and before walking away he comes to stand directly behind me. “Assuming you want me to stick around?”

  His breath washes across my neck and my ear and I close my eyes for a brief moment to enjoy the sensation. “I’d like that,” I say with all honesty.

  “Good. I know the first guy let you down, but don’t worry… I’ve been told I lick pussy like a boss.”

  And with that, he walks away while I struggle to keep my heart from pounding out of my chest.

  I’m out of my league with this guy. I know it and there’s a good chance that he knows it, too.

  But ask yourself this, ladies… if you were called up to the big leagues from the minors, would you say no?

  4

  I think I’m dead.

  Wait. Would I be in this much pain if I were dead?

  Probably not.

  Maybe I’m just dying.

  I scrunch my eyes closed in an effort to dull the roaring pain that unleashes itself inside my skull every time I move.

  I’m serious. I just twitched my big toe and it felt like a knife driving into my brain.

  It takes a minute, but I register that I must be in bed. I can feel the pillow under my head, the blankets bunched around my waist. I try to remember the last thing I was doing before waking with what feels like a ten-pound weight on my head. I feel like I’m Wile E Coyote and the Roadrunner just dropped the safe on me.

  After what could be a few minutes, or maybe an hour—I’m really not sure—I brave opening my eyes. Slowly my eyelids peel apart and thank God for small favors… I’m not met with blazing sunlight to my retinas.

  But I have no idea where the hell I am.

  I’m in a bedroom. That much I can tell. A clean and sparse bedroom. Hardwood floors that look to be original, but redone, fill the room and white sheets cover me in a big bed. Dark curtains have been pulled over the set of large windows on the far side of the room so that they let in a small amount of light and a worn dresser sits at the far end of the bed.

  I attempt to sit up to investigate further, but my head revolts and so I set it back down on the pillow. As I roll to the side I will my mind to remember what the hell I was doing last night.

  I spot a bottle of water and two Advil on the night table and it’s like seeing a mirage in the middle of the desert, I’m that thankful. That feeling is short-lived when I notice a note beside them.

  Because that’s when the night before comes rushing back to me. Feeling sorry for myself. The Tinder douchebag standing me up. Flirting with the bartender…

  Reluctantly I raise my head, slowly so as not to cause my brain matter to leak out of my ears. What kind of house guest would I be then? There’s enough light in the room that I’m able to read the masculine scrawl.

  I have to assume that after last night you need these. Sorry I had to leave, but I had an early appointment this morning. Stay as long as you like, but be sure to leave your number for me. Don’t worry about locking up. The door will lock automatically behind you.

  Cole

  PS - Can I call you Whit now? Since you’re waking up half-naked in my bed I assume you consider us ‘friendly.’

  Oh. My. God.

  Oh, my God!

  I rack my brain for any memory of what happened last night, but I can’t even remember leaving the bar with him.

  I’m still wearing my bra and underwear so I can’t imagine we had sex then, right? I shift my pelvis around a bit. It doesn’t feel like I had sex.

  I bring my hands up to my face and groan.

  I have no idea whether or not I had sex last night. As far as things go, this situation isn’t doing a whole lot to raise my level of self-esteem.

  Not to mention the fact that if I did have sex with him I really would have liked to remember it. There’s a good chance I won’t ever have a man like that between my legs again. Not because I don’t think I’m worth it, but because sexual fantasies like Cole who aren’t completely full of themselves aren’t exactly an abundant commodity.

  Unable to take the jackhammering in my head any longer, I sit up and reach for the Advil and water. Once I’ve swallowed the pills I set the glass back down on the bedside table and notice a pen there. That must be how he expects me to leave my number.

  Not a chance in hell.

  My phone rests on the nightstand, too, so I pick it up and bring up Lennon’s contact info. If anyone is an expert at the one-night stand, it’s her. It takes a few rings, but she eventually answers.

  “This better be good. My date from last night was just about to chow down.”

  “Oh, sorry. Are you out for breakfast?”

  Lennon laughs. “Sweet, innocent Whitney. I meant on my pussy.”

  I don’t even know what to say to that so I ignore it entirely. “I just woke up in a stranger’s bed, he’s gone and left me a note, and I have no idea what happened between us last night.”

  I hear her cover the phone, some muffled t
alking on her part, and then she rejoins our conversation. “Tell me everything!”

