Page 5 of Playing the Backbeat

“Jasmine?” I whine to my coworker. “Sex on the beach. Please help.” I slap my hands together in prayer, the service ticket for the drink crumpling between my palms.

“Eh, don’t recommend. Sand really works its way into unforgiving places, never to be seen again, but alwaysfelt,” she deadpans.

I stare, waiting for sweet mercy. She shakes her head.

“Dee, you know this. Peach, orange, pineapple, cranberry.”

“You’re so wise. Thank you.” I throw her a salute and get to making the drink, fully aware that while the ingredients might be correct, the proportions are probably alittleoff.

I’m so screwed. How long will they keep a bartender on staff who can’t make a simple drink? I’m not willing to play that game, so I need to find another job and find it fast. I pull my next service bar ticket. Thank God this one’s just a bottled beer.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” I hear a familiar voice drawl from behind me.

Dammit. I’m not ready to talk toanyoneabout being laid off. Especially notthissomeone. Not until I have a plan in place. Besides, Ellie, one of my best friends, is surprising her husband, Dom, with a vow renewal next week, and I’m not about to be the party buzzkill with this kind of news.

I grab the bottle and place it on the service bar mat with the ticket.

“Really, Dee? You’re going to ignore me?” he prods.

“I’m not ignoring you,” I say, turning with a too-sweet smile to finally face Dylan. His dark blond hair is gathered in a tight bun, something new he’s been doing since he let his hair grow long, and his perfect smile is framed by just the right amount of scruff. Tattoos peek out from underneath the rolled sleeves of his black button-up shirt on his right forearm. He’s collecting looks from women around the bar already, and I can respect that. Hotties recognizing hotties and all. “I’m justbusy.”

“Didn’t know you picked up a side gig,” he says, eyeing me with a hint of confusion, folding his arms as he leans against the bar top.

Fuck yes.Thank you for the save, my man.

“Yeah, you know me.” I shrug. “Can’t stay still for too long. Needed something fun on the side. The extra cash doesn’t hurt either,” I lie easily, thanks to his assumption. “What are you doing here?”

“Meeting up with a couple of coworkers to talk through our schedule for the next month.” He nods toward a table near the back corner of the bar where several others are already seated with drinks.

“Don’tyouwork at a bar? Why drag your coworkers out here?”

“What? And miss out on this friendly service?” His lips tilt.

“I don’t think any of my customers would call my servicefriendly.” I cross my arms and lean against the back counter stacked tall with liquor bottles, my default stance when dealing with pain-in-the-ass customers. A little on the defensive and a ten on the I-don’t-give-a-fuck scale.

“Oof, that bad?” His brows furrow, eyes scanning the bar to his left and right.

Working in a similar environment, I’m sure Dylan can probably empathize with a shitty night of customer service.

“Eh, nothing I can’t handle.” I sigh, my posture softening.

Maybe I let a bit of hopelessness bleed into my voice, just a small moment of weakness, because Dylan’s eyes lock on mine and hold. His assessing stare starts to feel like it’s about to lead to an interrogation, so I break away from his gaze and grab another service ticket, not fully reading it, too aware of his lingering attention.

“Well, you let me know if you need back up,” he says, uncertainty ringing in his hesitation.

I turn to the taps and fill a tall glass with draft beer. I walk past Dylan to place the drink on the mat for the server to pick up, the movement helping me once again shove down any frustrationover my circumstances. When I face him again, I feel locked in and ready to put on my bravest face.

I rest my palms along the edge of the bar and pop a hip, leaning closer and keeping my voice low. “You don’t have to worry about me, Dylan. I’m a big girl.” I wink. “Now, what can I get you? Don’t be a pain in the ass. Make it easy and tip like you’re trying to impress me.”

His eyes warm, and his shoulders relax, any bit of concern he might have had clearly dissipating.

Good. I don’t need him running his mouth to Dom or one of the girls that I was here. It’s one thing to let him assume the wrong thing and not correcting him. But if my girls asked me about it? I couldn’t lie. I’d have to admit to what’s been going on, and I’m not going to shit all over Ellie and Dom’s vow renewal with my stupid drama.

He picks up one of the drink special menus and spends a few seconds skimming the list. “How about avery berry mojito?” His eyes glow as he peers at me over the top of the sticky, laminated pamphlet. “With extra berries.”

I narrow my eyes. “Youasshole.” I groan, reaching for the muddler. “Why don’t you muddle your own berries. Better yet, bend over and let me show you right where you can put—”

He laughs, large and loud, holding his palms up in defeat. “All right, all right. A beer. Dealer’s choice.”