Chapter Text
The bar is a little too small and the colours inside a bit too similar to the home he was forced to leave. Not to mention the music being too upbeat for his heavy heart, and the drinks too cheap for his acquired taste.
He tries not to look as out of place as he feels, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he was doing a shitty job at that too.
At least there seems to be AC blaring in here, saving him from the humidity outside. His jacket is hanging over the back of his chair, a package of Marlboro and a lighter staining the table, next to the two coasters.
He runs a tired hand through his hair, his curls as unforgiving as life has been the last few years. If there’s a God still looking down upon him, he’s sure the Man upstairs winces at his physical appearance.
His scruff is slightly longer than it has been, his eyes are tired, and the dimples in his cheeks are no longer as prominent as they once were, since he can’t remember the last time he smiled.
“Don’t tell me this isn’t the cutest little place you’ve ever seen.”
It’s not until Adam speaks, that he remembers he’s not here alone; the pack of cigarettes a blaring reminder of that. Though he can’t get on his high horse about healthy living habits, with the alcohol just a little too prominent on his breath these days, he does recognize the fact that he hasn’t touched a cigarette in his life.
“It’s cool.” Blake responds, still staring around the place with a hint of disdain.
He would’ve enjoyed it more had he been able to stay home. LA had already not been his first choice for a relocation, but Adam had been right; his divorce had circled around town faster than he could keep up with, and every corner store, every pub, had known about his ex-wife’s indiscretions.
The Oklahoma business man might’ve taken pride in never moving, running an empire successfully right there from his home state, but there had been no room for pride and honour in the last year. Only an overwhelming acceptance of defeat.
Los Angeles is where he’s at now. As Adam likes to emphasize—it’s a clean slate.
Adam has been his friend ever since the first business trip he took over here. Though Blake never spent more than two weeks on end out in this city, Adam had been gracious enough to make the trip out to Oklahoma a dozen times. Their friendship likely wouldn’t have grown into what it is now, had Adam not been so dedicated to flying back and forth.
Another reason why it felt harder to brush this idea off. Moving to LA could be the change he desired, the distraction, the experience he desperately needed to embark on.
The money from his company had come pouring in ever since he turned twenty-four. Now, six years later, he’d been able to expand the successful liquor business into one of the wealthiest in the US. Therefore, buying a bachelor’s condo in the middle of Los Angeles, in one of the most overpriced areas, hadn’t been nearly the hassle it should’ve been.
A little bit of guilt reminds him he’s still there deep down; his soul not completely sold to the world of impossible riches.
“This is the place to be.” Adam states, and it takes Blake a while to realize he’s talking about the bar they’re currently in, not the city.
Blake hums a little annoyed, a brittle sound.
“I haven’t been to a place like this in at least four years.”
Adam grimaces, and he knows his friend just judged him.
“Please don’t tell me heartbreak has turned you into a snob.”
“I just don’t feel like being seen, Adam. A place a bit more exclusive might’ve been the better choice.”
Adam cocks his brow.
“You mean a place where people automatically think you’re cool just because you’ve got a few zeros in your bank account, would make you feel a little less uncomfortable.”
Blake groans, already beyond over tonight. But he had been close to reaching the end of his rope, and he’s absolutely sure it’s the only reason he’s sitting here with his friend now. He needed to leave the house, even if it was to a place like this.
“Whatever, man.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Adam berates him with his tone, shaking his head. “Just order another drink and stop being a brat.”
Blake is ready to argue, walk out, but he immediately feels the presence of their waitress next to the table. He looks up, about to politely ask for the bill, when his breath momentarily gets stuck in his throat.
She’s gorgeous, is the first thing he thinks of. His mind unable to process anything else.
Once his cognitive abilities return to normal, he tries to process the next surge of thoughts.
She is too young and too pretty to be in a place like this all by herself. Bad things happen to girls on their own, in bars full of men, and it seemed to him that there was a great big neon sign hanging over her head, the word trouble flashing at him through the smoke.
She’s got her blonde locks tied in a large bun, her nails painted a light shade of pink, while the apron she’s forced to wear has been snug extra tightly around her waist— to make it seem a bit more fashionable, he assumes.
