1
BRAX
“Hey,handsome. What are you doing after this?” a regular at the bar asks. It’s not the first time she’s uttered the words either. If there were an award for consistency, she’d get the biggest one out there.
“Heading home to my girl,” I lie to her because it’s easier and will end the conversation quicker. She’ll move on like she always does, finding someone else to scratch her itch.
“Darn it,” she whines, barely able to find her lips with her beer bottle because she’s so wasted.
“Want me to call you a cab?”
She shakes her head before slinking off the stool like she doesn’t have many bones in her body. “No. I’ll find a ride,” she tells me with a devilish smile.
I have no doubt she’ll find some man in this bar who will be more than happy to give her whatevertype of ride she wants tonight. All I know is that man isn’t going to be me.
“She yours?” Tate asks, lifting her chin toward the woman at the end of the bar.
“Mine?” I stare down at my older sister in confusion.
Tate rolls her eyes. “Your customer.”
“Oh.”
“Well?” she says when I don’t answer her original question right away.
I gaze down the bar at the pretty woman who has a sadness about her. “She’s mine,” I tell Tate, figuring I could do one good deed tonight and see if I can make the woman smile at least once.
“Fine. You take that end of the bar, and I’ll take the other. The place is a madhouse tonight. Freaking football play-offs. I hate this time of year,” she grumbles as she starts to organize the liquor bottles under the bar.
“Whatever makes you happy.” I give her a smile, hoping she’ll stick around long enough to help me close tonight.
“No need to suck up. I’m staying until the place is empty.”
I let out a laugh, hating how well my sister knows me. No one else knows me better than she does. We’ve been through some shit together, and it started at a very young age. She’s mothered me at times, which I’ve hated the most. But she’s always been there forme, and I’ve always been there for her. It’s what siblings do—or, at least, what we do.
“Beer!” someone yells from the other end of the bar, Tate’s end. She grunts loudly before stalking toward the impatient patron.
Chicago’s in the play-offs for the first time since my uncle Vinnie played for the team. The city’s electric with the possibility of making it to the national championship again after more than a decade. Thank goodness there are only a few more games before the entire season comes to an end and the bar goes back to the usual crowd, instead of filling every seat and then some.
I make my way to the other end of the bar, staring at the woman’s profile. She’s pretty, even with the blank look on her face as she stares up at the television screen. Her hair is long and flowing down her front, not giving much away when it comes to her body.
“Want another?” I ask her when her brown eyes finally meet mine.
Her smile barely touches the edge of her cheeks. “No. This is more than enough.”
I give her a genuine smile back. “One isn’t usually enough for our regular customers.”
“I suppose not,” she says in a soft voice. “I’m sorry I took this seat all night. I was waiting for someone who obviously isn’t going to show. I’ll tip you well since I took money out of your pocket.”
“Darlin’, the bar is full. You took nothing out ofmy pocket. Nurse that beer for as long as you want. Whoever stood you up is an idiot.”
“It’s the story of my life. I swear I’m cursed,” she mumbles as she lifts the bottle to her lips.
“It’ll turn around. There’re always a few jagoffs out there, but we’re not all like that.”
Her eyes search mine for a moment, and I wonder what she’s thinking. She’s probably running through all the clichés about bartenders. “I must be a magnet for them, then—or just purely unlucky.”
“This seat taken?” a man asks her, coming out of nowhere.
