Her Dirty Bartenders (Men at Work #5) - Mika Lane Page 0,3

year bullshit. I don't completely understand it. You know I’m not into that political stuff. But the press can’t find me here. At least I don’t think so.”

“All right. This is what we’re gonna do tomorrow. We’ll drop your car off at my mechanic, I’ll take you by my gym, we’ll have a nice workout, and we’ll go for a drink afterward. Sound good?” she asked.

God. What an angel.

I stood as she clicked off the living room lights and we headed to our rooms.

“Sounds amazing. Love you, girl.”

“Love you more.”

3

Maze Abbott

Fuck if I wasn’t in the world’s shittiest mood.

Sure, I was part owner of Tableau, the hottest nightclub in Denver. But that gig came with more headaches than I ever could have imagined.

Take tonight, for example. It was Sunday. In the nightclub business, Sundays are slow. Not a lot of partying happened on Sunday nights. People had to get ready for the work week and all that.

But tonight? The club was freaking mobbed. And to make matters worse, both my business partners were off, my barback was missing in action, and one of our cocktail waitresses decided to get cramps.

I thought there was medication for that.

So I was busting my ass and probably wouldn’t walk away with my usual purse of hefty tips because for some reason, people on Sunday were cheap fucks because they’d already blown through their weekend spending money.

So yeah, I might be inclined to throw a couple bottles or two against the wall. Not that I would. But I really wanted to.

“Hey, Maze,” my friend Marni said, sliding onto a barstool just vacated by a sweet young thing with giant fake tits and a walking wallet sugar daddy.

“Hey,” I said, eyeing the friend she’d brought along.

I’d never seen her before.

Yeah, a pretty girl could cheer me up as long as she wasn’t one of those types who thought her looks would buy her a night of free drinks.

If I had a dollar for every woman who came in with that attitude, I’d be a rich man. Or rather, a poor man.

“Maze, this is my friend Stell. She just arrived from Philly,” she said, gesturing to the woman who grabbed the stool next to her.

Stell smiled and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Damn. Good, strong handshake. But warm, too.

“Hey. Welcome to Denver. You here for long?” I asked.

She looked at Marni and shrugged. “Not sure yet. I was going to just be stopping in on my way to LA, but… I had a fender bender and my car’s in the shop now.”

I pulled the tap to fill five glasses for a group of guys raising hell in a far corner. If they thought I was bringing these beers over to them, they could kiss my ass.

“Sorry to hear that, Stell. What can I get you ladies to drink?” I asked.

The two girls looked at each other.

I knew that look. They were sizing each other up to see how hard-core they wanted to go.

People did that, egg each other on.

I could hear the conversation in their heads.

Should we just have a glass of white wine?

Or should we go balls out with tequila shots?

It didn’t matter to me, as long as they didn’t drive.

“Do you drink martinis, Stell?” Marni asked.

There it was. She was laying out the challenge. Even if her friend had never had a martini in her life, she was going to have one now.

“Oh my god. Martinis. My dad drinks those,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Let’s do it.”

They high fived each other, committing to a night of serious partying. They’d feel like shit tomorrow, that much I knew.

“Two vodka martinis up, with a twist,” Marni declared, giggling.

Those were some of the easiest drinks I made. The ones with ‘muddled’ herbs and shit took forever, and drove me up a wall. That’s why the fuckers were twenty dollars and up.

Yeah, twenty dollars for a goddamn drink. I wouldn’t pay it, but plenty of people did.

In fact, I barely drank at all anymore. Neither did my business partners. When you’re around booze all the time, it loses its appeal real fast—at least it did for me. Sometimes at the end of a long night, the very smell of alcohol could make me want to puke.

“Yo! Bartender,” the jerks waiting for their beers hollered.

I knew they expected me to wait on their asses.

Wrong.

“Yo,” I hollered back. “Your beers are right here. Getting warm, I might add.”

That earned me some scowls. But I didn’t care. I had their