Chapter 3: Relentless

Taylor

“Can I get your name and phone number? They are relentless.”

My imagination is working overtime. There’s no way he asked for my numb - My eyes feel as though they might pop from my head.

He keeps his eyes on the bar napkin with “The Three Wise Men” written on it, pen in hand.

I recite, “Taylor T-A-F-T, 7-0-8-5-5-5-2-5-5-3.” I watch carefully as he transcribes on the napkin.

“Now about that drink.” He grabs a glass. “We can’t serve shots, but I can pour you three glasses with a finger each.” His head tilts, and his dark brown eyes search mine for acceptance as he awaits my reply.

“One glass is fine. You can serve it separately as three shots or as an all-in-one drink.” I smile, loving the weight of his dark eyes upon my face while he listens attentively. Hmm... Bartenders really are great listeners. “I’d like two fingers each, please.”

“Hold up!” He looks left then right. He walks to the back then quickly returns behind the bar, his hands empty.

I glance around, trying to understand the cause for his actions. I raise an eyebrow.

He leans his cellphone against an empty glass. I squint to see as he presses record. He smiles at me and explains, “I’m going to record this. They will not believe this drink is what you,” his eyes roam from my head as far down as he can with the bar between us, “order. And they will never believe that you drink it when I describe you to them.” He pours two fingers of Jack first, then Jim Beam. He pauses with Johnnie in his hand. His eyebrows raised, he awaits my affirmation. I nod. He pours two fingers of Johnnie then slides me the tumbler as he ensures it is displayed clearly on his recording cell phone.

I swing the glass in a small circle, stirring the caramel liquid. I rest the rim on my lower lip, look into his curious eyes, then down it in one long, drawn-out drink.

As I place the tumbler upon the bar top, he asks, “Will the lady have another?" His eyes are wide. His grin is gone. It’s as if he truly has no clue what I will do next.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my left hand. “I’ll take a Jack and Coke please.” I risk a glance up.

A sexy smile greets me upon his chiseled face. "Shall I change the channel?" he asks with his slight Latin accent crossing the lips of his smile. His head tilts toward the flatscreen mounted behind the bar.

"I really don't mind," I lie, absentmindedly spinning my ring around my left ring finger. I stare as he turns to make my drink. His black pants cling nicely to his muscular thighs and tight butt. I do my best to not be obvious as I watch him. His rippled arms reach overhead for a clean glass. He turns his back towards me as he clutches the bottle of Jack Daniels Whiskey. He casually runs his fingers through his wavy black hair as he fills the glass with Coke. I nervously look away as he will be delivering my drink.

My eyes dart to my hands. I suddenly realize that I am spinning my ring. Tears begin to well up in my eyes as I remove the engagement ring from my hand. I place the diamond carefully on the used cocktail napkin and then quickly try to wipe the tears from my cheeks. The bartender places another napkin in front of me and then gently places my fresh drink on it.

"Is everything alright?" he quietly asks. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help but notice." He motions towards my tears then to the tiny diamond ring lying on the napkin.

"I'm okay," I slowly assure the stranger. My words do not sound believable. I turn away, wiping more tears from my cheeks. Thoughts of John enter my mind. His sandy blonde hair pulled into a man-bun on top and freshly shaven on the sides and back. Him shirtless as he loved others to witness the rewards of his hard work at the gym. Him proudly crossing his arms across his chest, drawing attention to the dragon with skull tattoo and full sleeves as he strides toward me. His washboard abs flexing, drawing attention to his low-riding jeans. With each step, his abdominal tattoo, ‘Take No Prisoners,’ flashing like a neon sign. I loathe that tattoo almost as much as I detest his knuckle tattoos, which spell out. ‘Hell yeah.” Who even says hell yeah, let alone permanently adorns their very visible hands with the words?

I jump as Jorge stands beside me. "You look like you could use someone to talk to." He glances at the bar then the TV. "I have a 15-minute break. Would you like a little company?" He pauses for a moment. Smiling, he states, "Trust me. It's not a pick-up line. It's been a slow day, and I would welcome the conversation."

I say, “Okay.” Then I immediately wonder what I am thinking. Nothing I have done today is the norm for me. He introduces himself as Jorge, pointing to the nametag I had already noticed. I shake his extended hand, stating I am Taylor. His eyes stare at the engagement ring on the napkin between us. I tell him I just realized I was still wearing the stupid thing.

"I am still wearing mine," he says, showing me his left hand, complete with wedding band. "Rosalynn left me six months ago to move to New York for her dancing career." His slight smile, droopy brown eyes, and wavy, coal black hair lead me to wonder how anyone could ever leave someone so gorgeous. "Rosalynn was my first love. I just can't admit she isn't coming back to me." He twists the gold band. "Besides, it keeps some of the barflies away." He is trying to lighten the mood. "What about you?"

"My story is not as simple." I try to find a way to summarize the last year and a half of my life. I explain I moved to Chicago for work, bringing along my younger college boyfriend. While I speak of our four-year mess of a relationship, he pours another Jack and Coke. He slips away the empty glass I was playing with, replacing it with a fresh one.

“I broke off the engagement about two months ago.” Our eyes meet. I see no pity in his.

“What brings you to the airport today?” He lifts my glass to his plump lips and sips.

I quirk a smile his way.

His brown eyes spark to life as he smiles. “This one’s on me.” He points to my glass now parked on the bar napkin.

“It’d better be,” I tease. “You make a habit of sharing drinks with your customers?”

He chuckles shaking the now empty glass. “Let’s share another.”

I’m on vacation. I might as well. I explain how Jackson and Kennedy bought me a ticket to distract me in Kansas City. Jorge states that fun with good friends is probably exactly what I need right now.

He glances at his watch. “I really must get back to work. Not that anyone else is in the bar.” He saunters behind the counter again. He walks towards me and leans across. “Another drink before you fly to KC?” he offers.

I look at the clock. I have 30 minutes before boarding starts. “I should really get to my gate,” I reply.

“Stop by and see me when you return. Let me know how everything goes,” he pleads.

I want to say no. His sexy smile and the spark in his eyes seal the deal. I know I will stop by upon my return.

I slowly gather my bag and purse. I am acutely aware of his eyes on my back as I prepare to leave. My drinks have warmed my insides and only slightly affected my ability to think and walk. They have taken the edge off. I embrace the feeling. I grab my ring from the napkin, tucking it into my jeans pocket.

With my iPhone in hand, I slowly turn to meet Jorge’s milk chocolate eyes behind the bar. I thank him for the drinks, slide two twenties his way, and promise to drop in next week. He slides me a bar napkin as I walk by. I nervously grab it and head for the terminal without a look back.