The Quit List: A Romantic Comedy, page 3
Jax takes a glug of his—my—wine, then sets the glass down on the table. “Absolutely, I do. It’s a fundamental part of my job to keep my patrons, both present and future, safe from creeps. Bartender with a cause, over here.”
“My hero,” I joke.
“What made you go out with that guy, anyway? Was it a blind date or something?”
“More like a dating app match gone wrong.”
“And you matched with him because…”
“He had all his teeth and didn’t send me dick pics?”
This draws a laugh from him—deep and throaty and slightly rough, like sandpaper—which, in turn, sets off an unexpected glow of pride, deep in my belly. It’s nice to make someone laugh. Keith didn’t think anything I said was funny.
“Wow. You’re setting the bar high there, Holly. You might want to ask next week’s date a few more questions about himself before agreeing to meet in person.”
I tilt my head at him quizzically. “What makes you think I have a date next week?”
“Well, you’re here every Saturday night. Always with a different guy. I figured you were a bit of a player.” He winks at me as he says this, and the silence that follows this statement is very, very loud as I realize that the man sitting opposite me most likely is an actual badass certified player—takes one to know one, right?
Even if his assumption is very, very wrong.
I assess Wolf Man with objective eyes for the first time. He’s my age, or maybe a little younger, AKA in the prime of his twenties. He’s a freaking hot bartender at a gorgeous and trendy downtown restaurant.
Of course he’s a player. Probably has a steady stream of waitresses and patrons lining up for a piece of the guy with the sexy beard and a penchant for saving damsels in distress from misogynistic a-holes.
Better to look like a fellow player than someone who’s entirely desperate.
And so, I force out the creakiest, most alarming sound I’ve ever heard come from my own mouth. “You got me,” I say through my forced laugh. “Big player over here.”
Jax gives me a look. Like he isn’t quite buying my player status now that he’s actually talked to me.
Busted.
I throw my hands up, and for the second time this evening, find myself leveling the truth with a man sitting opposite me. This red wine, I tell you! “I’m lying. I’m not a player. I’m a woman on a hunt to find someone—find the one. Which is why I seem to be playing Russian Roulette every Saturday night, hoping I’m not going to be dining opposite the Hillside Strangler.”
Jax is expressionless, his face like a lake of calm, neutral water. But unlike Keith’s unresponsiveness, I don’t get the sense this guy is flat-out ignoring me, but more… reading me.
His silent-but-calm demeanor seems to spur me on and I rest my head in my hands. “I figured I’d have to kiss a few frogs to find a prince. I’m not totally clueless. But I feel like I’m pretty much living in Frogland these days.”
“The guy who just left was more of a toad than a frog,” Jax supplies helpfully. Not.
“How was I supposed to know that? His stupid Spark profile said that he was looking for love.”
“Which is code for: he’s looking to get laid.”
He’s exactly right, of course. But I’m not about to admit that to him. “Well, why not say that?!”
“People lie.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You seem to know an awful lot about this topic.”
He smirks. “I don’t need to lie.”
I bet you don’t.
“Nor would I ever want to,” he continues. “But some people are just assholes.”
“Agreed. If only it was easier to spot said assholes before you meet them at a fancy restaurant.”
I must sound more upset than I mean to, because when Jax speaks again, his tone is gentler. “It is easy if you know how to read people. Figure out their intentions before they make you believe the image of themselves that they’re portraying on the internet.”
I almost laugh out loud. Because if I couldn’t figure out for so long that it wasn’t going to happen with Dylan, I imagine that guessing the intentions of random men on the internet is probably not my forte, either.
“And how, exactly, would you propose I do that?” I tilt my head at Jax, skeptical of this sexy bartender who doesn’t need to lie to get all the girls flocking to him.
He shrugs. “Lower the stakes. For the first date, go for coffee, or a walk somewhere public, or for a drink. That way it’s less time consuming for you, easier to bail if the guy’s a creep…” He nods at the receipt on the table. “And easier on your wallet.”
“What makes you think that these men aren’t wining and dining me?”
“Because I saw your name on the credit card receipt, remember?”
Oh, yeah…
Jax polishes off his glass of wine, and then stands. “I gotta get back to work.” He’s looking down at me with a strange expression that’s somewhere between amused and bemused. “You got a safe ride home?”
I wave my phone at him. “My Lyft awaits. And my driver has a five-star rating so I assume she’s not the Hillside Strangler. Or on the sex offender list.”
“Stay clear of unmarked white vans on your way outside and you should be fine.”
I give him a little salute as I get to my feet. “Roger that.”
“Oh, one more thing before you go…”
Without waiting for my response, he jogs off behind a couple of swinging black doors that must lead into the bistro’s back of house. This would be the perfect time to escape Jax and his judgy stares, but I find myself waiting obediently, curiosity getting the best of me.
A few moments later, he reappears holding a pale blue box.
I blink at him. “What’s that?”
“You always end your dates with cheesecake.” He presses the box into my hands and looks at me kindly. Too kindly.
“That’s… more than a little weird that you know that.”
