The Bartender Novels & Stories

I felt my blood boil and my hands curl painfully into a fist as he walked closer with a smug yet venomous look on his face. He nodded over to the bartender and then the bartender looked at me with a quirked eyebrow as if he had already put the pieces together. "Bartender, please get me a scotch. We're celebrating." He said with a smug sing-songy voice and the bartender - whom I still didn't know his name - looked over to me with a look on his face that said is he fucking serious? "First of all Mr. Bigshot, this is my bar and I serve whoever I want to serve. So, either you keep it down and let the

A bartender in a tux approached me, his expression revealing irritation as he looked me up and down, clearly unimpressed by my appearance. “What can I get for you?” he asked, his voice flat and uninviting. “I’ll have a bottled water,” I said, my eyes drifting to the wooden board behind him that displayed the menu. “And a hamburger,” I added, hoping to satisfy my growling stomach. He nodded and walked away, leaving me to absorb the vibrant atmosphere around me.

Something is off and I can feel it in the air. I take a sip of my drink and search the room for the guy with the tablet. I don’t spot him. Instead I spot the old bartender. He’s seated on a single sofa and drinking a glass of scotch. He’s not dressed in uniform. He doesn’t see me but I see him. Is this customary? Do employees just sit around whenever they like? I catch a glimpse of the man with the tablet and call him. He approaches me slowly, and something about him reeks of…dare I say despair?

He settled onto a stool at the sleek marble bar, seeking comfort in the sophistication that surrounded him. Noah watched as the skilled mixologists artfully crafted cocktails that danced with vibrant colors and intoxicating aromas. He ordered a concoction that promised a tantalizing blend of flavors, hoping it would help numb the ache in his heart. The bartender's expert hands gracefully prepared the drink, infusing it with a touch of magic and care. With each sip, he savored the complex layers, momentarily finding respite from the storm within.

I park my bike, swing my leg off the frame, and stride inside. The bar’s dark and dingy, just the way I like it. As I storm across the concrete floor, every patron lifts their head to look at me, no doubt feeling the energy I leave in my wake as I pass their tables or booths. The bartender, a swarthy panther shifter named Dagger, looks up when I stalk toward the steel and carbon bar-top at the back of the pub.

“Rough night?” The voice was low and smooth. I looked up. The bartender standing in front of me was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair pushed back from his face and sleeves rolled to his elbows. His forearms were dusted with dark hair and marked with faint ink. He had the kind of easy smile that probably got him plenty of tips and trouble in equal measure. “Rough year,” I muttered, dragging my wet hair out of my eyes. “Whiskey.” He didn’t reach for the well bottle. Instead he grabbed something nicer, poured two fingers, and slid the glass across to me. “On the house.”

I then stopped. "Good morning everyone," I greeted them; allowing them to see I was not here to punish anyone. They all greeted me and get back to whatever they were doing. "So, what can I get you Mr. Bates?" an old grey hair bartender asked me. "Just a beer," I answered him. As I took notice of everyone within the bar. "Here you go, alpha," the bartender gave me the beer.

he said as he dedicated a toast to me. I eyed him suspiciously. I refused to believe that he'd said that out of the kindness of his own heart. He looked dejected. "I'm genuinely happy for you, Olivia. I'm sorry for what I did earlier. I was heavily intoxicated and acted too rashly." After a long period of hesitation, I ultimately accepted the glass of red wine that Blaise was offering me. Immediately after I'd taken a small sip of the drink, my head started to spin and my body felt weak.

A tired-looking bartender was wiping down the counter, his face etched with exhaustion. "Whiskey, neat," I requested, taking a seat at the bar. The bartender silently poured me a drink, his attention focused on the television screen playing a silent movie. I took a sip, momentarily soothing the ache in my chest with the burning sensation of the alcohol. "You seem troubled," the bartender remarked, breaking the silence. "Just reflecting on my past," I whispered in response. The bartender nodded, his gaze still fixed on the television screen. "We all have our own ghosts," he murmured, barely audible

The universe worked in mysterious ways. She has been killing herself for the past two days trying to cook up ways to meet and seduce this man, and here he is willingly presenting himself. Who ever thought it would be this easy. “Hello?? Uhm.” The bartender said, clearing his throat. “Lady and gentleman, I’m still here, you know, right in front of you in case you forgot or have not noticed.” “Nope, we did not forget, now would you stop interrupting?” Damien replied.