Chapter 1

My feet were killing me and my back ached as I struggled to hold a full case of beer with one arm while opening the door with the other.

"Hurry the hell up!" A gruff voice growled from behind me. Shooting a look over my shoulder I could see Shaun, my manager, juggling three heavy cases of beer.

"Damn," I smiled, holding open the door between the storeroom and the darkened bar where we worked. "You make me look like a wimp."

"You are." Shaun said with all the straightforwardness he possessed. He dumped his cases of beer on the bar and reached to take mine. "I'll fill the coolers if you do the paperwork."

"Hell, yeah!" I grinned broadly, grabbing the calculator, tip jar, and cash drawer. I settled myself at the bar to muddle through the calculations; the musical clink of beer bottles and the dull thud of cooler doors opening and closing the only sound in the now empty bar.

No offence to customers, but closing time is really the best part of being a bartender. The dark, cool, and silent end of the night is what we live for, especially after a busy shift. It had been a particularly crazy Sunday. NFL Division finals had meant a full bar all afternoon and late into the evening, resulting in a steady stream of drink orders from both customers at the bar and the waitresses on the floor which turned into a veritable avalanche at halftime and between games.

Anyone who has ever worked bar knows how exciting it can be when the patrons are in a friendly and generous mood and you get the rhythm right. Bartending is like a crazy, hectic, hot, and stressful dance and most days I love it. Working with Shaun was a pleasure. He might be the manager, but he had no qualms about getting behind the bar to lend a hand; after four years of working together the two of us had established a rhythm when we were behind the taps which was smooth, efficient, and satisfying. I'd rather work with Shaun than anyone.

The columns of figures added up, the till balanced out, and the pile of tips to divide between the two of us was pleasantly large. All-in-all, it had been a great night.

The cool glass of a bottle of beer sliding into my hand drove numbers straight out of my head. I didn't have to glance up to know it was an icy green bottle of Moosehead; my favourite.

"You, Sir, are a prince among men." I looked up from my paperwork in time to see Shaun shoot me a cocky grin, his own bottle of Alexander Keith's at his lips; tipping it back he took a long drink. "Cheers!" I laughed, and did the same.

There is precious little in this world that can top that first swig of ice cold beer after a long, hard shift. I never understood the women who came into the bar and ordered cosmopolitans or daiquiris — give me a frosty, cold beer any day and I'm a happy girl.

Sighing, I tilted my head back, pulled out the elastic holding my ponytail in place, and relaxed. "That's your half." I said, pushing a pile of bills and change towards Shaun as he sat down on the barstool next to mine.

"Nice." He settled back with a sigh of his own, shucking off his uniform golf shirt to reveal the Guinness t-shirt underneath. "How much?"

"$147.36"

"Seriously? Holy shit!" Shaun grinned. "Good job."

"Couldn't have done it without you," I admitted. "Thanks for the help."

Shaun shrugged. "Gets me out of the office; got to watch a little football; no problem."

I'd always liked his straightforward approach. Shaun was a man of few words, usually a little too serious, and always intently focussed during business hours. A lot of the wait staff didn't like him, not just because he was a couple of years older than most of us, but because he actually took his job seriously and was damn good at it too. Mac's couldn't function without Shaun, a fact that even Mac, the owner, would freely admit to. Once closing rolled around though, Shaun was generally the first to relax, kick back, and crack open a beer or two.

"Are all the other girls gone?" Shaun asked, looking over his shoulder at the dark and empty room behind us.

"Yup." I took a pull of my beer. "It's a Skinny Bitch-free zone."

Shaun laughed gruffly. "I wish you wouldn't call them that. They're waitstaff." He stressed the title with slight derision.

"They're skinny bitches and you know it." I laughed too. "Some of those girls don't know the difference between a Manhattan and a Shirley Temple. I wish Mac would hire a waitress whose brain was actually bigger than her tits for once."

"That's why he has you."

I punched Shaun playfully on the arm. "Thanks. And I will have you know there is nothing wrong with the size of my breasts."

The cocky grin was back, paired with a flirtatious appraisal. "I know."

"It's these damn uniforms." I pulled at the ugly navy blue fabric of my golf shirt. "They do nothing for a girl's figure."

"You could wear the waitstaff t-shirts." Shaun suggested laughingly.

"Fat chance," I snorted. Mac had bought the waitresses these little babydoll t-shirts which could give the ones worn by Hooter girls a run for their money. I'd never admitted to Shaun that I had tried one on once, but couldn't get comfortable with having 'Mac's' plastered tightly across my chest. On the Skinny Bitches they looked alright, but I outweighed the gaggle of size four waitresses by at least twenty pounds, so I stuck to the golf shirts worn by the male staff; they at least were comfortable, although much detested.

"Why are you still wearing the damn thing if you hate it so much?" Shaun asked, correctly guessing my frame of mind.