She’d be the type to care.
Her skin is smooth, and she smells like perfume; something rosy, something sweet.
“What can I get for you?” She asks nicely, but there’s a hint of rehearsed kindness there. A formality that she’s forced to hand out to him.
He swallows, willing his throat to work.
“What would you recommend?”
She stares at him a little unimpressed, and he gets the feeling she doesn’t quite like him.
“The whiskey’s pretty good here, I hear it all the time.” She tells him, the notepad squeezed against her thigh.
He nods, not in the mood to think for himself or argue. He finds himself just wanting to agree with the pretty waitress, who doesn’t give him anything more than she’s contractually obligated to.
“I’ll have a whiskey then.” He says, nodding at her. “On the rocks.”
She doesn’t write it down, just nods and stares at Adam.
“Anything I can get for you, sir?”
Adam smiles warmly, and Blake feels a surge of sudden jealousy when she returns the favor. She’d been a lot less warm with him, as if she could read his mood and decided it wasn’t something she wanted in her own aura.
“I’ll have the same as my friend here.”
“Two whiskey on the rocks, coming right up.” She says, her voice carrying a carefree spirit he’s never quite owned, perhaps only in his childhood years.
She leaves their table, her legs long and gracious as they remove themselves from their booth. He’s entirely entranced by her and Adam chuckles knowingly after a few seconds.
“That went well.”
Blake turns to look at him, watching as his friend grins mischievously.
“What?” He feigns ignorance, knowing this is going to be a conversation he really doesn’t want to have.
“You’re crushing on her.”
“On who?”
Adam snorts. “Yeah, okay, I’m not doing that with you. You know who I’m talking about.”
Blake shakes his head.
“You’re wrong. I’m just being polite since you dragged me out here, insisting I’d leave the house.”
“I don’t think it’s good for you to hide yourself away in that mega penthouse of yours, feeling like shit. You’re right.”
“I feel like shit everywhere.” Blake tells him sorrowfully.
The contrast between him five years ago, and the version sitting in this bar now, is a painful reminder of how too much sorrow and betrayal can wear a man down. He’s not one for pity parties, but he has been inviting himself over to one for the entirety of the year now. The guests dwindling down to a pathetic number.
“Sitting at home definitely isn’t going to help.”
Blake shrugs, knowing his friend is probably right, but not having the emotional capacity to admit it.
“So you’ve said.”
The smell of the flowery perfume alerts him to her presence once again, her voice cutting through in the next moment.
“Two whiskeys on the rocks.” She announces, bending slightly as she places it in front of them. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you.” Adam says, and Blake once again berates himself for being so stricken by her; he can’t get his voice to work on time.
“No problem.” She says, balancing the tray on one hand as she places their empty glasses on them. “My name’s Gwen by the way, I’ll be serving you tonight. If you need anything else, just wave.”
Gwen.
The confident, feminine waitress has a name now. Her name is not one he should even be remembering, but he knows the chances he’ll forget it, are about as slim as a meteor hitting squarely into this bar.
“Thank you, Gwen.” Blake says finally, surprised at how steady his voice sounds.
She nods again, politely but not necessarily warm, and he grunts when she walks off.
“Tell me it’s just in my head.” He mumbles. “Or does this woman not like me?”
Adam chuckles. “Maybe it’s the way you’ve been crossing your arms ever since you walked in here, eyeing the place with a bit too much condemn.”
“I’ve given her no reason to dislike me.”
“I just gave you two.”
Blake shakes his head, foregoing a reply.
The truth is, he shouldn’t care.
He’s been the nice guy all his life, and still he ended up alone. He did the right thing for as long as he could remember, remained humble, gave back. He has earned the right to become a little jaded, to not walk in a room and give every person a smile. No longer suffering from the obsessive need to be liked by everyone.
But for some reason, he wants to be liked by her.
“Have you figured out what you’re gonna do with the brand deal?” Adam asks then, giving him the opportunity to talk about the one thing that’s still going good for him. His business.
