Book A Bartender Novels & Stories

“I guess we’re passing up on that one then. How about the racing games?” My eyes narrow, but before I can say anything, the bartender approaches us—a storky man with bald head and a dragon tattoo that peeks over the flesh of his scalp down to his forehead, with shiny green eyes and a cheeky smile. “Ladies,” he chirps—sounding odd for someone of his size. “What brings you tonight and what can I get you? Remember, code only.” Brie winces beside me and the bartender catches it. His gaze lands on me with renewed interest.

The nurse smiled and assured me she had it under control. “Enjoy yourself, ladies.” Lisa tugged at Tatum’s hand, leading me toward the barstools. The bartender, a shirtless, muscular, deep chocolate brother with dreads, came over to take their order. “Ladies. You’re looking good tonight. What can I get you to drink?” “What about you?” Lisa asked, seductively. I slapped her on the leg. “Ouch!” The bartender gave a soulful laugh. “Sorry, ladies. I’m on the clock, so I can’t partake in any fun.”

Whatever" then she turns to the bartender. "Hey bartender, I never got my club soda, and what do you mean I'm a boring soda kind?" "Sorry lady", he said cleaning the surface "We don't serve just club soda, you've got to mix It". "You're fucking with me right now". "I'm not a lady. It says it there on the sign,” the bartender sends their gaze pointing to the sign that read 'WE SERVE ONLY MIXED DRINKS'. "So, if you want a drink you've got to tell me to mix one for you".

I said to the bartender, my elbow resting on the bar stand. “How many glasses?” Demonstrating with a finger, “Just one. I don’t have a companion.” “Ok.” The bartender reached for a bottle of whiskey and a glass. He served me. “Ice?” “Yes.” He brought some ice, dropping it closer to the bottle. And then he sent his focus to the next person beside me, “Your order, Ma'am.” I paid no more attention to their conversation as I focused on my drink. I reached for the bottle of whiskey, and I took out the cork. I served my glass and gulped down quite a quantity. The words of Brooks played in my head as I laughed hard like a madman.

“The Antonio's club.” Coming out of the cab, I walked into the club, heading to the bar. “What can I get you?” “Vodka, please.” Looking at the bartender, He's handsome with brown eyes and jet-black hair, but he’s not my type. "Could you bring me two more, please?" I called out to the bartender. “The bar guy said they’d be right up. I’ve had about three or four drinks already, and I’m starting to feel a little tipsy, but definitely not drunk yet!”

Carlos entered the dimly lit underground bar, where the energy was high and people swayed to the pulsating beats of the DJ. He let out a sigh and headed straight for a stool at the counter. "I'll have a shot of whiskey, please," he requested, catching the bartender's attention. With a nod, the bartender served him the drink.

he said and pulled out his phone to dial a number. I know I can always count on him, mom will have my eardrum blown off by tomorrow but right now I just didn't care. My mind is piled up with a lot of thinking and endless thoughts, making the headache worse. I turned and called the bartender. The barman approached and loweredhis head in respect to take in our order, Get us cold Everclear, Absinthe, and Bacardi 151," I said and Bronson snapped his head at me before giggling.

"Well, let's just say, your drink and your cake are on the house." "Thanks." I looked around. "So...do you need any help here? It looks busy, and you are short one bartender." "Sure do," he growled. "There's a recipe menu in the drawer right next to you. I'll give you double what I pay an hour if you can get me out of here today."

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, my face reflecting my confusion. "Welcome, Alpha Ares! It's my pleasure to serve you," the bartender said, rubbing his sweaty hands at his side. "What drink can I get for you? We have a wide variety of intriguing cocktails, ranging from the classic old-fashioned, Negroni, Margarita, Daiquiri, whisky sour, Manhattan, and so many more," he rattled off in one rapid sentence. The corners of his lips twitched. Inwardly, I smiled. Until now, I had been oblivious to the commotion my presence caused.

Kate asked the bartender, who handed us two glasses and a bottle of expensive whiskey. The bartender, a curly-haired man with tattoos on his arms, tilted his head. "Usually at this hour he'll come down to check. It's also rare because Boston isn't his home." "Where's his home?" I asked him. "Los Angeles." The bartender replied. I nodded slowly, poured the whiskey into the glass and took a slow sip. "What if he's not here?" I asked. "Then we will go, and I guess you'll have to steal his contacts from Sebastian phone," she replied.