At two-thirty, Sally trudged down the stairs of her second story apartment and proceeded toThe Dog Housefor her first day of work. Something about hitting the sidewalk and hearing the rumble of the passing cars seemed to lift a little of the heavy weight out of the pit of her stomach. And as each step brought her closer to the front door of the bar, her sadness was slowly being replaced with an extreme nervousness that she hadn’t really expected. Her palms were already sweaty and butterflies were beginning to dance in her stomach. She kept picturing herself attempting to spin bottles and do fancy tricks with the drinks. But each time she tried, she saw herself clumsily dropping the bottles and drenching herself, and her irritated customers, with alcohol.
Why would she be picturing that? Sally wasn’t going to be trying any fancy tricks. She was going to be too concerned about memorizing the drinks to attempt any tricks. She wasn’t a drinker but she knew just from looking at menus in restaurants that there had to be tons of combinations out there. What had she been thinking? Why had she ever thought she could be a bartender?
Just as she reached the door, she pulled in a deep breath, straightened her spine, and told herself tosuck it up, buttercup, because she wasn’t a coward. She would walk in that bar and she’d work her butt off and failure wasn’t an option.
With those confident thoughts filling her mind, and the disturbing remnants of the dream now buried in the back of her mind, she pulled open the door and walked into the building. She walked into a large room full of tables, both tall and short, arranged haphazardly toward the center of the space. Booths lined the right hand side of the room and four pool tables dominated the left side. Neon lights yelled at her from all around, luring her in, tempting a good time if she would only let go of her inhibitions. Music was playing but it wasn’t loud. It hummed in the background, giving the mind a focal point and distracting the customers from the cost and calories contained in the mixed drinks and French fries they were cramming down their gullets.
“Sally!” A boisterous voice boomed across the room. She turned her head in the direction of the voice and saw Cross standing in a doorway that led to the back of the bar.
Cross motioned her over and she made her way through the maze of tables. Just as she reached the end of the bar, another man stepped up from behind Cross. He was tall, probably about six feet she guessed. He had kind, grey colored eyes, a strong jaw, and lips that looked as though there was always a ready smile waiting to spread across his face. His hair was sandy brown and worn a little longer on top, sweeping to the side across his forehead. He was cute and he was checking Sally out just as thoroughly as she’d been doing to him.
Someone cleared their throat and Sally’s eyes snapped back to Cross who was smirking at her. “This is Jericho. He’s going to be training you.”
Jericho held out his hand. “Welcome to the Promised Land, Sally,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. She chuckled inwardly. This one was going to be a flirt.
“Actually, the Promised Land was in Canaan, not Jericho.” She smiled as she took his hand. Instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips and placed a kiss on the back of it.
“There is nothing sexier than a woman with brains to go along with her beauty,” Jericho said as he released her hand.
“Jericho, enough. I pay you to train her, not woo her,” Cross grumbled. “Show her the ropes and keep your hands to yourself.”
“What if she doesn’t want me to keep my hands to myself, boss?” Jericho’s eyes never left hers as he spoke.
“She does, and she’s standing right here,” Sally said crossing her arms in front of her and meeting the cute bartender’s stare.
“Feisty too? Hot damn, you are just a gem in this ugly rock we call earth.” Jericho motioned for her to follow him behind the bar.
“He’s all talk,” Cross said softly as she passed him. “He’s a good guy and a great bartender.”
Sally nodded. “I kind of figured he was harmless.”
Cross shook his head. “No, not harmless. He will definitely attempt to get some action with you, and he can be a bit of an idiot when it comes to attractive women. But he has a good heart. Just make it clear if you want things to stay in the friend zone—very clear. As a rule, I don’t prohibit relationships among employees, but I don’t necessarily like it, either.”
“Roger that.” She nodded and stepped behind the bar next to the man in question.
“Was he giving you the wholeJericho’s a man-whorespeech?” the bartender asked as he began setting up empty glasses in front of him.
“Not exactly. But I will tell you, I’m not a one-night-stand kind of girl, and I am not interested in a relationship other than a friendship.”
Jericho stopped what he was doing and looked down at her. His eyes suddenly became serious. He seemed to come to some sort of conclusion as he nodded at her. “Got it. Buddies only.” He clapped his hands together and then rubbed them like a giddy little boy. “Ready to learn how to mix drinks, buddy?”
She laughed. “Even if I wasn’t, you look as eager as Ralphie about to get his Red Ryder BB gun. How could I not get excited after seeing that face?”
Bethany was tired of sleeping on the makeshift bed she had constructed by piling together several layers of sweatpants. She wasn’t ungrateful. And she knew that it was much better than the accommodations that she had enjoyed only a couple of days ago, locked in a dungeon guarded by bloodthirsty monsters. But knowing that there were beds somewhere in the building, with soft mattresses and clean sheets, just waiting to give her body the restful, restorative sleep it needed after so many sleepless nights, made the pile of sweatpants a bit less appealing.
Two days had passed since she’d been taken from the vampires and deposited in a room with a feral werewolf. Not just any werewolf, mind you, but one that claimed that she too was part werewolf. But that wasn’t the most shocking part. No, the most unbelievable part of her dramatic rescue was that the werewolf also claimed that she was hismate. Not only did she have no idea what that entailed but the same werewolf had also told her that he’d gone feral and that he would most likely have to be killed by yet another more powerful werewolf. And she had thought things were weird with the vampires.
For two days she’d watched Drake pace the floor in both his human and wolf form. She’d talked with him calmly and listened to him declare his devotion to her—a person he didn’t even know. She’d seen him rage, railing against the bars as she described only a tiny portion of the torture she’d endured at the hands of the vampires. She’d also listened to him growl and snarl at every person who dared to enter the room, especially the males. She had a hard time reconciling the soft-spoken gentle Drake, who stared longingly through the bars at her when they were alone, with the snarling beast that erupted from the man every time the door to their room opened. It was like watching a real life Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde happening right in front of her several times a day. And while she was confident that Drake wasn’t going to hurt her, she didn’t understand what was going on and the psychological strain of everything that had happened, and everything that was still happening, was simply becoming too much for her.
Her near breaking point had come yesterday. Bethany was severely dehydrated, or at least that is what Drake had told her, and so she’d been drinking every ounce of water that the other people brought. It took over twenty-four hours for all those ounces to catch up with her, restoring her body to some sense of normalcy. The feeling was almost a foreign sensation, considering that she had been given only enough food and water to stay alive during her captivity with the vampires. As such, she’d not had to use the bathroom very often. But she’d had to go yesterday. Bethany had pounded on the door and when no one came, she’d opened it a crack, just enough for her to shout that she needed to speak to someone.
“A female,” Drake growled from behind her. “Make sure it’s a female, Bethany.”
She was practically dancing from foot to foot when someone finally came. A guy stood at the top of the stairs. Bethany shook her head.
“Not you. Sorry, but it has to be a girl and I need her to come now. Please,” she added when she realized how bossy that had sounded.
She continued to bounce on her feet and, after what seemed like fifteen minutes, a girl came barreling down the stairway. Bethany backed away from the door to keep from being plowed over by the woman. It wasn’t until the woman was no longer moving that Bethany realized it was the girl named Jen from the group that had rescued her.
