Promise Not To Fall Read online

“It’s already a short name. Why shorten it?” I shrug again, and he shakes his head with laughter falling from his lips. “Can I call you Ken?”

  It finally dawns on me how odd is sounds. “Lol, that makes sense.”

  This time he bursts out laughing, his hands on the edge of the bar. “Did you really just say, lol?”

  “I guess I did. What’s next?” I ask, my eyes on his bare arms, which were in full view now. I stare at the black ink marking them, trying to decipher the meaning behind his body art.

  “Sweet or sour?”

  “Sweet.”

  He gives me another smile. “Sweet it is.”

  A man at the end of the bar with no shirt and a receding hairline screams as he enters the bar, pumping his fist in the air.

  “It’s my birthday!” he yells, waving his arms around.

  Jake leans into my personal space again, speaking with a nonchalant grace. “It’s been his birthday for three days in a row. He does this every night.”

  Laughing, I watch Jake making me another drink and take notice that he seems to have some authority here. His demeanor demands instant obedience from patrons and staff, unlike Surfer Boy who mingles with everyone and has to constantly be redirected to actually work.

  Jake’s hands move quickly, never measuring, and long-pouring the bottles for effect. His eyes are on mine most of the time, confident and alluring.

  “Where ya from?” Jake asks, topping off my drink with two cherries.

  “Phoenix.” I stare down at the drink and stir the straw. “What’s this one?”

  “The chillax.” His head tips at the drink. “I added cherries, just for you, Ken.”

  Another burst of laughter leaves my lips. “Ah, well, that’s nice of you. I like cherries.” I take the two cherries and slide them off the stick they were on and into my mouth, chewing slowly. “How long have you been bartending?”

  Jake watches Surfer Boy for a moment. He’s showing someone his nipple. No lie. With a disgusted shake of his head, Jake turns back to me. “Since I was old enough to mix a drink.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Hell if I know.” He shrugs one shoulder, speaking with a nonchalant grace I kind of adore. “I remember not being able to see over this bar and making my mom a tequila sunrise.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?” Slowly, I take a sip of my drink. Goddamn, it is fucking delicious! The coconut with the mango bursts fruity flavors with every sip. “This is amazing.”

  “What?” I think he knows his drinks are good, because when I smile around my straw, he winks again.

  “Being in a bar that young. That should be illegal.”

  “It’s the Bahamas. They don’t give a fuck.” He relaxes and leans back against the bar, crossing his ankles and then his arms over his chest.

  My messy hair, sweat drenched, falls in my face again. Sighing, I release my unkempt bun and then folded my hair back up into another knot. Jake has turned his back to me now, cashing out an old man’s tab at the end of the bar. They talk for a moment, and I find myself watching the two of them curiously.

  The man with no shirt and dark hair graying at his temples laughs, his deep laughter echoing through the bar, and shakes Jake’s hand before leaving.

  Jake turns back to me then, his eyes on the beach over my shoulder, and then regards me with another smile. Rugged, bronzed by the sun, his skin is so inviting. It’s everything I can do to keep myself from running my hands over him. I still want to pull his hair. “Need another?”

  “Yeah.” It’s unreal how quickly I’m sucking these delicious bastards down. I need to drink this next one slower.

  I offer Jake a smile, trying to keep myself under control. It’s hard. I mean, look at him. “So what, are you, like, really an island boy or something?”

  “Parents are from Baton Rouge,” he says, reaching up to retrieve a bottle above his head. It’s then, my friends, I’m rewarded with the utterly fantastic view of about three inches of Jakes tight and toned stomach.

  Oh, mother of God.

  Look at those lines and that hair leading to the downstairs. Oh, yeah, follow the trail, baby. I try, but don’t get far. It disappears into the band of his black underwear, which I can clearly see the first half inch of. My thoughts are basically, I’ll spread my legs now. Take me. Tie me up. Pull my hair. Spank me. And actually in that order, please.

  A few images of him naked swirl in my head, all great and worth remembering.

  Hey, now. At least eye-fuck the guy with some dignity, I tell myself.

  “…and we moved here when I was two.”

