“Um, I'm the bartender,” I squeaked. Somehow the man grew taller. Scarier. He was the big bad wolf from the fairytales and he was going to eat me alive. “The woman upstairs told me to tell the guy wearing the Hawaiian shirt...” my voice faltered.
“Quit scaring the poor girl,” someone from the party said, putting a hand on Hawaiian-shirt's shoulder. Hawaiian-shirt winked at me, allowing a hint of a smile peek through his tough facade. I nearly giggled with relief.
“Don't mind Dean. He's just mad that we made him dress up for the occasion,” my savior said. “I'm Jack. The bar's this way.”
“Izzy,” I replied. “Nice to meet you.”
I slipped behind the bar and promptly ran into a solid mass of man muscle. I watched in horror as our collision spilled the glass of ice in his hand down the front of his shirt.
“Oh crap! I'm so sorry,” I apologized, reaching for some napkins. I found a dry bar towel and held it out to him. He dabbed at his black t-shirt and laughed.
“Don't worry about it. At least it was just ice,” he said and handed me back the towel. “I'm Noah. I'm going to be helping you out tonight.”
He held out his hand to shake mine. It was warm and strong. My eyes traced from his hand, up perfectly sculpted biceps to a strong jaw and dark hair. His eyes were what made me lose my train of thought, though. They were robin’s egg blue and held depths that made my knees weak. Words left my brain. He was flipping gorgeous.
He picked up a new glass and put fresh ice in it to finish making his drink. Vodka, Sprite, some grenadine, and a cherry on top. A bit girly, I thought, keeping my face straight.
“A Naughty Shirley for the man of the hour,” he said, handing the completed drink across the bar to Jack. Jack took a big sip and let out a sigh of happiness.
“Best bartender ever,” he said, winking at me.
“The woman upstairs didn't say anything about having someone else,” I said. The bar was barely big enough to hold both of us. We were going to be running into one another all night. Taking another look at him, though, I didn't really mind that idea.
“The guys brought me in special. I used to be their bartender when we were in college.” Noah grinned at me.
“All right.” I grinned back and pulled out an empty beer pitcher. I had a couple of crumpled ones in my pocket that I threw in it and set it out on the counter. “What side of the bar do you want?”
“I'll take this side,” Noah said, inclining his head to the left.
“Barkeep!” Jack called out. “Sex on the Beach next, if you don't mind.”
“You know, you really have to buy me dinner first,” Noah told him with a wink, pulling out a bottle of peach schnapps. Despite being a seasoned bartender, hearing the words “sex on the beach” come from the mouth of a devastatingly handsome man made my insides tingle.
“Make me an Angel's Tit, Noah.” The blonde man Jack had been talking to leaned up against the bar. I snickered slightly.
“Any real drinks?” I teased.
“With these two?" Noah laughed. “Not likely. The reason I was their favorite bartender was because I was the only one who could make the drinks girly enough for them!”
I giggled, already feeling the energy of the night. Jack tossed a five dollar bill into the tip jar after Noah handed him his drink. I grinned at him. With guests like these, the night was going to be hilarious- and profitable.
“So,” I said, pulling out the crème de cocao for Noah to make the blonde man's drink. “You're Noah, you're Jack, the guy at the door is Dean, and you are?” I looked expectantly at the handsome blonde man. If I knew their names, I would make better tips.
The three men looked at one another, silent for a second, and then started laughing.
“You don't know who he is?” Noah asked in disbelief.
“No...” I frowned and looked at him closer. He looked slightly familiar, but given that he was Hollywood movie-star handsome, it was probably that I had seen him on TV. “Should I?”
“This is my house. Jack here is just borrowing it.” The blonde man smiled. I felt his eyes practically burn into me, daring me to remember. “Does that help?”
Think, think... “I got nothing.”
The three men laughed again, and somehow they seemed to relax even more.
“Bob. His name's Bob,” Jack grinned. “I guess you don't know Noah's or my last names?”
“If I didn't know his first name, how the heck am I supposed to know your last names?” I reasoned with him. His grin got bigger. “Why, are you guys famous or something?”
“Or something,” Noah said, handing “Bob” his completed Angel's Tit. “Bob” tossed a ten dollar bill into the tip jar.
Two more men entered the man cave, getting past Hawaiian-shirt Bodyguard Dean with a nod. One was tall and slender with messy honey-colored curls that looked perfect for tangling fingers in. The other was portly and pale, the lines of his face suggesting that the sour look was his usual, permanent expression. His suit looked expensive, but it didn't fit him right and it looked out of place among the other guests' casual t-shirts and shorts.
“Joe!” Jack called out, hurrying over to shake the attractive man's hand. “Joe” got a very confused look on his face.
“Dude, this is Paul...” “Joe” said, patting Jack's shoulder as if he were a confused child. “You've met him before.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “No, you're Joe. Our bartender doesn't know who we are.” Jack grinned as “Joe's” eyes lit up as he got it.
“The fake name game? I love it. I guess he's still Paul, then.” “Joe” inclined his head at the heavy-set man bee-lining his way to the bar. “Who's everybody else?”
“I already introduced myself as Jack. Same with Noah. But “Bob” did not.”
“Lucky Bob, then. Noah's here? Awesome.” Joe turned to the bar, and I felt his eyes do a once over down my body. “Lucky Noah, actually.” At least the last part was quiet enough that I could imagine he hadn't meant me to hear it.
“Give me some of that 1954 Mccallan scotch, sweetheart,” Paul said.” And don't be stingy.” His eyes slid down the opening of my shirt like he owned me. I fought the urge to button up. Hopefully he tipped as well as his friends.
I poured him a generous glass of the amber liquid and set it on the counter. He took one small sip, a smile crossing his thin lips before slamming the rest of it down. I tried not to look horrified. Scotch, especially a bottle that probably cost around three grand, should not be slammed back like a shot. It would be like using a Monet as toilet paper.