4. Billy Idol
Who doesn’t love a good dive bar?
Dive bars are literally made for therapeutic conversation and budding friendships. These places serve dual purposes.
The people who come into 9-5 Slide on the regular are my people. Laid back, a little rough around the edges, but real. Maybe it’s because I just often feel out of place with Patrick’s perfect family, but I have a hard time dealing with fake, plasticky individuals.
In the bar at two in the morning, you are your truest self, all bullshit aside, and I respect that more than I respect someone trying to keep up appearances.
“Hey Nic,” John says with a smile from behind the bar, seeing me walk in as he’s drying glasses.
“Johnny! Ready to make some serious cash tonight?” I respond with a hint of sarcasm.
He throws his head back in a dramatic laugh. “Right.”
I’ve been working with John for about nine months now. How do I know? Because his girlfriend got pregnant right before he applied for the job. More spending money for diapers and shit, he always said.
I enjoyed working with him because he was the type of guy that was overqualified for the job like me. He was an engineering student at the university by day, and bartender by night, keeping a rainy day fund from the tips he collected. Hard worker, funny as hell. A perfect coworker in my book.
Just as the night is getting on and the patrons begin filling up the space, I fill another Jack on the rocks for my old friend Leonard.
“Shall I add it to the tab?”
“Sure thing, darlin’.” He nods, handing me a few dollars for a tip before getting back to his reading.
He’s probably my favorite person. Leonard is here every Thursday night, drinking his Jack while reading his old novels. He claims the misses talks too much so he comes to a bar to read, where everyone talks all the time.
Turning to add his drink to his tab, I hear someone clear their throat, awaiting service.
I turn to see a tall guy with bleach blonde, spiky hair and large gauges in his ears. Who the hell is this Billy Idol wannabe?
“What can I get for you?” I ask politely.
He eyes me up and down with a little smirk. “Depends what’s on the menu.”
He leans onto the bar in his elbows with a smirk, getting closer, obviously trying to make a pass at me.
I cock my head to the side, waiting for his order with my brows raised, not feeding into his attempts.
“Ah, alright...” He chuckles. “Can I get around of Tequila for my guys? We’re celebrating tonight. At that corner booth in back.” He points with a half smile. “Should come join us when your shift is over.”
“I’ll be right over with the shots,” I respond, ignoring the last comment while ringing him up.
“None of the frilly shit needed, we’ll take ’em straight,” he adds, as I check out his tatted up arms, handing him his card back.
He’s littered with them. Hours of work I’m sure.
God, these guys and their tats. If tattoos were a genetic trait, he’d be related to Hawke by the looks of it. Probably his first cousin.
I grab a tray and fill it with the five shots of Tequila he requested and make my way around the bar to the back corner booth by the pool tables.
“Guys,” I say, interrupting their conversation and setting the tray on the table.
I look up and nod to the blonde to go ahead and take them off, as he takes one and the other four hands follow.
The last hand to grab a shot has a bird tattoo on the back of his hand, accompanied by numerous black rings. The bird is not any bird, the bird is...a hawk.
My eyes snap up. Seeing him sitting in the corner of the booth, staring at me as he grabs the shot. His eyes are doing that weird thing again. Looking into me like we’re in on some little secret together.
“To Hawke! So glad to have you back,” Billy Idol says to the group.
They’re celebrating his prison release. In a hole in the wall bar with shots. How idyllic.
They all take their Tequila straight down, Hawke’s eyes on mine while he finishes his. I watch the warm liquid slide down his throat, the roll of his Adam’s apple hypnotizing me.
I swallow nervously, and turn to head back to the bar.
Billy Idol wannabe catches my elbow, pulling me back. “Wait, you should stay.” He grins cheekily at me.
“She can’t,” Hawke says firmly from the corner.
He’s looking down at his phone, not making eye contact with anyone. His voice is authoritative and harsh, making me feel suddenly weak.
“What? Why not? The bar is empty, plus that golfer looking guy is right there, she can hang for a bit.”
“She can’t,” he says again, more definitively.
I narrow my eyes at his tone.
What an ass. As if I’d actually want to hang with this group of wildlings. They probably brought heroin to snort in the bathroom stalls later. Or whatever they do with it.
“Well, if you’re bored later, you’re welcome to come back to my place. We can talk about the stars and see if our Astrological signs coexist, or whatever girls like to do.” He winks flirtatiously, earning him a few laughs from the other guys.
He’s actually kinda cute, minus the spiky blonde hair, the gauges, and the never ending tattoos. And kinda funny too. So funny that I give him my best nose chuckle.
“It’ll never happen,” Hawke says before downing the rest of his drink and pushing past the guys to get out of the booth.