  Shit. He was talking to me all that time? My glossy eyes meet his. “What?”

  He gives me a confused look. My hands begin to get clammy, and my heart starts to race. “Sorry, where did you say you were from?” A silent moment passes between us, and I begin to wonder if I’ve pissed him off by not paying attention. If someone would have done that to me, you better believe I’d be upset. “Sorry. I tend to zone out when I’m drunk, and your stomach distracted me.”

  Surprisingly, Jake laughs. “I was born in Baton Rouge. Moved here when I was two.”

  I attempt to focus on him, squinting with determination. “I’m horrible at picking up men.”

  “Try that guy.” He points to Surfer Boy, who’d just walked past me.

  When drunk, I don’t think quite as well and take on pretty much any challenge handed my way. In college, I once drank an entire fifth of whip cream vodka because Rylee told me I couldn’t do it. Yeah, well, I did and regretted every sickly-sweet vomit session I had that night in the ER, where I eventually ended up with alcohol poisoning.

  “Let me see.” I take the challenge immediately and hop down off my stool. I literally attempt to pick Surfer Boy up.

  Surfer Boy grins. “Oh, I like a girl with muscle,” he says, winking at me as I hold him in my arms.

  “I’m impressing myself right now.” I keep my balance and grip on him.

  Then I drop him. Flat on his ass. He lands on the wooden planks of the floor with a thud.

  All of us start laughing.

  “Get off the floor, Nash,” the man who delivered my food earlier says, shaking his head in obvious amusement.

  I point at the man. “Who’s he?”

  “My dad. Owns the bar.” Then Jake points to Nash, who’s dusting off his shorts. “That’s Nash. He kind of just showed up one day and never left. Works here now.” As I take a seat back on my stool, Jake relaxes against the counter, leaning toward me again. “He’s like a stray cat. We don’t even pay him.”

  “You do too pay me.” Nash gets up and walks back to the other end of the bar to the same girls he was with an hour ago. I have a feeling that when Nash said he was paid, it’s in pretty girls and not actual cash.

  Jake’s eyes find mine with some twinkling satisfaction. “It’s still pretty early. You hittin’ the town tonight?”

  “I’m not hitting much of anything these days.”

  “Mmmm, dirty….” His voice lowers to a roughness I find very pleasing. “I always say a dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste.”

  The way he watches me makes my knees shake and takes the air from my lungs. He literally gives me chills. “I think I’m going to stay right here. I want to try everything on the menu.” My eyes sneak to his. “Including you.”

  His jaw tightens. He swallows. And then he gives me this look, one that knits his brow together. Maybe he wants that too? I can’t tell. But I’m drunk so I can’t tell much of anything.

  Awkward silence envelopes me. “Or maybe I try out surfer dude. Whatever.” I flick my hand toward the wall of booze. “So, what’s next, Jay?”

  He clicks his tongue and tips his head, as if to say he doesn’t agree with me shortening his name. “It’s Jake.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No worries.” He shrugs one shoulder again, reaching for a white rag on the bar. “I just don’t like my name shortened.”

  “Noted. Can I a
sk why?” I blame my forwardness on his drinks. But then again, I’m always like this. I like to know things. Everything. Knowledge intrigues me. I can read the ingredients to cereal and feel at ease.

  He blinks as he takes in my face, raking his hand through that gorgeous hair. “You could… but I wouldn’t tell you, so you’d be wastin’ your time.” He pauses and slides his tongue across his bottom lip. His eyes take in my face, slowly, lingering on my lips. “You don’t seem like a girl who likes to waste time, though.”

  He’s perfection. “No, I’m not.” I like Jake already. He’s perfect one-night-stand material.

  I’m not against taking Jake back to my room, as I said to him, and he ignored. To be honest, I’m nowhere near relationship-ready for anyone after Justin. And it’s discouraging to realize the truth in that statement. Like it or not, Justin took a piece of my heart with him when he broke it on V-day. We might not have been meant for each other, but I had spent the last two years of my life in a committed relationship with him. Part of me knew my “committed” and his “committed” were vastly different, but still, I guess in some ways, I’m damaged goods now.

