Running in Place (Mending Hearts) (4 page)

“Yes, sir. I get off around five, so I can work closing shifts from now on,” I offer.

“Perfect.” He pushes off the desk. “Well, the main reason I called you in here is to let you know that I’ll need to start training someone to take over your managerial role here at the bar, so the sooner you can get me an estimated last day of employment the better. Yes?”

Nodding as I stand from the seat, I extend my hand. “Will do, Trace. Give me a little time to figure everything out and I’ll let you know as soon as I do,” I say, giving him a firm shake, completely aware that this is something I should have already figured out by now.

He gives me another contemplative look before adding, “And, be careful. Relationships in the business place can be tricky. Make sure nothing affects your working relationship with Ryder while you finish out here. That’s the only thing I ask.”

“Not a problem,” I respond.

Trace drops my hand. “Good. I have enough going on without worrying about unnecessary drama. I trust you’ll leave anything with her…copacetic?”

Laughing at his word choice because I know he would only use it with me, I answer, “Of course, Trace. I’ve got it.” I turn to leave the office, knowing I’ll definitely need to step it up in my attempt to “make nice” with Ryder.

As I exit the doorway, I say a silent prayer for my future Academy Award winning performance of the evening and hope it works.

Less drama is always good.

I need a drink.

Watching Noah coupled in the corner of the wait station with Ryder makes me gag, literally. My eyes follow his every movement as he tucks a perfectly curled blonde strand of hair behind her ear and leans his body into hers just before whispering some kind of dirty little secret, judging by the nails-on-a-chalkboard giggle that escapes her. But, when she trails her fingers along the side of his jaw and then passes them through his dark brown hair that is, of course, styled to perfection — it’s almost too much. I can feel the acid scorching as it climbs the back of my throat.

Shots can totally help this.

That’s the only acceptable throat scorching that should be happening right now.

I need, like,
twelve
of them.

Tearing my gaze away from them in the direction of the bar, I thank the stars for their perfect alignment and watch as Daniel pours a glass of wine, obviously the second bartender for the evening. At least there’s one good thing about them being cuddled up in the corner — Noah’s definitely
not
behind the bar right now. Making my way over, I take a seat next to the older woman sportin’ some crazy just
out there
cleavage. I’ve seen her here before, flirting shamelessly with the bartenders, mainly Noah.

Sure, she’s attractive, but I kind of feel sorry for her. She’s obviously lonely, judging by the amount of skin she’s displaying on the bar top and to everyone else in the bar.

“Hi,” I say in a huff as I sit down and throw my purse on top the bar. “I’m Tatum. Come here often?” I laugh as I direct my eyes towards her.

She gives me a slow once-over and then smiles genuinely before relaxing in her chair.

 “Yes, I do, young lady. I’ve seen you in here before. You’re Trace’s sister, are you not?”

I signal to Daniel without answering. “Three shots of Patron.” He gives me a questioning look, and I jerk my head to my new best friend for the next hour or so. “One’s for her.”

Redirecting my attention toward my new BFF, I extend my hand. “Tatum O’Connell. And yes, Trace is my brother. I work here part-time.”

“Helen Harris. Nice to
officially
meet you, Tatum,” she responds with a warm smile.

I sigh inwardly at her pleasantry. See, this is exactly why I
shouldn’t
pass judgment on people I don’t know. It’s not like me and, well it’s judgmental, which I can’t stand. Really, who the hell cares if her boobs are on display? Not my place to judge. Display the shit out of those puppies if you’ve got ’em.

Three shot glasses slide in front of us, the clear liquid sloshing just inside the rim. “Better hurry, Noah’s heading back over.” Daniel wipes his hands on the bar towel draped across the top of his shoulder. “Have fun,” he adds with a playful grin before bolting back onto the floor, passing Noah along the way. I turn quickly before making eye contact with Mr. Perfect and slip Ms. Harris her shot. Once in her hand, I grab the remaining two and slam them both one after another, not even bothering to wait for her. Rude, I know, but time is of the essence here.

The acid previously burning in the back of my throat is replaced with the familiar, warming sensation of tequila and I happily welcome it. Taking the lime off of one of the glasses, I bite down and my face puckers as I chase the shot with its bitter juice. After expertly tossing the peel back into the empty shot glass, I’m greeted with a deep voice laced with definite judgment. “Tatum.”

I smile at Ms. Harris before responding, partly in thanks, mostly in apology. I have a feeling I know where this conversation is headed and it’s not going to be pretty. I’m not in the mood.

Placing my hands on the bar, I swivel the top of the stool away from my drinking buddy to face Noah. His deep brown eyes are drawn as he focuses on me intently. After a brief moment, they break from mine, glancing down at the two shot glasses in front of me, before rising again. This results in tight lips and more thinning of the eyes. Lovely.

“Noah.” My voice is just as sharp and direct as his. He does this every single time I come in here for a few drinks. I’m not really sure what his problem is, but I’m definitely going to take care of any potential criticism.