“I think the words you are looking for are ‘thank you.’” He smiles like he’s thoroughly amused.
“Oh, yes. Weird, but also thank you,” I say, trying not to think about the fact that he’s probably picturing me going home and sob-eating the cheesecake with a giant serving spoon while watching Bridget Jones’s Diary. Which isn’t my plan at all.
If anything, it’ll be He’s Just Not That Into You—AKA the story of my life.
“Good luck, Holly. It was nice meeting you.”
“Likewise.” I’m surprised to realize that I kind of mean it. “And thank you for saving me from Keith.”
“His name was Keith?”
I nod. He sighs.
“Do me one favor, Holly?”
“Sure.” I shrug. “I owe you one.”
“Do better.”
4
JAX
I stay out of other people’s business, as a general rule. Keep my opinions and problems to myself and trust that those around me will do the same.
But sometimes, it gets to be more than a man can take, and you get to the point where you’re obliged—forced, really—to step in. Save someone from a situation and/or from themself.
“What was that?” Dante—who does the opposite of staying out of other people’s business, as a general rule—leans his elbows on the bar, looking at me with big bug eyes.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” I shrug as I scan the next drink order and pour two pints of beer and a glass of Sauvignon Blanc.
When I started this shift a few hours ago, my plan was simply to get through it in relative peace and quiet, stop at home to pick up my dog and my things, and then head to the cabin for my weekend. Usually, if I can leave Atlanta by 2AM, I can get there sometime before dawn and watch the sunrise. In peace.
But unfortunately, the "peace and quiet" I was hoping for on this shift has been totally derailed first by Morris’s phone call, then by Holly-the-bad-dater, and now, by Dante's clearly incoming line of questioning.
Because, for some reason, he takes my non-committal response as a cue to keep talking.
“I’ve never seen you help a customer like that before.”
“Sure you have,” I reply. Which is true. I’ve kicked out many drunk and disorderly people—after food service finishes around 10PM, the bar stays open late on weekends and things can get rowdy. The second any idiot guy even thinks about putting his hands on a woman without her consent, I throw them out on their ass immediately.
But I can’t say I’ve ever had to intervene while someone was on a freaking sit-down dinner date.
Dante’s still staring at me like I’ve grown three heads. “You went right over there, kicked her date out, and sat down with her. And then, if that wasn’t already totally unlike you, you brought her cake.”
“Her date was a future star of America’s Most Wanted.” What I don’t say is that seeing her over there—looking so vulnerable next to that huge, angry man—triggered something in me.
“But the cake,” he repeats, going on like a broken record. “I’ve never, ever, in all the years I’ve worked here, seen you bring anyone cake…” Dante trails off, apparently painfully lost in thought. Then, he snaps his fingers—apparently having a lightbulb moment. “I get it. You’re hitting that.”
I raise a tired brow at him. “I’m most definitely not. And don’t say ‘hitting that.’”
“Well, I can’t exactly say hitting her, can I? Because that would give things a bit of a dark turn.”
I snort. “How about you don’t say that either, then?”
Dante points at me, grinning like a fool. “You’re totally hitting that.”
“I’m about to hit you if you don’t shut up.”
“Is that why she’s been coming here on all those dates? Trying to make you jealous?”
“That sounds like the plot of a bad rom com movie,” I say as I get to work on a French Martini. My sister, Maddie, grew up addicted to those films, and I appear to have absorbed some of their fluffy, ridiculous plotlines by proxy.
“I’d watch it.”
Dante cranes his neck to look at Holly’s retreating figure and I follow his gaze as Holly steps outside and pulls her jacket on. Her petite frame appears small and slight as she shivers against the cold, even with the addition of those heels that she’s wearing. It draws the sudden urge in me to run after her and check that she is, indeed, getting in a Lyft, and not an unmarked white van.
The woman seems to have zero survival instinct.
My jaw tenses at the memory of her staring down that drunken fool, a wide-eyed guppy as he closed in like a hungry shark.
I wanted nothing more than to punch Keith in the face when I saw him intimidate her like that. I saw his moves a mile off—he was keeping quiet to not make a scene, while he simultaneously made Holly feel like she was alone and out of options. I knew that song and dance by heart before I hit middle school, watching how my father behaved with my mom, and then his second wife.
The only thing that stopped me from swinging was the fact that the bistro is, at present, housing over a hundred patrons—including a large table of burly guys who look like they would be all too happy to get involved in a throwdown.
I wanted to teach the guy a lesson, not incite a riot.
“Does she know that you’re still seeing Laurel?” Dante asks out of the corner of his mouth, as though Holly can somehow hear us from all the way outside the bistro.
“I’m only seeing Laurel,” I say honestly with a roll of my eyes. The only dating I do is the casual kind, but I don’t do the dating-multiple-women-at-the-same-time thing. I add a shot of Chambord and some pineapple juice to the ice-filled shaker in front of me. “Not that it even matters. I was just helping Holly out like any decent person would have.”
“Holly… Hot name, too. Well, if you’re not interested, do you mind if I go outside and have a quick chat with her? Show her what boyfriend material looks like?” He smooths his hands down his shirt, basically preening.
