Hard Checked (Ice Kings #4) - Stacey Lynn Page 0,5
tell him to serve himself. Hell, the man changed my diapers in this very bar when I was that little. He likes to remind me of that frequently.
I tell him I’ll be right there and look back to Sebastian. “I’ll leave you alone and get you the bottle, but only if you give me your keys.”
“Took an Uber here.” He still reaches back into his pocket and tosses a set of keys to the bar. “But have them, in case you don’t believe me.”
“All right.” I palm the keys and drop them by the cash register just in case he is lying. He wouldn’t be the first drunk to do so and then sneak out. There’s no way a drunk driver leaving my bar and possibly hurting someone or themselves is going on my conscience.
That done, I slide the bottle of Maker’s Mark in front of him and grab a fresh and local Olde Meck pilsner for Steve.
I stay on his side of the bar for a while, talking to the guys I know and watching whatever game is on television. I only head back Sebastian’s way when another customer needs something and to slide a glass of water in front of him, just in case.
But an hour later, when the bourbon is quickly disappearing from the bottle and the water glass has gone untouched, I make my move.
“Need me to call someone for you, hotshot? Looks like you might need to get some things off your chest.”
He fills another shot glass, but this time he sips it slowly, sucking it in and hissing through his teeth. “No.”
A twitch in his beard covered cheek tells me I’m pissing him off.
“Hey.” I lean forward and rest my elbows on the bar. I’ve known these guys for a year. Granted, it’s not like they’re frequent regulars, but regular enough to know a few have gotten married, Sawyer’s having a baby. I know their stats only because I started watching hockey after the first time they came in and Sebastian grabbed my attention.
Shameless and pathetic, maybe, but I like having something to talk to them about. Which means I’ve already checked my phone and I know they won a game earlier today so he can’t be pissed about a loss.
“Seriously. You okay? Because this doesn’t seem like you, and if you need someone to talk to—”
“You offering?”
“Well.” I scan the bar and return to him, smirking. What else do I have to do? “Bartenders end up being like therapists, you know? Trust me, I’ve heard it all. Seen a lot more. Nothing you can say would surprise me.”
“Shit day. Shit year.”
“The year’s just getting started.”
“It’ll be shit,” he mumbles, finishing his shot and quickly pouring another.
I slide the glass of water closer to him and he sneers at it. “You’ve been hitting the bottle pretty hard. Take a break, yeah?”
He glares at me, tipping his head up just enough to do so. Tortured, ragged green eyes meet mine and without taking his eyes off me, he drains the water glass.
It’s shameful the way I watch his throat work as he swallows. My core sparks like I’ve been zapped with a live wire. Thankfully, I’ve gotten good at hiding the physical reactions I have when I’m around him.
Although in his current state, I doubt he’d notice.
“There. Happy now?”
“Much.” I refill the water glass and set it next to the bottle. “Need food? Kitchen’s still open.”
“Not hungry.” He fills another shot glass and I watch as he takes another small sip. Then I grab a lowball glass, fill it with ice, and set it next to the bottle. Perhaps if he can water down his bourbon with some ice, he won’t get so shitfaced he passes out right where he’s sitting.
It’s a pain in the ass to handle.
“All right, hotshot.” Not so much as a muscle moves at his nickname. I’m used to smiles. Smirks. Friendly glances. Tonight, his face is as empty as the shot glass he’s drained.
Because I’m me, also because I’m trying not to let the guy’s blood alcohol content surpass maximum levels, I check to make sure everyone’s taken care of, and scoot out from under the bar back. I clean up empty bottles on my way to the kitchen and put in an order of tater tots and nachos. Maybe if they’re there, Sebastian will munch on them in between his sips of bourbon and scowling at me.
Everyone needs a night to blow off steam. I get it. Hell, I’ve