“Where ya going!?” Billy Idol asks with his hands raised.
Hawke throws his leather jacket on and heads towards the door, not answering.
“Ah, forget him.” He tosses his hand in Hawke’s direction.
He leaves the bar, pushing roughly through the doors as if someone did something wrong to him.
Some people are just assholes by nature.
I head back behind the bar, serving up a few more drinks. Tips aren’t great tonight, but they’re alright. Leonard closes out his tab for the evening and as he’s walking outside I see Hawke smoking a cigarette in the parking lot.
Ah, so that’s where he went. One of many addictions perhaps.
He ashes out and heads back inside. To my surprise he walks straight up to the bar. To me.
He leans forward, elbows on the scuffed up wooden surface, looking at me with a scowl. “Kid, he doesn’t know.”
He smells like cigarettes, fresh mint, and leather, and for some odd reason it’s not horrible.
I cock an eyebrow, having no clue what he’s talking about. Wondering why he’s even talking to me when he wouldn’t even address me a minute ago.
He runs that hand, the one with the hawk tattoo, through his eye-level black hair, pushing it back best he can over top of the shaved area beneath. “Kid, the guy that was hitting on you. He doesn’t know you’re married.”
My eyebrows run together as I frown, looking at my hand. “I’m not married.”
He tips his head to the side with a gimme a break look about him.
“Whatever, it’s fine. He seems fun.” I brush it off.
“He’s not. Mind your business,” he commands, glaring at me with those piercing greenish-blue eyes.
I cock my head at his threats, shooting a questionable look in his direction.
Who does this guy think he is? Does he really think I’d step out on my relationship with Patrick for Billy Idol? Of course I’m going to stay away from him. Mind my business? Please, because I’m so interested in hearing about random hookups and junkie parties.
“Yeah. Okay.” I roll my eyes, turning to dry some of the glasses from the wash cycle.
I hear him huff with frustration before turning to leave through the doors with a slam.
“Jesus, what’d you do to that one?” John asks, filling a drink beside me.
“No idea, probably breathed wrong.” I shake my head.
I sneak into the house at bar time, trying to set my keys into the key tray as quietly as I can by the door.
All the lights are off, including the one to Hawke’s room. I didn’t see him with a vehicle at the bar, and to be honest, I don’t think he even has a car. God only knows his whereabouts.
I tiptoe into the bathroom and do all my nighttime regimens before slipping into some short shorts and a camisole for bed.
Crawling under the covers, I slide up against Patrick's warm body. He lets out a little groan, moving from his side to flat on his back.
Feeling courageous, I begin sliding my hand across his exposed hair lined stomach. My fingertips reach the edge of his boxers as I toy with the entryway. Finally dipping my hand into his underwear my fingers graze his member, sending a little shock wave through him.
He moans, opening his eyes, looking down at my hand then back at me with a little grin. “Angel.”
I continue stroking him until he’s hard. I quickly straddle him, pulling my shorts to the side as he reaches the nightstand, grabbing a condom.
He rolls it on as I’m breathless and ready to go. Opening my hips widely, I sink myself onto him.
“Ahh..shit,” He moans, grabbing my hips softly.
I begin grinding against him, enjoying the sensation of me being on top, when I forget what it does to him.
“Wait. Stop,” he says out of breath, holding a hand flat against my stomach.
I can’t stop. I need this. I want this. With all the tension that’s been built up around me lately, I just need a good orgasm to be set right again. Right?
I continue grinding myself against his pelvis while backing onto him. I’m building up to an amazing sensation, what I think is about to be an orgasm, when I feel him jerk beneath me.
“Shit...Nic!” He groans a few times, his chin to his chest before his head falls against the bed.
I hang my head, sighing in frustration, as his breathing relaxes along with mine.
“I’m sorry, angel, you know what that position does to me,” he says, moving my hair out of my face and bringing his lips to mine. “Just look at it as a good thing. It means you overwhelm me in the best possible way.”
I reluctantly kiss him when he pulls my chin towards his lips, then roll off of him onto my back. I’m upset.
“C’mon, lie back back, I’ll go down on you.” he grins, his head drifting beneath the covers.
“N-no. It’s fine, I’m tired anyways,” I say, stopping him.
The mood has been ruined. I don’t even like when he goes down on me. It’s awkward and uncomfortable imagining just how gross he probably thinks the process is. He showers after sex for crying out loud.
“Yeah...let’s just go to bed.” I flip over while he sits there for a second.
“Love you, Nic.” He kisses the side of my head before getting up and off the bed.
I hear him head towards the bathroom, turning on the shower as the tears begin falling from my eyes just like the water down the drain.