Chapter Text
The pencil is clutched firmly between your teeth as you highlight another important passage in your book. It’s still early enough that the background sound from the bar is at a steady hum instead of the loud, chaotic energy you know it’ll morph into soon. The golden hours between lunch and the evening rush are the best time to study at the Hard Deck, it’s less stuffy than the library or the studio apartment you rent, plus you get free fries here. That’s hard to beat.
“Almost done?” One of the other bartenders, Becky, asks as she passes by you on her way to the kitchen.
“Almost,” you respond. Technically there are two more chapters you need to read but with only 15 minutes until your shift starts there’s no chance you can make that happen. You don’t really care anyway, you’re tired of studying. What you need is a break, something more than sitting alone on your couch watching true crime documentaries with a pint of ice cream.
With a defeated sigh you close your book and lean back to stretch, letting out a startled little gasp when you realize the seat beside you is no longer empty, but taken up by the handsome pilot who you’ve spent entirely too much time thinking about. He’s become a regular at the bar over the last few months, coming in like clockwork on Thursdays and Fridays. Sometimes he’s alone, just ordering dinner and a drink though mostly he comes in with a group of other people wearing the same service khakis to play pool.
You don't know his actual name, just his call sign - Hangman. He's friendly, tipping generously and has a habit of winking at you when you dropped off his drinks. That made you incredibly nervous even if you did like it. You know it doesn’t mean anything… He’s charming to all the bartenders, even succeeding in making the unflappable Becky blush once.
Penny warned you the pilots were the worst of the bunch but the others didn’t make you nearly as nervous as Hangman did. You liked watching him from afar, aware of how his type operated. They didn’t go for girls like you. You weren’t pretty like Becky or funny like Janet, the other bartender you often worked with.
Having his full attention focused on you throws you for a loop. “What?” You stammer, completely missing whatever he just said.
“I asked what you are reading about?” Hangman repeats, leaning into your space to see the title of your textbook.
He’s so close that you can smell his cologne, a potent mix of sandalwood and a sweet citrusy undercurrent. When your mouth opens to respond all that escapes is a uhhhh sound. He smirks, pressing into your space and laying his arm along the back of the bar stool. You meet his beautiful green eyes for just a second before you clear your throat and look away.
“Coastal Ecology,” you finally manage to force out.
“You’ll have to speak up sweetheart,” Hangman says, tapping on the wooden bar. “It’s loud in here.”
It’s actually not but he still leans in and warmth sweeps up your chest into your throat. You hate the way the stupid pet name makes your stomach swoop. Normally you despise all the honey, baby, or darlins you get from the men at the bar, but there is something in the way he says it that’s different. You want him to call you that and mean it, even though you know he never would.
“I’m studying coastal ecology,” you repeat, turning to look at him fully, buoyed by a brief swell of confidence.
“Smart girl, huh?” He asks, grinning. You sit up straighter at his praise. “Why are you doing it at a bar? Hoping for some attention?”
His words curdle that pleasantly warm feeling in your chest.
“I work here,” you defend, sliding off the bar stool to put distance between the two of you. “I’m in grad school and the owner lets me study before my shift.”
The urge to continue and over-explain is hard to resist. You owe him nothing so cut yourself off and focus on putting your things away, but when you reach for your book he rests his hand on it to stop you from taking it. You stare at the large ring he wears on one finger, not wanting to meet his gaze. After a moment he sighs and draws his hand back. You spot an annoyed, almost confused look on his face, which quickly dissipates replaced by a bland smile.
“Ok then. Guess we’ll take a round of beers. Over at the pool tables,” he says, stepping back.
It’s not your shift for another 10 minutes so you pass on the order to Becky and go hide in the back office until you need to clock in. Despite your best efforts you somehow find yourself looking over to the pool table and meeting the blonde man’s eyes. He doesn’t smirk like you expect. There’s a little furrow between his brows instead.
"He's hot," Becky says, coming to lean against the bar next to you while you slice up a lime. “Probably a jackass but he’d show you a good time.”
"What?" You ask, embarrassed to be caught looking.
"Mr. Tall Blonde and Built," she indicates, pointing to Hangman. "All pilots are cocky, especially that bunch.”
"Bob is sweet," you defend, thinking of the timid but endearing pilot who always stammers his way through talking to Janet and you.
"Bob is an outlier and if he wasn't so into Janet I'd love to take him home and sit on that pretty face. He looks like he’d be so eager. Like one of those golden retriever types.” She sighs wistfully.
"Oh my god, Becky," you chastise, looking over at Bob, half embarrassed on his behalf. He’s staring dreamily at Janet as she cleans off a high top. He really was adorable.
“Just be careful,” Becky says seriously.
“I don’t think I’m on anyone’s radar here,” you tell her with a sad little laugh.
“Thought you were supposed to be smart, kiddo,” she says, bumping your shoulder and grinning. “Ohhh, I spot a cell phone on the bar. Gotta ring that bell,” she tells you, taking off towards a poor unsuspecting businessman.
