Ah, Saturday night! What can I say about you, except that I love the way you go off.
The bar where I work—Line ‘Em Up—is jam-packed with revellers. Co-eds and guys in suits stand back to back at crammed tables.
Girls in tight dresses and sky-high heels sway on the floor. Some of them dance with dates, some with their friends.
All of them crowd around the stage for an intimate performance from one of the world’s favorite in-the-moment rockstars. Along with the cool emo chicks, and the musos, and… the girl dressed in a pair of pink flannel pajamas with bunnies on them? How did she even get past security?
L.A. Riot’s front man Riot Maddox puts on an acoustic performance for the crowd that is low key compared to the stadium shows they normally play. He belts out yet another soulful rock ballad that has everybody hanging on his every word.
A pair of red panties are flung onto the stage.
“Thank you.” He stops singing to fire a shameless smile in the direction they came from. Whether he saw who threw them is a mystery. He retrieves the thong with the end of the microphone stand and holds them up. Winks. “I’m going to keep these for my collection.”
A girl screams like she’s won the lottery.
I half-expect the woman to pass out and the crowd to crush. Prepare for it. Security must think the same thing since a couple of the bouncers scan the crowd like they’re searching her out.
“Can I get a beer?” someone shouts over the divider between me and the customers. The people I am here to serve.
I grin as I turn my attention to the guy on the other side of the bar. Security has everything under control. “What’ll it be?”
“Sam Adams,” he says.
“Draft or bottle?”
“Draft.”
I nod and scoop up a pint glass. Let me say it again; I love nights like this. There’s such an ebb and flow to them. A vibe. Working at Line ‘Em Up doesn’t feel like work at all. Well, it won’t until I get home and crash from exhaustion. I grab the lever and start the pour. No foam. Just clear amber liquid.
“Can you pour me a couple of those?” Wade tosses over his shoulder as he grabs a blender jug.
“Gotcha.” I place the drink in front of the suit.
He hands me his card, and I swipe it and give it back before I line up the two beers for Wade. The line is three deep and people are jockeying for prime positions.
It’s been near on a year since the bar was almost set on fire when pop star Saylor Monroe’s crazy manager tried to make her immortal via murder. Things have changed around here. The guys that I worked with when I first started at Line ‘Em Up have moved on from behind the bar.
Callan and Fleetwood are busy managing a half dozen Line ‘Em Up bars from L.A. to Florida. They even opened one in Australia. And another in Italy. On the Amalfi Coast.
Hudson Kelly shows up for Spice Girls night—a thing we do one Friday a month—and always puts on a performance. But usually he can be found behaving like a big kid with his twins, in between writing erotic romance novels. Being a stay-at-home dad suits him.
Vale Westerly married Hudson’s sister and quit the bar to help her with her design business. He also created an app that delivers pizza, vodka, and male strippers to women across the country. It went viral, unsurprisingly.
Arrow Stockwell went off to sing his heart out alongside his wife. They tour and record a lot.
And the scent of gasoline disappeared under the aroma of renovations and fresh paint, thanks to Lily Kelly-Westerly, who oversaw the creation of the new and improved Line ’Em Up.
Well, there was a whole lot of new, actually, including new faces behind the bar.
Down at the end of the wooden slab, Lucas Montoya is busy chatting with a cute co-ed while he pours her drinks. Grenadine. Raspberry vodka. Lemonade.
At the opposite end Heath Wilson is lining up double rows of tequila shots for a group of twenty-something guys and gals.
Wade Tucker is dropping a fistful of condoms onto a tray along with glasses full of a purple-red drink guaranteed to make girls horny. He grabs the beers I’ve set up for him and places them with the cocktails. “Thanks, man. Lifesaver.”
And Theo? Who the fuck knows where Theo Valentine gets to in his downtime, but wherever he is, he probably has some girl’s panties hanging from his wrist while he gets his fuck on. The guy is a dog when it comes to the ladies.
“Pez. Pez.” A familiar voice hollers close to my ear and I turn to find Daisy Salter leaning over the bar.
“What’s up, Daisy Do?” I smile at Saylor’s best friend.
Last year she had a thing for me. This year she’s head over heels for Riot Maddox. They met when she went to visit Saylor while she was on tour. I’ve warned her it’ll never work since he barely knows who she is and the closest she’s gotten to him since is licking her phone screen, but she doesn’t care. She loves that new crush feeling.
Her enthusiasm is cute though. Have to give her that.
She grips the bar and levers over it to kiss my cheek and yell in my ear. “Should I do it?”
“Do what?” I start putting together her favorite cocktail; a Screaming Orgasm.