“We’re having a meeting with the CEO of investment research next week. I’d like the brand partnership to actually happen, if they can assure the quality of the products to not be affected by the collision.”
“You’ll reach a whole new audience, that’s a pretty big deal too.” Adam offers. “Forging Smithworks with a huge restaurant chain, that’s not nothing.”
“It’s not.” Blake agrees. “But they’re selling our drinks at many huge places now, our brand awareness having gone up 74% in comparison to two years before. We’re no longer being done a favor.”
Adam nods. “Who would’ve thought, huh? A simple country boy from Oklahoma, climbing up the ranks and becoming one of the biggest brands in America’s alcohol industry.”
Blake chuckles. “Seems fitting now.”
“Don’t let it become tragic irony.”
“Jesus.”
Adam grins, his phone buzzing in the next moment. “Shit, I gotta take this, it’s Bee. I’ll be right back.”
Blake doesn’t try to stop him. Though he’s not overly excited to be left on his own, he recognizes his friend still has a wife to keep happy. He won’t become a nuisance to that just because of the lack of his own.
He watches Adam step away from the table, forcing his way outside through the front entrance.
Blake takes the time to look around again, the bar now a little emptier than it was when they got here, and he realizes it’s already nearing 1 AM. It’s not like he’s been sleeping much these days, but he’s looking forward to the comfort of his bed regardless.
The loud, sweaty aroma of this place one he’s ready to leave behind.
He lets his thoughts wander and watches his fellow patrons; a hard day of work and now drinking away their paycheck on a Friday night. Some being very upfront about what they have to spend, others a bit more reserved, perhaps even a little regretful.
He wants to leave. Badly.
That’s until his eyes land on her again. She’s leaning her elbow on the bar top, visibly in conversation with the man behind it, the male appearing both older and higher in rank.
She nods before untying the strings of her apron, disappearing into the back for a few minutes. Blake feels like a bit of a stalker, the way his eyes focus on the door, waiting for her to walk back out again. When she does, he can clearly see the tight skinny jeans clinging to her legs, medium height heels making them look even longer. She’s wearing a see-through blouse that takes his breath away, her hair now fully down.
The apron didn’t do her justice, and even still, she’d been the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid his eyes on.
She digs in her purse, her fingers holding a cigarette underneath the bar light, before making her way through the back exit.
She’s gone. He feels impossibly heavier at the realization.
When Adam comes back, he’s looking at him with an equally regretful look. Just for different reasons.
“Sorry, but I gotta call a rain check on this one. Bee needs me home; she’s going through a family thing.”
This sobers him up some, his heart full of nothing but care for the model who quickly became Adam’s wife.
“Is she okay?”
“She will be.” Adam answers. “I just need to be with her.”
“Of course.” Blake concedes, already standing up with him. It’s not like he’s been counting down the minutes before he could get out of here anyways….” I’ll walk out with you.”
Adam nods gratefully. “Need me to give you a ride?”
“I had two drinks just like you.” He reminds him. “I’ll be fine.”
His friend, for once, doesn’t fight it.
“Alright. Text me when you get home, okay? Just do it.”
The overprotective nature of his friend might be annoying at times, but it’s hard to ignore the fact that Adam is one of the only people who truly cares. Someone who doesn’t just see the money, the success, but someone who sees the struggling man underneath.
“I will. Keep me updated on Behati. Give her my love.”
They hug briefly, Adam patting him a few times on the back.
“I will tell her. Thank you, man.”
Blake just nods, watching Adam drive off. He tries to remember what it’s like to hurry back home to someone waiting for him, but he comes up short. The memory such a watered-down thing, it almost doesn’t feel real anymore. A feeling he knows he once had, long ago, but can no longer recall.
He digs into his own pockets for his car keys, when the sound of Gwen’s voice becomes apparent to him again.
“Uhm hey, sorry, I didn’t get your name…” It’s the first time all night that she’s sounded anything less than confident. “You happen to have a lighter? Mine just quit on me.”
He turns to find her standing there, one hand holding the lapel of her jacket close to her chest, while the other holds the unlit cigarette.