“Be my guest.”
But somehow, I get the feeling that Dante wouldn’t get too far with Holly. She surprised me—she’s always so fashionably dressed and perfectly-put together… I wasn’t expecting the sarcastic, self-deprecating humor, the quick-witted teasing, the awkward mannerisms.
I can’t help but wonder what, exactly, a woman like that is looking for when she says she’s looking for the one. Or why she’s bothering to look at all.
“What’re you guys talking about?” We look over to see Kara, one of the waitresses, standing in front of the bar with her hands on her hips.
“Just finishing the drink order for your table,” I say swiftly, not wanting to dwell on the woman and her bad date anymore. I have other things to think about. “It’ll be a minute.”
“I have time.” She catches my eye and winks flirtily.
I nod back. Dante, on the other hand, treats her to a full-faced grin, coupled with a strategic bicep flex as he leans forward on the counter. “Looking good, Kara,” he drawls, all thoughts of Holly apparently forgotten.
My fellow bartender is a great guy, but sometimes I feel like his entire personality is chasing women. He’s a good-looking dude. Suave and charming, too. And he’s dated pretty much every female staff member in this restaurant… with the noticeable exception of Kara, who has made it clear from day one that she has eyes for nobody but me.
Which isn’t ideal for her because I don’t date coworkers. Or friends. Or friends of friends. Another general rule of mine. I only date women I’m not tied to personally or professionally and who are looking for the same thing as I am: no strings.
Strings are for puppets.
The one and only time I briefly dated one of the waitresses here, she spent the next few months cornering me in the stock room and tearfully telling me that she hoped I’d change my mind about wanting a serious relationship.
And as much as I hated to see her cry, I hadn’t.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I didn’t think she was good enough for me. Not at all. In fact, most women I’ve dated have been way, way too good for me. It’s just that I don’t want to fall in love with anyone.
And, deep down, I know that they don’t really want to fall in love with me, either.
I’m the temporary distraction, not the happily ever after.
So, now, I do everyone a favor by sticking to my rules and only dating women like Laurel—a flight attendant with no desire for anything to hold her in one place for long.
And speaking of Laurel…
I’m pretty sure she’s in town next week, and while I’d like to see her, I should probably be working on some of the stuff Morris was talking about.
Although, Morris did say that I should get some experience leading beginners, and I’m fairly certain that Laurel hasn’t been on a hike in the area. Or any area—she doesn’t seem like the hiking type.
Maybe I could take her to the cabin for an adventurous date? That way, I could spend some time with her and get some of that wilderness guiding experience Morris was talking about.
The thought calms some of the overwhelm I’ve been feeling since that phone conversation.
I strain the shaken vodka and Chambord mixture into a chilled martini glass and set it alongside the other drinks on the tray, and then add a shot of Patron to complete the order. “Here you go, Kara. That should be everything.”
“Thanks, Jax.” Kara smiles.
“Not gonna thank me?” Dante pouts.
It’s Kara’s turn to raise a perfectly groomed eyebrow at Dante. “What would I thank you for?”
“My compliment, of course,” he says flirtily.
“Not sure it’s much of a compliment. I always look good.” Kara smirks, flips her hair, and picks up the tray of drinks before sashaying away, hips swinging.
“Yeah, you do!” Dante calls after her.
I elbow him. “Be cool, dude. And put your tongue back in your mouth.”
“I think I might have a chance! Wanna see if she and Erin feel like getting drinks after work?”
“No.”
“No” is my favorite complete sentence, and in my opinion, people don’t utilize it enough.
Other people, that is. I have no problem saying no at any given time, for any given reason.
“Suit yourself,” Dante says. “Maybe they’ll want a menage a trois with me for the evening.”
“Unlikely.”
“You’re such a pessimist,” he responds, and for a moment, the overwhelmed feeling that’s been sitting in my chest since my call with Morris eases.
I like Dante, but sometimes, I really cannot wait to get out of here.
And maybe he’s right. Maybe I can be pessimistic, and my solution is to stop being negative and simply take things step by step. One at a time.
I’ll find some quiet time to talk to Orlagh, my manager, and give my resignation. I’ll take Laurel for a hike or two to sharpen my guiding skills. And I’ll ask my sister to point me in the right direction with marketing.
Before I know it, I’ll be out of here and this place will be a distant memory…
Though a little part of me might miss seeing who the hell Holly turns up with on the next Saturday night.
5
HOLLY
Do better.
Jax’s kinda mean but well-intended (I think) words are still ringing in my ears as I grab my keys and unlock the door of the bungalow Aubrey and I share.
We’ve been renting this place together for the past three years, but our lease is up in the summer and she’s been talking about moving in with Alec, her ER Doctor in Shining Armor. Which makes sense—they’re getting married soon.
I, meanwhile, will be striking out on my own. I won’t be able to afford to pay the rent here on my own, and I don’t want to live with a stranger, so I guess I can add “apartment hunting” to my to-do list before I turn thirty.