"Good point." I laughed, drawing the golf shirt off as Shaun went behind the bar to grab two more beers; the first one always went down too quickly. It was much cooler in the dark bar with just my white tank top on, but it felt good to have the uniform off.

Seated again, Shaun passed me my fresh beer before reaching past me to grab the television remote. The warmth of his arm brushing mine made me jump; goosebumps rose on my skin.

Grinning broadly, Shaun sat back and turned on the television over the bar, turning up the volume on TSN. "I know, I know." He sighed. "We watched football all day. We were working remember? I just want to see the highlights."

"Okay," I conceded. "But afterwards I want to know why you were such a grumpy bastard earlier in the shift."

That drew a glare from Shaun, but he nodded curtly. He had been unusually grumpy when he'd first come in, slamming glasses down on the bar and just generally being a bear to everyone but the customers. After four years of working together I was accustomed to Shaun's dark moods, and I'd even put up with them if he gave me a good reason to.

We sat in companionable silence, drinking our beer and watching football highlights; Shaun automatically explaining aloud the more complicated aspects of the game to me. He'd been trying to get me into football since we first met, and while my appreciation for the game had grown, I still didn't really get it. That didn't bother me as much as it did him, I was more of a hockey fan anyway, but I let him talk out the plays and decipher the calls for me; it seemed to relax him.

Once football highlights were over, TSN switched to basketball; Shaun hit mute and with a hand on the high backrest of my bar stool, swivelled me around to face him, our knees touching. His hazel eyes were serious. "Lisa and I broke up."

"Ah, shit Shaun. Really? I'm sorry."

He shrugged, reaching for his beer. He rolled the frosty bottle between his palms, eyes downcast.

"What a bitch, breaking up with you before you came in to work." I patted Shaun's knee, unsure how to be comforting to someone who usually kept their feelings pretty well hidden.

"Actually, it was three weeks ago."

"Are you fucking kidding?" I gasped. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It never came up. What was I supposed to say? 'Hi, how are you? How was your day off? Did you see the game last night? Oh, and by the way, Lisa dumped my ass'?"

It was my turn to look hurt. "It would have been nice to know." My retort sounded harsher in the dark, empty room than it should have. "I thought we were friends."

"We are," Shaun assured me, cracking a reluctant grin. "I'm better off without her anyway."

I returned his smile. "Hell, yeah. So if it's been three weeks why the grumpy bastard routine earlier today?"

"She called this afternoon."

"What did she want? To get back together?" I took a long swig of my beer. I'd forgotten I had one.

"I don't know. At first I thought that's what she wanted, she was being all nice and sweet. Chatty." He paused.

"And?"

"And then she asked if I still had her U2 CD."

"Fucking bitch."

He laughed. "The bitchiest."

"She's the Queen Bitch." I patted his knee again. "Don't worry, there are plenty more bitches out there for you to chose from; in fact, a large number of them are employed here."

Shawn shook his head. "Nope, no more Skinny Bitches for me."

Laughing, I clinked my beer bottle against his. "Cheers to that!"

Shaun swivelled my stool around so I was facing the television again, but kept his arm slung across the back. We returned to watching sports highlights, this time with the volume off; the silence between us was comfortable. I leaned against the backrest of my bar stool; Shaun's arm was solid and warm, his hand rested against my bare arm.

"You know what I miss the most?" Shaun asked after a time.

"Having someone to change the toilet paper roll?" I quipped, pleased by his deep rumble of laughter.

"Yeah, well other than that?" He waited for me to respond.

"I don't know, what?"

"Kissing."

"Kissing Lisa?"

"No, not really. I just miss kissing and having someone to kiss whenever I want."

The admission left me speechless for a moment. Shaun had really hit home. My boyfriend and I had split three months prior and I'd been single ever since. I certainly didn't miss Peter, but I missed things about having a boyfriend. Like kissing.

"Do you miss Peter?" He asked, as if reading my mind. Shaun knew my ex only slightly and freely admitted to never having liked him.

"No." I confessed. "Not anymore." I glanced over at Shaun quickly before looking away. He was grinning again. "I do miss the oral sex though."

My remark must have caught Shaun by surprise; he choked on his beer.

Laughing, I mopped up the beer he'd spilled on the bar with a few cocktail napkins. Shaun sat speechless, his hazel eyes wide.

"What?" I laughed. "I do."

"I never thought I'd hear you say that," Shaun admitted, when his breathing returned.

It was my turn to shrug. "Once you've been single for a while, you'll agree with me."

"Fuck. I've only been single three weeks and I already agree with you. Mind you, Lisa wasn't too keen on that particular request anyway."

"Aww. You poor man." I shot Shaun a teasing grin. He laughed but said nothing. The silence stretched between us again, still as relaxed as earlier despite the fact we'd just been discussing oral sex. For some reason, even though we'd never been there before, the changing tack of our conversation seemed natural. Maybe it was the beer.