Firecracker

Cock&Tails

When Finn was renovating the bar, he came up with this crazy idea of sticking screens in both the male and female toilets with cameras pointed at the sinks so that the guys could see and hear the girls gossiping and vice versa. A couple of the guys from the ‘wanker banker’ group are standing in front of their mirror. “Jeez, that barmaid is hostile tonight,” Donkey-boy, as I have nicknamed him, says as he washes his hands. “I was hoping to score with her tonight. Apparently, she goes home with a different guy each night and last week James said she gave him the best head he has ever had.”

I scowl but stay silent as I realise that they haven’t noticed me on their screen. “Yeah, I hear she is a total slut,” a skinny guy with blonde hair replies. “A guaranteed good lay and she never sticks around in the morning. She’s like a guy like that. A total pocket rocket, if you know what I mean?”

Just then Blue Eyes steps forward and glances at the screen. His eyes connect with mine, and a shiver runs down my spine. He grimaces but doesn’t utter a sound. The guys finish up and then leave the room, leaving me to wonder if they would have felt embarrassed to know that I had just listened in on their conversation. Probably not.

I wait a few minutes to make sure they have returned to their table before stepping out into the corridor.

“I am sorry you had to hear that,” a low voice murmurs from behind me.

Startled, I spin around to find Blue Eyes leaning against the wall in the semi-dark. The jolt I felt earlier is nothing compared to the electricity that tingles in my limbs at his proximity. As a woodsy scent tickles my nose, I find myself wanting to launch myself at this stranger.

“Um, that’s okay,” I say brightly, not wanting to show him that those stupid losers’ words had any impact on me. “They didn’t say anything that’s not true. I am a slut…” I pause for effect. “And, well, I do give amazing head.” I wink at Blue Eyes before brushing past him and striding away as fast as my legs will take me, back to the bar.

I don’t understand why this guy is affecting me so much. I wasn’t lying when I said that I was a slut; I regularly hook up with guys that come into the bar; sometimes they are regulars, other times random strangers that I know I will never see again. Finn makes no apology for his man-whorish ways and neither do I; both of us are searching for that human connection that makes us feel alive. I have no desire for a relationship, and this helps scratch the itch without the messiness that comes when you involve pesky emotions. It sounds harsh, but this is how I have lived my life for the last three years, and I am doing just fine. But now this guy has walked into my life and is eliciting the kind of random feelings that I have suppressed for a very long time. The physical attraction is there, that’s for sure, but there is also something else that I just can’t put my finger on.

I keep myself busy serving customers, grateful that the bar has filled up and I can concentrate on getting the drinks out. The next couple of hours pass by in a blur of pouring pints and making the cocktails that our little bar is famous for.

When Finn opened the bar, we couldn’t agree on the name so when it came to putting up the sign we compromised and settled on ‘cocktails’ so that at least people would know what we served. About a month later, a graffiti artist altered the sign one night by adding an ‘&’ and doing some clever work with the lettering. It took a couple of comments for us to realise that inadvertently the bar had been renamed ‘Cock&Tails’ which we found hilarious, so we left the sign up and now everyone knows us by our more infamous name, much to the annoyance of the management company that runs the quayside.

“I’ll have a bottle of Bud and whatever you are having.” With a start I find myself staring up at Blue Eyes. How did I miss his approach?

“Uh, sure,” I reply. Usually, when someone buys me a drink, I just mark it on the till and take the cash at the end of the night. If I drank every drink that I got bought I would be plastered before nine p.m., so instead Finn devised a system so staff could cash in their drinks as tips. A couple of good weekends often pay my mortgage for the month so it’s in my interest to mark it down, but tonight I need something to settle the nerves that have erupted in my belly. I grab Blue Eyes’ Bud and pour myself out a Firecracker shooter, a delicious blend of tequila, Goldschlager and peppermint schnapps.

“I’m Jackson, by the way,” he says with a grin before handing over the cash for the drinks.

“Kat,” I offer with my first genuine smile of the night.

“I like that.”

“Huh? What?” Confusion sends my eyebrows shooting upwards.

“Your smile. You light up. Much better than the god-awful glower you have had going on tonight,” Jackson adds with a cheeky grin.

I feel like he is baiting me, so instead, I raise my shot glass and clink it on his beer bottle before saying, “Bottoms up.” The shot slides down my throat, warming it until it settles in my belly.

“Well, have a good night then, Kat,” Jackson responds with a grin and a nod, before ambling back to his friends. I take a second to check out how his sexy arse fills his jeans as I roll his name around my head. Jackson. Not a typical British name but it suits him. He has this air of knowing exactly who he is, what he wants and where he is going in life, and I envy him because I wish I could say the same about myself.

At eleven, Finn calls last orders, and once again the bar is besieged with patrons desperate for their last drink of the night. Glancing towards Jackson’s table once the rush dies down, I feel strangely elated when I spot him still sitting there. Heat works its way up my neck as he stares across at me with a look of undisguised lust. I glance away, suddenly feeling somewhat shy, which is not like me at all. Usually, if a guy gives me that look, I will flirt back and be in his bed within the hour. But something about Jackson tells me that he is different. And I’m not entirely sure if I’m comfortable with that.

Half an hour later the bar is almost empty. Devon, our Aussie bartender, along with Bailey and Sam start clearing everything up, and I pitch in, clearing up the glasses from the tables. When I reach Jackson’s table, I realise that he is alone. “Aren’t you missing your friends?” I ask, my voice catching slightly.

“Nah, they all went home,” he replies. I pick up the glasses littering the table, concentrating hard to stop my hands shaking with the nerves running through me. What is it with my reaction to this guy? “What time do you finish up, Kat?” The way he says my name, like a gentle caress, sends heat pooling between my thighs.

“Now, if you like,” I respond, suddenly desperate to kiss the man who has been my kryptonite all evening.

“Hmm, that would be good,” Jackson says in a low voice full of promise that brings me out in goosebumps.

“Finn,” I call across the room. “I am out of here.”

Finn nods and gives me a sly smile.

I turn back to Jackson. “You coming then?”