Her toes touch the ground and she tips her head toward the stage. “It. Him. Riot freaking Maddox. Should I do it?”
“Is it an option?” I raise one brow after the other at her. I don’t remember when we settled into this easy friendship. Definitely after she stopped being obsessed with flirting with me.
There’s a saying; don’t shit where you eat. Well, that is the way I feel about Daisy. There are not enough degrees of separation between the two of us. Her friendship with Saylor and therefore with Arrow meant I was never interested in flirting back. Not once I realized she would be a regular fixture in my life. I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. I’m just not the guy she’s looking for. And neither is Rebel Maddox, from what I can tell, but who am I to burst her bubble?
“Mmm.” She watches him as he picks up his guitar and perches on a stool. His voice is… hauntingly rough. The tune is uncomfortably emotional. “Maybe I should go and wait backstage. You guys have a green room setup back there, don’t you?”
“Employee lounge.” I roll my shoulder blades when the music starts to settle into my bones. A trickle of sweat works its way down the back of my neck and into the collar of my uniform.
“So you wouldn’t mind… if I waited? Back there.”
“Who am I to stand in the way of true love?” I slide the drink to her and give one of her blonde tresses a teasing tug. I got in the way of love once and that was enough. I learned my lesson. Don’t fuck with it. Just don’t. You’ll regret it.
She picks up the cocktail. Stirs her straw through the creamy liquid and takes a sip.
“You’ll have to make it past his security though.” I point out the two guys waiting stage right for the performance to end.
“Sure.” She gives them the once over. “I think I met them when I was with Saylor. The tall, bald one… I think he likes me.”
“Shouldn’t be too difficult then,” I say as I take some guy’s beer order. Exchange cash for alcohol.
“Wish me luck?” She doesn’t wait for a response. Daisy is a goal-orientated type of girl. The man on the stage is firmly in her focus. She smooths her hands down her outfit—a fitted white tube dress—as she sashays away.
“Luck,” I yell as she pushes into the crowd. I’ve lost sight of her before I can turn to the next person in want of liquid refreshment.
I pour so many beers. Make round after round of cocktails. Banter with the guys as we work the space behind the bar as a unit. Flirt with a few girls who approach the bar.
Move on to the next customer. “What will it be?”
I stare at the pretty brunette on the other side of the bar. Her hair is chopped shoulder length and messy. Her green eyes sparkle. She sticks her tongue between her teeth and smiles. It’s cheeky, like she’s aware she has the better of me. “Pez.”
What she doesn’t know is that my breath lodges in my chest like a brick. Heavy and unmovable. I press at my breastbone, try to dispel the fucking need that squeezes from the inside and eats at my soul. Every time I see her I want… something I can never have. “Ramzi, what are you doing here?”
She touches the tips of her hair and it shifts ever so slightly to reveal a gold hoop at her lobe. The tendrils are wavy at the bottom. Filled with warm highlights that make my fingertips itch. Her hair used to fall all the way to her butt, but I like this better. I shove my hands into my armpits. Squeeze my arms close to my sides. “New ’do? It looks good.”
“You always notice.” She beams at me.
“Because you always look good.” I shouldn’t have said that. It’s too much. Too close to the truth. You steal my breath away whenever I see you. And what she’s wearing tonight… that tight, black and gold mini dress… I swallow the words that rise up. Gorgeous. Sexy. Fucking beautiful. “What’s the occasion?”
“Rob got a promotion.” She bounces up and down and it takes all of my effort to keep my eyes off her incredible tits. “We’re celebrating.”
Rob Sterling is her boyfriend. He’s also my best friend. We’ve been each other’s ride or die since we were in Pampers. And that makes Ramzi James completely untouchable.
I clear my throat as I glance over her shoulder, checking that my best friend hasn’t caught me ogling his girl like the bastard I am. I have to do better than this. I am better than this. I have to forget about Ramzi. Find a way to move on. Easier said than done. “Where is he?”
She extends her arm to point out a table surrounded by suits. The solid gold bangle on her wrist is burnished under the dim lights overhead. She got it one year for her birthday. Sweet sixteen, if I remember correctly. From her dad. The last time he made an appearance in her life. “He’s over there.”
I spot Rob pretty easily. At six-four, he towers over most people. Me included. Not that I’m much shorter. A couple inches. He wears a Tom Ford suit like it was tailor-made for him. Fits right in with that crowd. Ramzi fits right alongside him.
I flick a bar rag over a couple of wet rings on the glossy wooden top between us. There’s nothing to be done about the way I feel about her. I have to let it go. They’re happy together. It’s plain as day whenever we’re all hanging out. He adores her. And I would never do anything to jeopardize their relationship. Or our friendship. All these thoughts are shoved away in my back pocket with the rag.
