“I’ll tell our guests we’re a bleu-cheese-free household.”
“Very well. Then I will come to your football party.” He gave a shy smile, the kind that made Roman want to either pinch his cheeks or kiss him.
Definitely kiss him.
* * *
Roman was ruminatingover how that night’s football party might go over while sipping a beer at The Bleachers, his sports bar on Canal Street. Wanting to make it as easy and stress-free as possible, he’d ordered food ahead of time and was now waiting for it to be ready.
“What do you think of the new lager?” Sherry, the new bartender, asked him, interrupting his reverie.
“Not bad,” he said, just now registering the taste of the new brew. “How have the distributors been to work with?”
“Always on time, according to Eduardo.” Eduardo was the head bartender, in charge of managing the bar staff and ordering inventory. “You staying for the game tonight?”
“Nope, just picking up some food for an at-home thing.”
“An at-home thing? And I’m not invited?” She gave him a full-lipped pout while leaning forward to strategically show off her ample breasts. She’d been working at the bar for a few weeks now and consistently hit on him whenever he came in. Roman’s close friends and acquaintances knew about his sexual orientation, but it wasn’t something he advertised. Maybe it was because of the way he was raised, where homosexuality wasn’t something that was discussed. Or it might have been a holdover from when he’d played football and revealing that side of himself could have ended his career. Or maybe it was simply his desire to keep his personal business private. Regardless, unless he was looking for a hookup, Roman kept his sexuality to himself.
“Maybe next time,” he said with a curt smile and nodded at the man farther down the bar, one who was clearly trying to get her attention.
“Well, don’t be a stranger.” She winked at him and sashayed over to where the man frowned with impatience. Roman looked on as Sherry poured the customer a draft beer. His disposition didn’t improve as she set the glass on a bar napkin in front of him. He said something to her and Sherry reacted with an alarmed expression. Her next response was clearly an attempt to appease him while the man only barked back at her with a scowl of displeasure.
“Sherry,” Roman called, wanting to get her out of whatever that situation was becoming. She walked over with a shell-shocked expression. “What’d he say to you?”
“He called me a fucking cunt. After telling me that I needed to get off my fat ass and get him a drink.”
Roman assessed the man again, around his age or a little older, large but not terribly built, flush-faced like he’d been outside in the sun all day, probably drunk already.Tourist, was his first thought.Redneck, was his second, and not the friendly, fun-loving kind. Roman walked over with his beer so that he might look a little less threatening and said to the man, “Hello there, my name is Roman Reynolds, and I’m the owner of this bar. Do you have a problem with your service?”
“I got no problem with you, man,” the guy said and smacked his lips, “but your bartender over there is taking her sweet-ass time about it. All I wanted was a goddamned beer.”
Roman was willing to give this man a second chance even while knowing his effort was likely in vain. “Are you going to apologize to her for what you said?”
“Fuck no,” he snorted with a smug grin. “Why? You gonna make me?”
Roman knew there were a few ways he could deal with this asshole, and none of them were particularly appealing. He took it somewhat personal when people were disrespectful inside his establishments because they were meant to be welcoming, safe places, and all it took was one drunken dickhead to tank the whole vibe. He expected his employees to work hard, but he didn’t expect them to tolerate abuse.
He pulled out his wallet and laid a twenty on the bar top, more than twice what the man had paid. “Your beer is on me,” Roman said. “It’s the last one you’ll ever have in here. I want you to finish your drink, walk out the door, and don’t ever come back.”
Roman said it in a deliberate, controlled manner, but the man eyeballed him again, sizing him up. The stranger pocketed the money, then spat on the polished bar top before calling Roman an extremely offensive name. Roman, having no fucks left to give, signaled to the barback-slash-bouncer, who came over straightaway.
“Please escort this man out,” Roman said to DeShawn. “And make sure he’s not allowed back inside.”
“This is discrimination,” the man started hollering so that everyone nearby could hear. “I’m gonna sue your black, racist ass.”
Roman took a deep breath and watched DeShawn manhandle him out the door. He figured the worst the man could do was leave a bad Yelp review, which Roman would somehow manage to endure.
“What a jerk,” Sherry said, wiping off the man’s spittle with a rag that would go straight into the hamper.
“Don’t suffer assholes like that,” Roman told her. “Especially if they look like tourists.”
“Especially if they don’t tip,” she said with a wink.
Roman’s food was ready by then and Sherry helped him load it into the back of his Escalade. “Nice ride, boss,” she said appreciatively.
“Thanks,” he responded, feeling a little awkward about it. He didn’t flaunt his money, but the car was his baby.
“I hope you have fun tonight without me,” she said in parting, while pocketing the money he’d given her for her trouble.