  When life sucks, I have an answer for that. Drinking. It’s why alcohol and drugs were invented. I guarantee it.

  Despite wanting to get drunk—I’m already there—what’s on my mind tonight is Island Boy. I don’t think it’s just my mind playing tricks on me either. This guy is borderline amazing. And so pretty. I mean, look at him. Beautiful and exotic, despite his average name.

  Island Boy’s dad comes out again from the kitchen and says something to Jake, then goes back.

  “How did your dad come about owning a bar in the Bahamas?”

  “My parents came here on their honeymoon and never wanted to leave. They came back every year, but when a hurricane came through the Bahamas and destroyed their favorite bar, they made the decision to rebuild it and ended up staying for good.”

  “Wow.” That’s kind of sweet and makes me smile that there’s someone out there who still has some romance. My parents split up when I was ten. I didn’t exactly have a relationship with my dad from what I remember. I do remember that he worked a lot and was rarely home. It wasn’t a surprise when he left, just that he no longer provided money for us. I didn’t know what a fairy-tale marriage even was.

  “Cool story, huh?” Jake asks, raising his eyebrows.

  “Yeah.” I shake my head at my thoughts. “It’s a fairy tale.”

  Jake laughs and leans into the bar, locking our stares together. “Yeah… it’s not true. All bullshit I just fed you.”

  “What? Why would you do that?”

  “I’m just playin’.” He grins, barely able to control his amusement. “It’s true.”

  “See, now you’re just pissing me off.” I slap my hand down on the bar. “I don’t like to be lied to.”

  “I’m just messing around with you.” He motions around the bar as he mixes another drink, holding a bottle in his hand. “They certainly didn’t move here for money, but this place is their dream.”

  “How did they afford to do that?” It may have been bold to ask, but I know enough about this place to know they could have done better having a bar located elsewhere.

  Jake shrugs. “My dad’s parents were loaded. He had some kind of trust fund, and when they died he inherited their shit. So then my parents sold everything they owned and moved to paradise.” He pushes another drink my way. I’ve lost count as to which number I’m on.

  “What’s this one?”

  “Raspberries and rye.”

  I give a nod, drawing the drink toward me. “What’s your favorite drink?”

  “Whiskey sour.” The way the words roll off his tongue whenever he talks makes me smile. And sends images and sound bites to my naughty brain as I think about him moaning my name.

  I take one drink and spit it back in the glass. I don’t like raspberries. Not even a little bit. I probably should have warned him about that. I once had a raspberry smoothie and threw up for three days straight, which I always find unsettling because who gets sick off a smoothie? Did they contaminate the berries? I stay clear of raspberries. It’s a rule of mine that if I throw up because of eating or drinking something, it must be poison, therefore never to be ingested again.

  “Oh, God,” I pause and down a big gulp of water. “That’s awful.” It’s easily the worst drink I’ve ever had. Hands down.

  “Hey, be nice.” Jake looks down, his lashes so thick, so pretty. “You’ll hurt my ego.”

  I draw in an uneven breath but keep up my attitude when I see his eyes moving over my face, watching me. “Doubt that. Do you actually serve that shit to people?”

  He beckons me forward with two fingers. Naturally I go, hoping maybe he might kiss me. One could be so hopeful, right? “When a girl wants to try everything on the menu,” his voice goes seductively lower as he whispers, “I give her everything on the menu.”

  Oh, wow, okay, bring it on, pretty boy. I know he’s not just talking about his drinks. I just know it. The thought sends a thrill through me. My chest feels tight as I swallow. His eyes linger on the tops of my breasts peeking out of my sundress, watching my every move. He’s curious, I know he is.

  His eyes lift to mine, a certain hunger hidden deep within his sky blues. “Are you here alone or with someone?”

  “Alone… well, not really. My best friend is getting married this summer, so they invited me to come along to celebrate.”

  He kind of smiles. “Don’t you sorta feel like a third wheel?”

  My posture slumps forward. Those breasts he’d been eyeing pushed against the edge of the bar and right up in his business. “Yeah.” My lashes flutter, and I can’t bring myself to look at him. “Go ahead and kick me while I’m down.”