I place my palms on the bar and lean forward. “What can I get for you?”
Her lips are glossed in something burgundy that makes the olive of her irises pop. She presses two white teeth into the bottom one and draws it in on one side.
It has a direct impact on parts of my anatomy that Ramzi has no business having any effect on.
Her cheeks pink. “Panty Dropper?”
She wants to have sex. With him. Right, because she’s his girlfriend. And why isn’t that enough to keep my mind from imagining her naked? It really fucking should be. But the minute the word panty fell from those pretty lips I was imagining hers in my fist.
I blink real slow. Quick enough that she assumes it’s a blink. Slow enough that I can take that second to remind myself that I’m being a shitty friend. Friends don’t think about their best mate’s girl the way I think about Ramzi.
“Gosh, that’s embarrassing to say,” Ramzi admits. “Since you guys know what it means.”
I shake my head and chuckle. Pretend I didn’t imagine my best friend’s girl naked. “I didn’t even make the connection. Should I make enough for the entire table?”
“Sure.”
I busy myself with collecting the ingredients. Vodka and raspberry schnapps. Lemonade. Pour them all in a blender jug and turn them into the Line ‘Em Up signature cocktail. Grab glasses and put the whole lot on a tray. Toss a handful of condoms on there too, because we are nothing if not responsible in our serving of alcohol.
I slide the tray in front of her. “My treat. Tell him congratulations for me.”
“Why don’t you tell him yourself.” She smiles at me as she picks up the tray.
“Hectic.” I point around me to indicate how busy we are. “But if you’re still here on my break I’ll come say hello.”
“You should.” She backs away from the bar.
I watch her make her way to him. When she puts the tray down on the high table, he pulls her into his arms and kisses the top of her head. Leans in closer to whisper something in her ear that makes her blush and giggle. What makes her smile like that? What would it take for her to look at me the way she looks at him?
“I’ll have three beers and a double of Jameson,” the guy who took Ramzi’s place at the bar says.
I shove her out of my mind while I start organizing his drinks. There’s no point thinking about Ramzi like that. I had my shot and I blew it. She fell for my best friend. I just wish I could replace her as easily from my thoughts and feelings as that guy replaced her at the bar.
Pre-order: https://mybook.to/MBFG
The bar where I work—Line ‘Em Up—is jam-packed with revellers. Co-eds and guys in suits stand back to back at crammed tables.
Girls in tight dresses and sky-high heels sway on the floor. Some of them dance with dates, some with their friends.
All of them crowd around the stage for an intimate performance from one of the world’s favorite in-the-moment rockstars. Along with the cool emo chicks, and the musos, and… the girl dressed in a pair of pink flannel pajamas with bunnies on them? How did she even get past security?
L.A. Riot’s front man Riot Maddox puts on an acoustic performance for the crowd that is low key compared to the stadium shows they normally play. He belts out yet another soulful rock ballad that has everybody hanging on his every word.
A pair of red panties are flung onto the stage.
“Thank you.” He stops singing to fire a shameless smile in the direction they came from. Whether he saw who threw them is a mystery. He retrieves the thong with the end of the microphone stand and holds them up. Winks. “I’m going to keep these for my collection.”
A girl screams like she’s won the lottery.
I half-expect the woman to pass out and the crowd to crush. Prepare for it. Security must think the same thing since a couple of the bouncers scan the crowd like they’re searching her out.
“Can I get a beer?” someone shouts over the divider between me and the customers. The people I am here to serve.
I grin as I turn my attention to the guy on the other side of the bar. Security has everything under control. “What’ll it be?”
“Sam Adams,” he says.
“Draft or bottle?”
“Draft.”
I nod and scoop up a pint glass. Let me say it again; I love nights like this. There’s such an ebb and flow to them. A vibe. Working at Line ‘Em Up doesn’t feel like work at all. Well, it won’t until I get home and crash from exhaustion. I grab the lever and start the pour. No foam. Just clear amber liquid.
“Can you pour me a couple of those?” Wade tosses over his shoulder as he grabs a blender jug.
“Gotcha.” I place the drink in front of the suit.
He hands me his card, and I swipe it and give it back before I line up the two beers for Wade. The line is three deep and people are jockeying for prime positions.
It’s been near on a year since the bar was almost set on fire when pop star Saylor Monroe’s crazy manager tried to make her immortal via murder. Things have changed around here. The guys that I worked with when I first started at Line ‘Em Up have moved on from behind the bar.