  “As long as you promise not to talk so loud, my hangover is in full effect.”

  “You were drunk last night?” she asks.

  “Based on the hangover I’m currently experiencing and the fact that I remember jack shit about last night, I must have ended up really drunk.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Exactly.”

  My friends and a couple of my exes have filled me in on what I’m like when I’m really drunk. Let’s just say that I’m amorous. To an extreme. I love my friends. I love everybody.

  “I guarantee you that you were handsy,” Lennon says and then laughs at my expense.

  I can only imagine what I would have been like around someone as fuckable as Cole. The last thing I’m going to do is sign myself up for the embarrassment of seeing him again. No, thank you.

  “I know, I know. Listen. What’s the protocol here?” I ask. I roll myself out of bed (and I mean that literally) and find the bathroom just outside the door to his bedroom.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He left me a note and he wants my number.”

  “Okaaay… so what’s the problem?”

  I do my business quickly while holding the phone in the crook of my neck.

  “The problem is that I’m mortified. I have no idea what happened last night and what I might have said.” I glance at myself while I’m washing my hands. “I just saw myself in the mirror. I am such a hot mess right now.”

  Make-up is smeared down my face and I have dark circles under my eyes. My pallor is that of a corpse that’s been rotting for a few days and my hair is matted in several places. I’d pass as an extra on the set of The Walking Dead.

  Jesus, how much did I drink?

  “Then just leave.”

  “I can do that?”

  “You can do what you want. I don’t give a guy my digits if he was a shitty lay. I’m out of there before he wakes up.” I hear the deep voice of a guy in the background but can’t make out what he’s saying. “You do that thing with your tongue again and I’ll give you my email address, too.”

  “I’m going to assume you were talking to whatever man is currently naked in bed with you and not me,” I deadpan.

  “He’s not totally naked. We’ve been having fun with Nutella.” She giggles.

  “Can we get back to my problem, please?” I lean my ass against the counter so my back is to the mirror since I have zero interest in seeing how in shambles I am right now.

  “Just bail. Grab your shit and get the hell outta Dodge.”

  “It’s not rude to do that?” I chew on the end of my finger.

  “Who cares? You’re never going to see this guy again.”

  “You’re right. Okay, I’ve got to run before he shows back up.”

  “Go get your stride of pride on and call me later.”

  I set about gathering my clothes from the apartment. Apparently, I must’ve had a wild time removing them last night because I find my shirt in the living room. Which is really nice, by the way, with a cream area rug set over the hardwood floors. A fireplace with built-ins on either side lends a cozy feeling to the space and if I weren’t so afraid of falling asleep and being here when he got back, I’d totally sink into the large brown sofa and make it my bitch.

  But I digress. My pants are in Cole’s bedroom and I find one of my shoes by the front door and the other one I remember spotting in the bathroom. Now I just need to find my purse so I can race from the scene of the crime.

  Again, I try to remember anything from my time here last night and I come up blank. I search around frantically, feeling as if there’s some giant clock ticking down my impending doom in the background.

  Oh, wait. There is. When I get to the kitchen I realize he actually does have a giant clock on the one wall, whose second hand is adding to the drama going on inside my head.

  There. My purse sits on the counter and relief floods through me. I hurry over to it and search its depths for my wallet, wanting to know whether I have any cash left for public transit. After the amount of money I’m sure I spent at the bar last night, I need to pinch pennies. If I have no cash on me, I’ll be forced to use Uber.

  I shift a bunch of stuff around and don’t see it. Shit. Did I lose my wallet last night? A shot of adrenaline surges, not at all helping my already queasy stomach.

  I knew I should have never bought that maroon wallet. Something bright or neon would be easier to find in this cavernous purse. Tahlia and Lennon are always making fun of how heavy my bag is. What can I say? I like to be prepared.

  Frustrated at how long this is taking, I start moving things out of my purse and onto the kitchen counter. My hand sanitizer, lipstick, and notebook are the first to go. Then my bottle of water, tampons, and the vibrator Lennon gave me the other night. I roll my eyes to myself as I set it on the cool granite. Does she really expect me to use that thing and report back to her? Next goes my face powder, small brush, and then finally my hand closes around my wallet.

  “Yay!” I cheer to myself. I unzip it and see that it still has almost as much cash as when I left my grandparents’ house last night.