It's dark under the trees, the bar tucked away in the quieter side of town. No moonlight, no stars, but the canopy overhead isn't as dense as it could have been, and his eyes adjust as she stands there. Her hands are on her hips, looking at him expectantly.
It’s quiet back here, too; they'd left the noise of the bar behind. It's the kind of quiet he usually dreads alone at home, but fully basks in, right here with her.
“I’m sorry, no…” He hates how he feels like he’s letting her down, despite the unimportant inquiry. “I don’t have one.”
“Of course.” She scoffs, shaking her head. “Thanks.”
And it sounds a whole lot like thanks for nothing, and for some reason, Blake just needs an explanation from her.
“Did I do something to offend you?” He asks, hands sliding into his pockets. “You seem… ticked off.”
For a moment, it seems like she’s going to laugh in his face, but that comical relief never comes. It’s just annoyance that flashes over her features.
“What’s your name?”
Confused by the question, he’s equally relieved she even wants to know.
“Blake.”
“Blake.” She repeats, her mouth speaking the word like she’s getting slowly acquainted with it. “Well Blake, I’ve been having a really long night, serving a bunch of men who feel entitled to a lot, but give very little. And when you reject their advances, their gross little murmurings, they complain to your boss about having an attitude. So yeah, I’m a little ticked off.”
Relieved that this isn’t about him, as he’s sure he’s done none of those things, he feels an uncomfortable pressure on his chest with the added knowledge of her treatment here.
“I’m sorry. I had no idea that was going on.”
She scoffs, but this time it doesn’t seem so personal.
“It goes on everywhere. Working in bars will give you a crash course on inappropriate behaviour. Even the fancy ones.”
He feels a little guilty at her referring to this place as fancy, since he complained about the lack of exactly that to his best friend, only an hour before.
“Why do you do it?” He finds himself asking, thinking a woman like her belongs somewhere else entirely.
She cocks her brow, sarcastic.
“What, work?”
“At a bar.” He clarifies.
“I need the money. College wasn’t cheap.”
Fuck, he prays she’s at least a graduate. The last thing he needs is to be carrying the burden of lusting over someone he has no business lusting over.
“I bet it wasn’t. Are you still in school?”
She laughs then, shaking her head. “Thank God I’m not. I graduated at 22, but the debt remains.”
He sighs in relief, masking it with a little cough.
“There must be other jobs out there for you.”
“Who says this is my only job?” She counters, a smirk now gracing her lips, and he’s glad she no longer appears offended. “Don’t worry about me, I’m doing fine.” She looks him over, crossing her arms. “What about you?”
The question brings him off balance.
“Excuse me?”
“Are you doing fine?”
He doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or cry at her audacity, or the fact no one other than Adam had asked him that question in recent months.
“I… I’m fine, yeah.”
“You looked awfully sad for a celebration. Most guys that come here have some sort of milestone to celebrate.”
He frowns, feeling equally confused as he feels called out.
“I wasn’t here to celebrate.”
He’s keeping his answers short, confused by how she didn’t seem to be asking him anything, yet he’s still coming up with responses.
“Could’ve fooled me.” She smiles.
Now it’s his turn to ask a question. “Why’s that?”
She shrugs.
“The boring looking jacket actually has quite the price tag, doesn’t it? Not to mention the watch on your wrist, that could probably buy out this whole entire bar.” She smirks at his obvious embarrassment. “And the tip you gave, though I’m not sure if it was generosity or just you being braggadocios—either way, I can’t say I didn’t appreciate it. All to say, you had no business being here unless it was to celebrate something.”
He’s looking at her stunned, her audacity uncanny.
She doesn’t seem easily afraid or intimated, obviously having been around her fair share of rich men. Developing a certain dislike for them he can’t quite blame her for.
“I wasn’t here to celebrate.” He says again, cocking his head. “But you sure paid a lot of attention to detail.”
To him.
She laughs again, lighter this time.
“Don’t flatter yourself. It was obvious. You’re one of many around here.”
Her voice carries the sound of redemption in it, and he wonders if she knows how badly he needed to meet her tonight. How badly he’s aching at the thought this could be the last time.