Callan and Fleetwood are busy managing a half dozen Line ‘Em Up bars from L.A. to Florida. They even opened one in Australia. And another in Italy. On the Amalfi Coast.
Hudson Kelly shows up for Spice Girls night—a thing we do one Friday a month—and always puts on a performance. But usually he can be found behaving like a big kid with his twins, in between writing erotic romance novels. Being a stay-at-home dad suits him.
Vale Westerly married Hudson’s sister and quit the bar to help her with her design business. He also created an app that delivers pizza, vodka, and male strippers to women across the country. It went viral, unsurprisingly.
Arrow Stockwell went off to sing his heart out alongside his wife. They tour and record a lot.
And the scent of gasoline disappeared under the aroma of renovations and fresh paint, thanks to Lily Kelly-Westerly, who oversaw the creation of the new and improved Line ’Em Up.
Well, there was a whole lot of new, actually, including new faces behind the bar.
Down at the end of the wooden slab, Lucas Montoya is busy chatting with a cute co-ed while he pours her drinks. Grenadine. Raspberry vodka. Lemonade.
At the opposite end Heath Wilson is lining up double rows of tequila shots for a group of twenty-something guys and gals.
Wade Tucker is dropping a fistful of condoms onto a tray along with glasses full of a purple-red drink guaranteed to make girls horny. He grabs the beers I’ve set up for him and places them with the cocktails. “Thanks, man. Lifesaver.”
And Theo? Who the fuck knows where Theo Valentine gets to in his downtime, but wherever he is, he probably has some girl’s panties hanging from his wrist while he gets his fuck on. The guy is a dog when it comes to the ladies.
“Pez. Pez.” A familiar voice hollers close to my ear and I turn to find Daisy Salter leaning over the bar.
“What’s up, Daisy Do?” I smile at Saylor’s best friend.
Last year she had a thing for me. This year she’s head over heels for Riot Maddox. They met when she went to visit Saylor while she was on tour. I’ve warned her it’ll never work since he barely knows who she is and the closest she’s gotten to him since is licking her phone screen, but she doesn’t care. She loves that new crush feeling.
Her enthusiasm is cute though. Have to give her that.
She grips the bar and levers over it to kiss my cheek and yell in my ear. “Should I do it?”
“Do what?” I start putting together her favorite cocktail; a Screaming Orgasm.
Her toes touch the ground and she tips her head toward the stage. “It. Him. Riot freaking Maddox. Should I do it?”
“Is it an option?” I raise one brow after the other at her. I don’t remember when we settled into this easy friendship. Definitely after she stopped being obsessed with flirting with me.
There’s a saying; don’t shit where you eat. Well, that is the way I feel about Daisy. There are not enough degrees of separation between the two of us. Her friendship with Saylor and therefore with Arrow meant I was never interested in flirting back. Not once I realized she would be a regular fixture in my life. I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. I’m just not the guy she’s looking for. And neither is Rebel Maddox, from what I can tell, but who am I to burst her bubble?
“Mmm.” She watches him as he picks up his guitar and perches on a stool. His voice is… hauntingly rough. The tune is uncomfortably emotional. “Maybe I should go and wait backstage. You guys have a green room setup back there, don’t you?”
“Employee lounge.” I roll my shoulder blades when the music starts to settle into my bones. A trickle of sweat works its way down the back of my neck and into the collar of my uniform.
“So you wouldn’t mind… if I waited? Back there.”
“Who am I to stand in the way of true love?” I slide the drink to her and give one of her blonde tresses a teasing tug. I got in the way of love once and that was enough. I learned my lesson. Don’t fuck with it. Just don’t. You’ll regret it.
She picks up the cocktail. Stirs her straw through the creamy liquid and takes a sip.
“You’ll have to make it past his security though.” I point out the two guys waiting stage right for the performance to end.
“Sure.” She gives them the once over. “I think I met them when I was with Saylor. The tall, bald one… I think he likes me.”
“Shouldn’t be too difficult then,” I say as I take some guy’s beer order. Exchange cash for alcohol.
“Wish me luck?” She doesn’t wait for a response. Daisy is a goal-orientated type of girl. The man on the stage is firmly in her focus. She smooths her hands down her outfit—a fitted white tube dress—as she sashays away.
“Luck,” I yell as she pushes into the crowd. I’ve lost sight of her before I can turn to the next person in want of liquid refreshment.
I pour so many beers. Make round after round of cocktails. Banter with the guys as we work the space behind the bar as a unit. Flirt with a few girls who approach the bar.
Move on to the next customer. “What will it be?”
I stare at the pretty brunette on the other side of the bar. Her hair is chopped shoulder length and messy. Her green eyes sparkle. She sticks her tongue between her teeth and smiles. It’s cheeky, like she’s aware she has the better of me. “Pez.”