  Clearing his throat, he adverts his eyes to a glass he’s drying. “What’s your deal, then? Why can’t you keep a man?”

  I’m harsh. I’ve always been, but the harshest people are the ones with the biggest hearts. It’s why we’re mean. We’re protecting the one part of our body that can crush us to pieces when broken… our hearts.

  “I just have expectations,” I tell him. “Are there any good men left? And I mean the honest ones. Ones who aren’t taken and nice. Or married. Ones who have some fucking chivalry in them.”

  He snorts and sets the now dry glass down behind the counter. “Chivalry is overrated. You’re puttin’ too much pressure on it.”

  “Of course you would say that.” I sigh, knowing he’s right in some sense. I put too much pressure on my entire life.

  “Tell me about him.”

  “Who?” I try to play it off.

  “Great answer.” His eyes are down, making a drink, until he looks up again. “But who is he? Did he actually mean something to you?”

  I laugh. “He’s the shortstop for the Diamondbacks. I was his assistant, and like every other time I’m in a relationship, I tried to control the way he loved me. He broke up with me on Valentine’s Day.”

  Jake gives me a look, one I can’t decipher it’s meaning. And then he shrugs that same shoulder again. “His loss.”

  ½ part hibiscus syrup

  4½ parts sparkling wine

  Pour ingredients into a champagne glass

  Hibiscus Syrup:

  1 part water

  1 part sugar

  ¾ part hibiscus

  Heat water and sugar in a small pot until sugar is melted. Remove from heat, add hibiscus and steep for 10 minutes. Remove hibiscus and cool.

  This is how the next three hours break down: I try the Alabama slammer, angel’s face, hurricane, jaw breaker, and black magic again. Then I move onto the oil slick, and finally a screwdriver. I’m thinking I should be done at this point. It’s been something like six hours, and that is a lot of liquor to take in and still be able to function.

  Jake tries to serve me up an island affair, but I can’t feel my lips at this point. I even go on for like ten minutes telling him I think th
ey melted off my face, only to have him touch my lips—all by design—and confirm for me they’re still on my mouth.

  I dance on the bar with a girl from Cuba and take shots with a retired couple from Miami that burn my throat for fifteen minutes. I have blurred vision, no balance, poor motor skills, but I’m still standing and feeling pretty good.

  And now we’re back to the present, with me shitfaced. When I get drunk, my ears get hot first. Then it moves south. When I can’t feel my lips, it’s a general assessment they won’t work either.

  I yell “drinks on me!” at one point. Thankfully, Jake saves my lying ass and steals my credit card and any traveler’s checks I have.

  You would think at some point I would have begun to get sick. I’m taking in a lot of alcohol, but I think Jake caught onto my declining condition and isn’t making the drinks as strong as he was when I first got here.

  I end up taking an hour break, and then tell him I need more. He’s happy to provide.

  “What’s this one?”

  He winks, his cheeks flushed. Or maybe my vision is flushed. “Kentucky mai tai.”

  I take a sip. It’s good. I love bourbon. “I’ve been thinking. I need something to remember my trip by. This bar is amazing.”

  “It is pretty cool.” He agrees. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Give me a cool glass at least. I need a souvenir. Back home we have all these bars that have signature glasses. I need one of those.”

  Jake reaches around below the counter and then sets a glass tit on the bar. Seriously, a glass tit complete with a little hole in the nipple to drink from like it’s some kind of adult sippy cup. And on the outside of the glass it says, “It sucked in the Bahamas!”

  I pick it up, eyeing the engraved glass. “Classy.”

  He smiles. “We keep it real here.”

  He is real. I never expected to meet someone like him, and now after only a few hours—or like seven—I want to stay right here on this barstool, watching him make drinks.

  When the sun sets, I watch Jake with probably a dreamy look. Probably something similar to the way Sandy watched Danny in Grease. Every once in a while, between making drinks, I catch Jake staring out at the ocean and the white sand. Just as the ocean swallows the sun, his eyes take on a different look to me, darker, sexier, and it’s then I know exactly where I want this night to end—with that deep, brooding stare gazing into my eyes as he hovers above me.