“You always this upfront with people?”
She smiles, much sweeter, much more inviting than the previous times. Even beating out the smile she gave Adam before.
“Only to the ones who deserve it.” She waits a beat before adding. “… and to those who can handle it.”
He blinks at her once. “Who says I can handle it?”
“You’re still here, aren’t you?”
And he can’t argue with that either. Feels wholly stunned by her. This woman a force to be reckoned with.
“I am.” He says. “I don’t really have any other place to be.”
He doesn’t mean the words as unkindly as they sound, but apparently, she dishes out as well as she takes it.
She looks him over, but pity lacks from her gaze, merely pure interest.
“Life has got to be pretty low when you don’t have any other place to be than here.” She states simply, and he no longer feels called out by her. Just understood; feels a kind of comradely develop between them.
“Where do you spend your time when you're not here?” He asks her, wanting to hear from her, learn from her.
Somehow he thinks he can.
“Too many places to count.” She says, smirking. “I don’t like being tied down to one place much.”
He’s not fully surprised to hear that, her presence much resembling that of one with wings. Ready and able to fly out at any given moment. Unafraid.
He owns a multi-million-dollar company, and yet, he’s still so damn scared. Scared to live, to love, to accept that the man he is inside is so much simpler than the industry he entered as a naïve twenty-something.
“You don’t give up much information about yourself, do you?”
“I usually tend to be that way with strangers I meet at the ungodly hour.”
He can’t even begin to comprehend why it feels so wrong to be called a stranger, even more being alluded to as something potentially dangerous.
“You don’t have to worry about me.”
She giggles, then full out laughs.
“I bet that’s what they all say. Though there is something about your eyes…” She smiles, then trails off.
She leaves him hanging with only half a sentence, and he finds himself tethering over a mile-long abyss.
She takes no mercy on him.
She starts to walk away, a few paces ahead of him, angling off to the left towards a silver Honda Civic. She unlocks the car, then instead of getting in, simply reaches inside for one of the dashboards. When she faces him again, it’s with a big smile and a lighter.
“Since you couldn’t help me to one.”
She pretends the words are a dig, but he hears something resembling playfulness now.
“Why’d you need me to give you one if you have a perfectly fine lighter stacked away in your car?”
“Cause you would’ve been faster, plus it’s not like you were so nice to me before.” She smirks. “You owed me one.”
“Shit, Gwen.” Saying her name for the first time in conversation feels surreal, and he pauses briefly to make sure it’s alright for him to say it, somehow feeling like her name, her presence is much too pure for a man like him. “I promise my mood had nothing to do with you or the bar you work at. I’m just….”
He trails off, because what is he?
Broken? Angry? Lost?
“Just what?” She pushes, holding the bud of her cigarette against the flame, inhaling once.
Smoke pushes past her lips and he pretends it’s his inhibitions she’s blowing away.
“Tired. I’m tired.”
She takes another inhale, then offers it up to him like they’ve known each other longer than just the miserable hour he’s spend in here. He brushes it off with a quick thank you, and she shrugs, putting it back between her lips.
Suddenly he regrets his choice, would’ve loved to put his lips over the same place hers had been.
“Look, I won’t give you my number, but I’m working again on Thursday.” She drops the cigarette from her lips and smiles. “Come find me if you’re tired of being tired.”
Her proposition makes no sense, the way he wants it even less.
He wants it bad. He wants to get to know her and that beaten down Honda she drives. He wants to get to know her through the entire summer and watch the sun turn her skin golden.
“Thursday?” He repeats, and they both know it’s to confirm.
She hums, then drops the cigarette and crushes it with the tip of her heel.
“Thursday.”
Without much else acknowledgement, she’s walking back towards her car, this time to drive off.
He doesn’t know a thing about her; not her other occupations of time, nor her age or phone number. All he knows is that she’s a walking contradiction— a sweetheart with a rebel side.
As she drives away, he finds himself smiling at the speed in which she does so, and he realizes it’s his first genuine smile in months.
He knows she’s trouble, feels it in his bones, but he thinks trying to figure her out might be worth all the repercussions.