What she doesn’t know is that my breath lodges in my chest like a brick. Heavy and unmovable. I press at my breastbone, try to dispel the fucking need that squeezes from the inside and eats at my soul. Every time I see her I want… something I can never have. “Ramzi, what are you doing here?”
She touches the tips of her hair and it shifts ever so slightly to reveal a gold hoop at her lobe. The tendrils are wavy at the bottom. Filled with warm highlights that make my fingertips itch. Her hair used to fall all the way to her butt, but I like this better. I shove my hands into my armpits. Squeeze my arms close to my sides. “New ’do? It looks good.”
“You always notice.” She beams at me.
“Because you always look good.” I shouldn’t have said that. It’s too much. Too close to the truth. You steal my breath away whenever I see you. And what she’s wearing tonight… that tight, black and gold mini dress… I swallow the words that rise up. Gorgeous. Sexy. Fucking beautiful. “What’s the occasion?”
“Rob got a promotion.” She bounces up and down and it takes all of my effort to keep my eyes off her incredible tits. “We’re celebrating.”
Rob Sterling is her boyfriend. He’s also my best friend. We’ve been each other’s ride or die since we were in Pampers. And that makes Ramzi James completely untouchable.
I clear my throat as I glance over her shoulder, checking that my best friend hasn’t caught me ogling his girl like the bastard I am. I have to do better than this. I am better than this. I have to forget about Ramzi. Find a way to move on. Easier said than done. “Where is he?”
She extends her arm to point out a table surrounded by suits. The solid gold bangle on her wrist is burnished under the dim lights overhead. She got it one year for her birthday. Sweet sixteen, if I remember correctly. From her dad. The last time he made an appearance in her life. “He’s over there.”
I spot Rob pretty easily. At six-four, he towers over most people. Me included. Not that I’m much shorter. A couple inches. He wears a Tom Ford suit like it was tailor-made for him. Fits right in with that crowd. Ramzi fits right alongside him.
I flick a bar rag over a couple of wet rings on the glossy wooden top between us. There’s nothing to be done about the way I feel about her. I have to let it go. They’re happy together. It’s plain as day whenever we’re all hanging out. He adores her. And I would never do anything to jeopardize their relationship. Or our friendship. All these thoughts are shoved away in my back pocket with the rag.
I place my palms on the bar and lean forward. “What can I get for you?”
Her lips are glossed in something burgundy that makes the olive of her irises pop. She presses two white teeth into the bottom one and draws it in on one side.
It has a direct impact on parts of my anatomy that Ramzi has no business having any effect on.
Her cheeks pink. “Panty Dropper?”
She wants to have sex. With him. Right, because she’s his girlfriend. And why isn’t that enough to keep my mind from imagining her naked? It really fucking should be. But the minute the word panty fell from those pretty lips I was imagining hers in my fist.
I blink real slow. Quick enough that she assumes it’s a blink. Slow enough that I can take that second to remind myself that I’m being a shitty friend. Friends don’t think about their best mate’s girl the way I think about Ramzi.
“Gosh, that’s embarrassing to say,” Ramzi admits. “Since you guys know what it means.”
I shake my head and chuckle. Pretend I didn’t imagine my best friend’s girl naked. “I didn’t even make the connection. Should I make enough for the entire table?”
“Sure.”
I busy myself with collecting the ingredients. Vodka and raspberry schnapps. Lemonade. Pour them all in a blender jug and turn them into the Line ‘Em Up signature cocktail. Grab glasses and put the whole lot on a tray. Toss a handful of condoms on there too, because we are nothing if not responsible in our serving of alcohol.
I slide the tray in front of her. “My treat. Tell him congratulations for me.”
“Why don’t you tell him yourself.” She smiles at me as she picks up the tray.
“Hectic.” I point around me to indicate how busy we are. “But if you’re still here on my break I’ll come say hello.”
“You should.” She backs away from the bar.
I watch her make her way to him. When she puts the tray down on the high table, he pulls her into his arms and kisses the top of her head. Leans in closer to whisper something in her ear that makes her blush and giggle. What makes her smile like that? What would it take for her to look at me the way she looks at him?
“I’ll have three beers and a double of Jameson,” the guy who took Ramzi’s place at the bar says.
I shove her out of my mind while I start organizing his drinks. There’s no point thinking about Ramzi like that. I had my shot and I blew it. She fell for my best friend. I just wish I could replace her as easily from my thoughts and feelings as that guy replaced her at the bar.
Pre-order: https://mybook.to/MBFG