Crossed Hearts by K. Vale

Author:K. Vale
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Kimber Vale
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Careful what you wish for. Yes, Kory was desperate for a job. He just hadn’t expected to come in for an “interview” on Monday afternoon and then get asked to stay and help with the busy happy-hour crowd at Skipper’s Pub. There was a baseball game on the flat screen behind his head, and an ass covered every stool at the bar.

It was sleazy, all right, and without a hint of the nautical theme the name might suggest. Will had nailed this place. But the owner, Richard Cannelloni—also not a Skipper—planned to pay Kory under the table after every shift, and while ten bucks an hour wasn’t gonna send him home in a Cadillac, off the books it wasn’t half bad. Plus when the crowd was large and stationary, like tonight, he could pull in tips pouring brews, too.

Richard hadn’t cared when Kory told him he had no bartending experience.

“Can you pour a beer without a ton of head?” Richard had asked.

“Yeah, that I can handle.”

“Then you’re hired. Ain’t nobody gonna order fancy drinks ’round here, anyway.” He had slapped Kory on the shoulder. “Big fella like you’s just what this place needs. Keeps the guys in line seeing someone twice their size hanging around.”

So now Kory was pouring beers with respectable heads and wiping down the permanently sticky bar top. A woman in stilettos and a mini skirt that showed way too much and none of it good, rose from her seat at a corner table as the contents of her pint glass cascaded onto the floor. “Shit! Shit, Lenny, you dick!” She lunged across the bistro table toward her date, grabbed his beer, and dumped it down the front of his shirt.

“Fuck, I didn’t spill your fucking drink, bitch!” Lenny stood and laughter erupted in the general area.

“Like hell you didn’t!” She stabbed a red-clawed finger toward his face and turned, nearly breaking an ankle in the outrageous heels before she clomped out of the place. Lenny followed her, shaking his head and cursing.

“Clean up on aisle one, new kid.” The actual bartender—Elmer, but he was called Elmo by everyone who’d spoken to him tonight, presumably due to his ruby-red hair—tossed Kory a rag. He caught it against his chest. “Mop’s in the closet.” Elmo hitched a thumb backward. So far, he seemed nice enough, but likely didn’t know how to make a Manhattan any better than Kory did. He was a good-sized dude, although not quite Kory’s height. Good thing; with a name like Elmer, he must have needed his bulk to keep from having his head flushed down every toilet in school.

Kory slipped past Elmo, heading toward the door in the back corner, right next to the single unisex bathroom. Fortunately, there wasn’t a cleanup in aisle “overflowing toilet,” although he supposed that was only a matter of time. How many puke piles a night did a classy joint like this average? At least there was a drain in the grimy tile bathroom floor. He’d checked before accepting the job.

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