DELINQUENT

ONE

"I'm looking for Jared" I made my voice strong. Desperate to not sound desperate. The bartender kept his back to me. Tall, clad in worn jeans that looked like they were made for him, a rag in the back pocket. His black T-shirt said Deliverance, the bar's namesake, across the back in thick white block letters.

"You found him." He turned around, a pint glass in each hand. In one step he crossed the tight space behind the bar. He put them down in front of me and wiped his hand on the back of his jeans.

He was younger than I thought he would be. He had a hard, working man's body, muscles taut and athletic without being showy. His hair was kept short. So short that it was difficult to nail down the color between brown and black.

Almond shaped eyes adorned with long black lashes were his best feature. Utterly breathtaking. I pulled myself out of a stare.

"I'm Mila. Frank from Brothers said you were looking to hire. He sent me over."

Jared's face contorted with annoyance. "I'm not."

"Please. I have experience. I'll work full-time, you'll have me every day."

He smiled at my begging and picked up one of the glasses he had discarded giving it a wipe down with a thick white cloth. His eyes scanned in the bar in front of him.

It was dingy. Dust particles swirled with smoke floated in the stagnant air. Dark wood floors matched the wood tables matched the small wooden stage. What was most shocking was that while it was a Tuesday afternoon, most of the tables were full. Customers completely unbothered by the appearance.

He either made delicious drinks or charged too little for them. Looking around at the pleasant faces, I guessed that it was both.

"Please." I pleaded, getting his eyes to snap back to me. "I have bills to pay. I signed a lease. I just moved here."

He looked down at his hands, following them as he rid the glass of any last drops. He let out a heavy sigh. "Can you start now?" He asked.

"Yes." I smiled.

Jared rounded the bar, wiping his hands on that red rag in his back pocket. More out of habit than anything else.

A quick tour was all that was necessary for me to learn my way around. There was no kitchen, no food to be served here. I had already seen the main bar, the star of the show. He took me through a tight door leading to a hall. Men's and women's bathrooms faced each other, little figures on brass plates denoting which was which.

At the end of the hall, a door was saddled with a sign that read, 'No trespassing.' He unlocked it and led me inside. It opened up into a plain office, dingier than out in the bar. I coughed at all the smoke and waved it out of my face.

He smirked, "What's your name?"

"Mila Scott." I reminded him. He squinted his eyes, committing it to memory. Slowly, he pointed to a couple of gloomy chairs pressed up against the far wall. They were scattered with clothes and trash.

"You can put your stuff there while you work. I keep this room locked." He showed me the computers, they had a system that I was familiar with leaving him to forgo the tutorial. "Don't bother ringing it up if they're paying in cash. I'm not paying taxes on cash."

I cringed. Bars and restaurants were so shady. They never reported what they really made. I shouldn't be surprised this place wasn't any different. At least he was honest.

"You'll have to report all the tips you get on credit cards, but keep the cash to yourself. Unless it's me working behind the bar, give the bartender and barback a little bit of what you make or they'll spit in your drinks." He paused and then added, "if they even bother to make your drinks at all."

It was his bar but he didn't seem bothered at the way his employees misbehaved. He didn't care about the haphazard way everything seemed to work around here. How half the women's bathroom stalls didn't lock or that the men's sink was broken.

It all rolled off his back. So long as he was making money, he didn't care what the place was like or what his employees did.

I could deal with that.

"What size are you?" He asked me.

I wasn't sure entirely what he meant but I shrugged. "Small I guess."

"Small." He repeated under his breath. He opened the bottom drawer of a metal filing cabinet and dug through it, pulling out two black tops. Uniforms, I realized.

"I got an extra small and a large" He held one up in each hand.

I reached for this extra small, the large would drown me, overwhelm my small frame.

He nodded at me to put it on. I threw him an incredulous look. He expected me to change here? In front of him? Realization passed over his face. He crossed his arms over his chest and turned around.

Fuck it.

I peeled off my top and slipped on the new shirt. It was tighter than I wanted it to be and different from what Jared wore. It must be the women's version, as the cut held me close and had a low vee in the front.

I coughed. A signal for him to turn around.

"Good. It fits." He commented, giving me an up-and-down. I shivered under his look, pointing my toes together feeling anxious. I had on white tennis shoes and a simple pair of jeans. The shoes were comfortable and made standing all day on the wood floors bearable. The jeans were dark enough so that any stains I would get it would be hidden. I knew how this all worked by now.

He opened another, higher, drawer in the cabinet and pulled out a piece paper out. He handed it to me. It had a calendar on it with names scribbled over little makeshift timeslots.

"I already made the schedule for this week, but Carly quit yesterday so imagine your name in her spots." Of course, she worked every day this week.

Which meant I worked every day. At least I would make some money.

"If you want a day off, I need two weeks' notice or find someone to cover for you. I'll train you to bartend but for now, you'll just be waiting tables."

I nodded, absorbing his every word. I had always wanted to be a bartender, sling fancy drinks, chat with the locals and make way more money than any server.

"Try to dress up for work from now on. We're trying to get people drunk, not blow out their kids birthday candles." He snapped giving me an unsatisfied up-down.

Ouch. Since when had dressing appropriately become a bad thing?

We left the room together. Good to his word, he locked the door behind us. My purse safe. I made a move to put my hair up, pull it into a ponytail. He pushed on my arm and it fell to my side limply.

"Keep it down."

Jared made his way back behind the bar while I settled on the other side of it. He looked at me expectantly waving a hand through the dingy air.

"Get to work." He told me simply and turned around, back to cleaning glasses, forgetting who I was.

He didn't give me an apron or paper or any way to make change. I would have to bring it from home tomorrow.

Today, I would make do. I grabbed a couple bar napkins and a pen from a cup and set them on a small circular tray before lifting it in my hand.

I was good at serving. Good with people. Good at remembering who they were, what they wanted, what their drink of choice was. At the last few places I worked at, I didn't even write down orders. I had memorized the menus and could predict an order before it fell from someone's lips.

The pen and paper were a safety net. Just to be safe, to cover my ass off if I got swarmed with orders or if someone ordered a local drink I didn't know.

Most of the tables already had drinks even though I was the only waitress working. Jared must've been doing it all morning

Good for him. He had some hustle.

I walked slowly around the room with hopes that a table would signal for me and I could get them something. I strolled casually, letting them know I was here.

A hand brushed my back.

I jumped, startled and lost my breath.

The young man who had touched me was breathtaking. Despite the warm spring breeze outside, he wore a grey hoodie that brought out the steel in his eyes.

His chin was scattered with dark scruff that matched has dark hair. It fell in a combination of bed hair and an overactive hand, lines showed that he had a habit of running his hand through it.

His cheekbones were high and sharp enough to pierce glass, his chin broad and domineering.

"Where's Carly?" He snapped, a rumble from his throat. His voice was low, deep. I stepped out of his reach to clear my thoughts.

"She quit. Can I get you something?" I asked, willing my voice to even out, willing air into my lungs. I was breathless in his presence. He licked his lips, looked at the ceiling and then back at me.

"Whiskey neat." He ordered. Shaking the empty glass in his hand for good measure.

I dared a look around the table. Other men, maybe older than him, maybe not, I couldn't tell. They each had a big glass or translucent brown liquid in their cups and a spark in their eyes as they watched the interaction between us.

"Jack Daniels? Jim Beam?" I hoped he would go for the higher shelf stuff. Spend more money. Get me a bigger tip.

"Jared knows what I like." He put the glass on my tray and turned back to his companions.