Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 128417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“Hey, bartender,” a guy in a charcoal three-piece suit calls to me.
I nod to the guy. It’s been a long time since anyone’s called me “bartender” in an actual bar. Sure, I’m always “bartender” at parties with my friends, but there’s a special kind of jolt to being the guy who’s large and in charge in an actual bar. I’d forgotten how much I love that feeling.
I glance at Tim to my left, the actual bartender at The Pine Box, seeking permission to assist the guy in the suit and Tim motions for me to go right ahead. He’s not just being nice, of course—I’ve paid him and his boss (the owner of the bar) handsomely for the privilege. But, still, I can’t help feeling giddy to be doing this again after all these years.
“Hey there, man.” I say to the dude in the suit, sauntering to him. “What can I do you for, sir?”
“A Manhattan,” the guy says. He motions to a cute brunette standing just behind him. “And a Chardonnay.”
“Absolutely. Guess what? Great news. Tonight just so happens to be Dudes In Charcoal Suits Drink For Free Night.” I slide two cocktail napkins onto the bar in front of him. “Your drinks are on the house, man.”
The guy looks surprised. “Really?”
“Yep. They’re on me.” I flash him a huge smile. “Tip included.”
When I contacted The Pine Box (at Jonas’ recommendation) and asked the owner if I might help tend bar for an hour tonight (because, I said, I was trying to decide if I wanted to quit my fancy job and go back to my college job), he wasn’t the least bit open to the idea. As usual, though, money made the guy change his mind and decide to help a brother out. “But you can’t handle any customers’ money,” the owner warned. “Leave that to Tim.” “No problem,” I assured him. “How about this: I’ll pay for every single drink in the place, all night long. And I’ll serve all premium liquor the whole time I’m there—you’ll make a mint, bro.”
“Whoa,” the guy in the charcoal suit says, stuffing his wallet back into his pocket. “A random act of kindness. Thanks.”
“Something like that,” I say. “So check this out, bro. I’m gonna make your Manhattan with a little extra kick, okay? I’m gonna use a premium rye whiskey—maybe Overholt?—plus, I’m gonna go off the rails and use orange bitters.”
The guy raises his eyebrows. “You’re going rogue, huh?”
I laugh. “I know what you’re thinking—is he mad? Just roll with it. If you don’t absolutely love it, I’ll make you one the traditional way. But you’ll see. The rye whiskey’s gonna really offset the flavor of the bitters nicely.”
“Okay. Cool. Thanks, man. Awesome.”
I look at the adorable brunette behind the guy. “Are you in the mood to try something besides Chardonnay tonight? I’ve got a Purple Rain recipe I’m dying to make for a lucky lady tonight. Also completely on me, of course. If you like gin, you’ll love it.”
“I love gin,” she says, her face lighting up. “I’ll give it a whirl.”
I glance at the door. Jonas should have been here already. Maybe Kat kept him waiting when he came to pick her up. Kat didn’t know Jonas was coming, after all. She probably made him sit and wait while she put on makeup or changed her clothes. That girl is never fucking on time for a goddamned thing. I smile broadly. And she’s always worth the fucking wait.
I push the drinks across the bar to the dude and his date.
“Whoa,” the guy says. “Best Manhattan I’ve ever had.”
“Love it,” his date says. “What’s in it besides gin?”
I tell her and she praises me for being fucking amazing, which, I must admit when it comes to making drinks, I am. “When you’re ready for round two, lemme know. I’ll keep my tab open for you all night long.”
“Thanks. Wow. You’re the man.”
Damn, I should totally do this once a week, just for kicks. This is fun.
A smoking hot brunette comes into the place alone, sits at the bar, and motions to me that she wants to order something. I glance at Tim on the other end of the bar and he motions to me like, “She’s all yours, man.”
I saunter down to her. “Hey, beautiful,” I say. “What can I do for you?”
She raises her eyebrow. “Answering that question with a drink order seems like such a shame.”
Oh. Well. I glance at the door. I’d forgotten about how much women hit on the bartender. That was always one of the best perks of tending bar.
I smile at her. “You here alone, sweetheart?”
“Waiting for a friend. She just texted she’s running late.” She makes a sad face.
“Well, no one gets lonely when I’m tending bar. That’s the rule. What can I get you? It’s on me.”