On The Rocks

“Good. Let’s plan on meeting tomorrow to talk about when you can start, and the timetable for the project. Now… I’m off to hit the surf.”


Hunter picks up the cup of coffee I had brought him and gives me a last, long look before heading toward the door, taking my cup with him. When he turns the knob, he glances back at me and his voice is husky. “Oh, and Gabs… I really, really enjoyed seeing you in your pajamas this morning.”

My mouth sort of just falls open, stunned that he would jump from professional business talk to some steamy flirting. It takes me a moment to compose myself.

Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “So… I really have the job? That’s set in stone, right?”

He looks at me curiously. “Right.”

“Good. Then let me tell you. . . stop the flirting, jackass. I’m not interested.”

Surprise spreads wide over Hunter’s face, and then he throws his head back and starts laughing. When he tilts his eyes back on mine, he says, “Good one, Gabs. You keep saying that if it makes you feel better.”

Before I can even respond, he’s out the door and shutting it softly behind him.





“I just opened up the last case of Jack Daniels, and you’re running low on Grey Goose,” Brody says as I push the pitcher of draft beer I just poured across the bar to a customer. He hands me a ten-dollar bill and tells me to keep the change.

Thanks, asshole… the pitcher is ten bucks!

I turn around to the cash register and ring up the sale, sliding the money in the drawer. Turning to Brody, I nod. “I’ve got it ordered. Should be delivered on Monday.”

“Hopefully what we have will last through the weekend. It’s been busy the last few nights.”

I smile, because yeah… business is better than I thought it would be and I’m starting to feel more comfortable about the expansions, particularly with the summer season just around the corner. It’s been a learning curve to say the least, trying to figure out how long my stock will last and ordering appropriately from the distributors, who only do deliveries in our area once a week.

“If we get too low, I can run over to the ABC store and buy a couple of bottles.”

Brody doesn’t even bother to respond and moves to the other end of the bar to take the orders from two girls that approach. They look young… maybe too young to be served, but I watch as Brody cards them. They flirt and giggle, but he doesn’t even spare them a glance as he hands the IDs back and turns to make their drinks.

Sighing, I reach over to the flat of pint glasses that were just washed in the kitchen and start stacking them in the cooler to chill. Brody is still just as withdrawn as he was the day he walked out of prison, but he seems to be handling himself okay. I mean, he’s not exactly effervescent with the customers, but he doesn’t seem to piss them off, and he does his job well. He’s just so damn quiet that I want to shake him sometimes and tell him, “Get over it. You’re back in the real world. Enjoy it.”

But I immediately feel like shit for even thinking such things, because I can’t even begin to imagine how tough it has been for him. I had a nightmare the other night about Brody in jail, getting beaten up by a gang. They held him down, kicking and punching him. I woke up, thankful the nightmare had been interrupted, and terrified of what else I might have seen had I let the dream go on. Brody has never talked about what life was like behind bars, and I haven’t asked him. I’m not sure I really want to know.