✥
Friday is even crazier than Thursday, the bar is packed to the gills. Although you won’t admit it, you catch yourself searching through the crowd for a familiar face. For Hangman. There’s a bunch of military types hanging around the pool table but he’s not with them. It’s stupid to feel disappointed, it’s not like he even knows you exist, not really. It’s best your crush becomes nothing more than a way to occupy your mind with what-ifs and silly scenarios. He’s probably off with that beautiful brunette girl you saw hanging off his arm yesterday.
“It’s almost 7,” Penny says, interrupting your thoughts. “Go ahead and clock out before things get too crazy.”
“I don’t mind staying to help,” you offer.
She waves you off. “You closed last night and should have left two hours ago. You’re good. Go.”
“Alright,” you agree, untying your apron, and retrieving your purse from the back room. Trying to leave the bar is like swimming upstream, you’re fighting past throngs of people who are drunk or on their way to be. By the time you break free the cool air coming off the ocean feels wonderful. You close your eyes and take in a clarifying breath, enjoying the peaceful moment. Maybe you’ll sit out on your balcony and read tonight.
“Got off late today, huh?”
You jump, clutching your purse to your chest at the sound of the familiar voice. Speak of the Devil. Hangman pushes off from the wall he’s leaning against, running a hand through his perfectly styled honey blonde hair as he approaches you. The tousled effect makes him look even more handsome. He’s out of his Navy uniform, wearing jeans and a light gray sweater that clings to the curve of his biceps.
“Becky said you got off at 5 pm today.” He taps the watch on his wrist.
Was he talking to you? You glance behind you but no one is there.
“One of the bartenders showed up late and I didn’t want them to be short-staffed.” You respond, trying to process why he’s talking to you. Was he waiting for you? “Penny was worried and I oh…” you trail off when your back connects with the brick wall.
Hangman grins, head cocked to the side while he continues to stalk towards you. You lick your lips nervously and look past him. Was this some kind of joke? There are a handful of people milling about, sharing a smoke or escaping the crowd, but they’re all caught up in their conversations. No one is looking at either of you.
“Gotta tell you, honey, it’s a real blow to the ego when a girl doesn’t flirt back with a guy like me.”
“What?” You ask sharply, looking back at him confused. “You were flirting with me? When?”
“Ouch,” he says, clutching his chest in mock pain. “You know how to wound a man, sweetheart. I was trying to be charming but I see I’m gonna need the direct approach here. I want to take you out. Tomorrow night. 7 pm.” He pauses, waiting for you to respond but you just stare dumbly at him, mind blank and body buzzing with nerves. “This is the part where you say yes,” he prods, stepping even closer.
You stare into his green eyes. “I don’t even know your real name,” you finally blurt out.
He chuckles. “It’s Jake.”
He’s in your space now, palm resting beside your head. Close enough to kiss, your mind supplies. The thought makes goosebumps break out over your skin and you let out a shuddery breath.
“No hard feelings if I’m not wanted but I have it on good authority I am,” he whispers. “I need you to say it so there’s no misunderstandings.”
“Yes.” You offer him a soft smile, feeling shy and giddy.
“Yes what?” He prods.
“Yes, I want to go out on a date with you.”
“That’s good,” he hums, inching forward until his lips are a hair's breadth away from yours. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, waiting. He smiles. “I can’t do all the work here, sweetheart. Help me out.”
Emboldened by his words and the way he looks at you, you find the courage to tilt your head up and meet his lips. He takes control of the kiss immediately, one hand sliding along the curve of your hip. The other cups the side of your face. You moan, curling your fingers into the soft fabric of his sweater. For a moment you forget where you are, letting Jake’s weight pin you to the wall as his kiss intensifies.
He parts your mouth with his, the sensation of his tongue against yours making you quake and him groan. A sharp whistle snaps you back into reality and you draw away, shaking and overwhelmed. Jake’s a little breathless too but he recovers pretty soon, looking over his shoulder at two younger men. Both are in uniform and they pale under the dark look he sends them, scurrying back inside. You shrink down, hands coming to cover your face. Your skin tingles, warming with embarrassment and the aftermath of the kiss.
“None of that,” Jake says, pulling your hands down. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, making a pleased sound. “No hiding that beautiful face from me. You’re cute when flustered.”
You look away, his attention is too much.
“It’s ok.” He rises to his full height, shielding you from anyone looking. The hand at your waist disappears, but he rubs the apple of your cheek gently with his thumb until you find the courage to look back at him. “That was nice wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” you agree.
“Come on, let me walk you to your car.”
You follow his lead into the parking lot. When you stop at your beat up old Honda he grasps your wrist and pulls you back to face him. He brushes another kiss over your lips. Your whole body tingles in response.
"Tomorrow night. 7," he reminds you, tapping your nose lightly before stepping back.
He’s a few feet away when you realize he hasn’t said where you’re supposed to me. “Wait!” You call out.
“Miss me already?” He questions, amused.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” you stammer, embarrassed. “Where are we meeting?”
“I know, you’re fun to tease. Check your phone,” he suggests, waiting as you rummage through your purse. There’s a single text for an unsaved number with the location for an upscale gastropub.
“How…”
“Janet sold you out. I got your number and she got Bob’s. Seemed like a fair deal,” he says with a wink. “See you real soon, sweetheart.”