Cocking my head to the side, I raise my eyebrows expectantly. “Did you need something? Or are you just going to stare at me all night, taking inventory of the number of empty shot glasses in front of me? Because if you want to keep watching, I’m sure there will be more soon. But first, I would like a beer
—
if that’s all right by you.”

An audible intake of air occurs next to me, but I keep my eyes directed at him. He wants to play this game, that’s fine.

After what seems like forever, the unyielding glares between the two of us are finally broken. “Yes, Noah,” Ms. Harris interjects. “Could you get us another drink? I’ll take my usual. Tatum?”

A victorious grin slowly slips across my face, one that widens when I see the corners of his mouth dip in defeat. “Well, thank you Ms. Harris. Thank you very much.” Noah opens his mouth to say something, but obviously decides against it as his lips seal shut and he wheels around to grab our drinks. I turn back towards Helen, smile still intact.

“Seriously,
thank you
. I’ve had a hell of a night, and honestly, I don’t have the patience for him right now. I’m sorry about that, by the way. I’m normally not so testy,” I lie.

Noah and I typically have some sort of standoff anytime we’re forced to deal with each other. Whether it be my excessive intake of alcohol, like tonight, or the fact that my shorts are two inches shorter than regulation length while working, like last night, we pretty much argue all the time. I don’t know why he constantly seems to have a stick up his ass, nor do I understand why I’m repeatedly reprimanded for shit that doesn’t even concern him. Well, I guess the shorts kind of fall under his jurisdiction. Okay, maybe the alcohol too, but I seem to be the only person in this whole establishment unable to escape his managerial power-trip. Sadie’s shorts were way shorter than mine the other night and he didn’t say a damn thing.

Helen’s lips tip up slightly as she watches Noah behind the bar just before bringing her eyes to meet mine. “Well, honey, I would dare say that my Noah is very protective of you.”

Surprised, my eyes immediately fall to the huge diamond present on her left hand.
Her Noah
?

Oh, this is good. Mr. Perfect fraternizing with patrons of the bar. Older, married patrons.

“
Your
Noah?” I snicker. “Well, if that’s the case, he’s all yours. You can have him. I can’t stand him.”

Helen laughs softly under her breath. “Well dear, I’m married, so I don’t think that’s a possibility. I just like to flirt a little. No harm in that. But even if I were single and much,
much
younger, I couldn’t have him. You see, that boy’s already taken. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Okay, so Helen’s a little off her rocker.

As my beer comes into view, I reach out to snatch it, curling my fingers around the base and bringing it to my lips while maintaining my eye contact with her.

“Really? Interesting. I feel sorry for
that
person,” I say, taking a long draw from the bottle. I break my gaze at her to watch Noah pour the remainder of what looks like a Cosmo from the shaker into a fresh martini glass.

A loud cackle escapes her as she reaches forward, taking her drink from Noah. A hint of a smile barely appears on his face, and surprisingly, I can’t help but grin as well. It’s the most awful laugh I’ve ever heard in my life. I find it oddly hilarious.

Noah’s brown eyes slowly drift away from hers to mine, the barely there smile still present on his face. As soon as our eyes meet, a blush creeps into my cheeks and my grin fades just a little.

Maybe it’s the tequila starting to work its magic. Maybe it’s the softening of his normally tightened features. Or maybe it’s the fact that I just realized that he has a dimple in his left cheek.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile —
ever
.

As the flush continues to spread across my face, I hold his stare. In this moment, he seems so young. Relaxed.
Human
, even.

But it soon passes as I watch the ease in his face disappear, slowly solidifying into its typical concrete scowl. His deep brown eyes once again narrow as he takes another glimpse at the shot glasses in front of me. I can barely see them through the thick barrier of black lashes guarding them. His lips tighten in frustration — again, no idea why — before he brings his steely gaze back to me.

“Take it easy tonight, Tatum. I’ve got enough going on right now. I really don’t need any trouble from you.” He dips his head down to the bar top. “And with two tequila shots down in less than fifteen minutes, it doesn’t look promising. Pace yourself.”

My eyes triple in size. I look at
Mrs.
Harris and then back at Noah in disbelief.

Who the hell does he think he is? My daddy? I don’t think so.

Standing up on the bottom rung of the bar stool, I place both hands flat on the bar and lean across so that we’re eye-to-eye before speaking. “I’m a grown woman, Noah. I don’t need you to tell me what I can and can’t drink. I’m also a paying customer tonight, not your lowly employee, so back off. I’ve had a hell of a night, and you’re about to make it a million times worse — for the both of us. So please, cut the judgmental bullshit.”

Surprise flashes briefly in his eyes, but he quickly recovers. His triceps flex as he presses both palms face down on the bar top, stretching his long body forward, closing the remaining distance between us. He casts a quick glance down at my mouth before shaking his head. “Grown woman?” He snickers. “
Right
.”