“Seriously, we’re not going there. He’ll think I’m stalking him.”
Alcohol is a bad, bad thing. My sober brain was very adamant that I’d not be stepping foot into the Windsor or anywhere along Queens Road tonight, yet here I am, standing right outside the run-down looking bar in my borrowed Louis Vuitton shoes. Sara grins wide. “Shall we?”
“I feel like this is a bad idea,” I mutter. “Like Alice right before she went down the rabbit hole.”
“Alice was on drugs, following talking rabbits who insisted they were late and attending tea parties with a person claiming to be mad. The whole thing screams fucked up.”
I laugh and take her hand. “Fine, lead me into temptation, but when it all goes wrong, I’m coming for you.”
There’s no doorman out front, which is bizarre. You’d think this bar required security with its boarded-up windows and dilapidated appearance.
When we step inside, it’s busy. Heat hits us from all the bodies crammed in such a small space. A few territorial men by the doorway stare at us like we’ve lost our minds to dare come into this place. They’re wearing the same jacket as Mr. X, or Blade as I now know him. They either all shop together or this is some kind of gang.
Sara leads us to the bar in the centre of the room. It reminds me of an old-fashioned pub where older men would drink. There are no LED lights or glass chandeliers. The floor is covered with a threadbare, swirly, red patterned carpet with at least twenty years’ worth of dirt and cigarette burns.
A barman glowers at us with disdain. It doesn’t deter Sara, she’s got thick skin. “Two sex on the beach, please,” she says politely and the bar man breaks out in a huge smile.
“There ain’t no beach for miles around here, baby, but I can give you sex in the toilet or the back alley if you don’t mind the smell of piss and puke.” He grins, showing yellow teeth.
“Um,” hums Sara, tapping her chin with a red pointy nail. “As tempting as that is, I was thinking more cocktail than cock.”
I snort laugh and his dark eyes fix on me. “Something funny?” he practically growls and I shake my head and press my lips together. A few of the guys seated at the bar have begun to listen to the exchange and I feel myself blushing.
“Let’s just go,” I whisper, tugging on Sara’s hand.
“If you don’t know how to make a cocktail, may I recommend my friend come behind there and show you what she can do? She’s amazing,” says Sara, and I cringe, squeezing her hand harder. It’s true that I’m a natural when it comes to mixing cocktails. I have a dream of opening up my own bar one day. Sara often plays this game with barmen to get us free drinks. “If she can’t wow you with her skill, we’ll leave, but if she can, we get the drink she makes, free.”
The barman rubs his rounded stomach, smirking. “Okay, let’s see what she’s got.”
My eyes widen. “Sara, are you mad? I’m not making cocktails in here, look at these men,” I hiss in her ear. “Do they look like cocktail drinkers to you?”
“No,” she says, smiling, “so convert them.” She pushes me towards the gap in the bar. I swallow as I brush past the scary-looking barman. I assess the array of glass bottles on the shelf behind the bar, then I run my eyes over a man sitting glumly and staring into his whiskey glass. He seems not to have noticed the excitement that Sara is trying to stir up around him.
I reach for the bottle of whiskey, the Vermouth and an orange flavoured bitter. A traditional Manhattan is boring but something these guys would probably prefer over a sex on the beach. The barman watches me mix the drink before serving it over ice. I hand it to him proudly. “Not had this for a while,” he says, smelling the drink and taking a sip. He smiles, showing me his teeth again. “Yah know, my ol’ lady loved a Manhattan.”
“A classic drink,” I say. “With not much on your shelves, there wasn’t a huge choice,” I add.
“Around here, there ain’t much call for cocktails,” he mutters. “But seeing as you had the balls to get back here and make a drink, I’ll let you have another go at one of those girly sweet drinks for you and your friend. On the house.”
I grin. Trust Sara to win a free drink in a place like this. “So what did yah think?” she asks him, leaning over the bar.
“You win,” he mutters. “She’s gonna make you a drink. Just one.”
I decide on a cosmo, simply because this bar is seriously lacking in choice. As I hand Sara her drink, I freeze. Right behind her, steely grey eyes are fixed on me. I blink to make sure I’m seeing correctly. Yep, that’s definitely Blade, and beside him, it’s like a runway of male models. Sara glances behind her to see why I’m staring. She grins like the cat that's got the cream and turns to face him. “Well, look who it is, our number one customer,” she purrs.
“Jagger, why is she behind the bar?” he asks, glaring at the barman. The smile I’m used to seeing is replaced by a stern, serious expression, and I don’t like it.
The barman grins. “You mean Manhattan?” he asks. “She’s teaching me a thing or two on cocktails.”
“Manhattan?” Blade repeats.
“Private joke,” says the barman, winking at me again.
I take my drink and head back to the right side of the bar. I don’t feel welcome with Blade glaring at me the way he is. “Fancy seeing you in here,” says Sara. “And you have friends,” she observes, running her eyes over the guys flanking him.
“How’d you get in here, Sunshine?” he asks, arching a