  Did I not pay my tab? I inwardly groan, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. Because I am absolutely, definitely, never ever seeing Cole again. I pray that whatever tab I ran up last night doesn’t come out of his paycheck.

  Shaking my head to myself, I grab everything and quickly shove it back into my purse, more than ready to make my departure.

  With swift strides I reach the door and don’t bother looking back as I march out of there, trying to keep what little pride I have left intact.

  Turns out Cole lives on the top floor of a converted Victorian.

  Since I’m not exactly sure where I am, I do the walk of shame to the nearest street corner to read the street names and get my bearings. Luckily when I see the crossroads I know where I am and if I walk a couple of blocks up, I’ll be able to take the bus to my grandparents’ house without transferring.

  I say a small thank you to the universe that it’s autumn, since fall in San Francisco means the temperature isn’t a thousand and one degrees. The walk to the bus stop nearly does me in and if it was crazy hot on top of that the coroner would be outlining my body on the side of the road.

  My head is still pounding, but thankfully there’s no one else sitting on the bench, and so I plop down with my purse on my lap. Hopefully, the bus will be here soon. I reach in to retrieve my wallet so I can count out my fare and of course it’s somehow wedged its way to the bottom of my bag again.

  With a big sigh, I start hunting.

  I find my wallet easily this time, but what I don’t come upon is the bright pink sex toy Lennon gave me the other night. Where the hell is that thing? She’ll kill me if I lose it. I search for another minute and come up empty. Wait…

  No.

  No!

  There’s no one there to witness it, but heat seeps into my cheeks as mortification sets in.

  Fuck. Me.

  I put the vibrator back in my purse after I found my wallet at Cole’s house, right?

  I frantically shuffle all the items around inside my purse then lay them out beside each other on the bus bench until my purse is empty. Still no vibrator.

  A middle-aged man arrives at that moment, eyes me skeptically, and chooses to wait for the bus a few feet away rather than approach me. Can’t say I blame him.

  I sink to my knees in front of the bench. “This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening!” I push my hands through my hair as I rock back and forth, having my mini-breakdown.

  I may or may not have had a one-night stand with a guy who could be a model, I have no idea what transpired but I know it likely wasn’t my finest moment, and now I’ve left a sex toy on his kitchen counter.

  Someone toss me a shovel so I can dig a hole and never come out.

  “Are you okay, miss?” the ma
n waiting for the bus says, though I notice he doesn’t dare to take a step closer to me.

  I start shoving everything back into my purse once again. “Sure. I’ll be fine. Apparently, you can’t actually die from embarrassment.”

  He nods, but says nothing and turns his attention back to the street. I’m sure he’s willing the bus to come so he can get away from the crazy lady on the bench.

  Sulking, I sit back down with my purse in my lap.

  Yep. As much as I’d like a second round that I can remember with Cole, I will never, ever, under any circumstances be seeing him again.

  5

  After I unlock the door to my grandparents’ place, I twist the handle and open it as slowly and quietly as possible, hoping I can slip in unnoticed and pretend that I’ve been here all night. Instead of silence, I’m met with three short yips of a dog.

  What the hell?

  I pause for a second, wondering if I’m hearing things because my grandparents didn’t own a dog the entire time I was growing up and they don’t own one now.

  But there it is again. Barking that tells me there’s definitely a dog somewhere in the house. I push the door all the way open and as soon as my foot hits the hardwood flooring of the entryway, I’m assaulted by one foot of fur ball.

  One look at this dog and I can tell he’s trouble. He’s barking excitedly and bouncing up and down as if I have a raw steak shoved in my pocket. He stops his incessant barking for a second and his tongue hangs out to the side, his short tail flapping back and forth.

  My grandma, Edna, appears from the back of the house, smiling like there isn’t some deranged animal in our midst and I’m not coming in looking like I’ve been turning tricks down on Polk Street all night. “I see you’ve met Sparky.” I look up at her in confusion. “Your grandpa and I agreed to house the dogs that the local shelter has no room for. Just until they can find owners for them. Sparky arrived here this morning.”

  She bends down to pet the mutt, but he turns toward her and growls before she can get close enough to put her hands on him. My grandma just smiles. Then Sparky turns his head at an angle and looks at me again like he’s expecting me to do something.