Prologue
9 years ago
Charming, California
The night was in full swing, from front to back the room was packed with bodies. Everyone piled around the bar waiting to be served, screaming over the music and chatter of others. The people of Charming would chew off their left arm to get into Deadwood Saloon on a Saturday night. It was an old man's bar by day but at night the music was loud, I was on the bar and every woman had at least one drink in each hand.
I was lucky to work at Deadwood. At 17, I went home with 500 dollars in my pocket every night I served at the bar. Life was good for a runaway with a GED, all I had to do was flirt with customers and dance on the bar with my clothes on. As long as I kept people walking through the door, the owner, Lil, overlooked that I was underage.
"Hey Sar, some guy is asking for you at the end of the bar", my co-worker, Cady yelled over the music.
"Alright!" I called back before handing a beer to the guy I was waiting on. "Four dollars, baby", I collected the patron's crumpled bills with a wink and a smile before making my way to the other end of the bar.
I fought the blush rushing to my face as I laid eyes on him, he was leaning against the bar completely unaffected by the ruckus going on around him. Beautiful didn't even begin to describe him, he looked at me, blue eyes bright and gleaming. At six foot three, Ruger was sitting comfortably in the pure muscle category of life. His muscular arms were covered in colorful ink, the designs stretched over his steel sinews so far that any movement threatened to bust his skin at the seams. The patch reading SONS OF ANARCHY MC, CALIFORNIA emblazoned on his kutte stretched across his back so tightly it didn't seem to fit him.
"Ruger, what do you want?" I rolled my eyes trying to cover up my delight that Ruger had stopped by my job once again.
"Just doing my brother a favor and checking up on you", he said smoothly, his lips pulling back into a smile. God, that smile made me want to melt into my panties.
I rested my hands on the bar, "You do realize that I see and talk to Opie every day, right?"
I didn't know much about Ruger, just that he transferred from the Salt Lake City charter two months prior. Op took a liking to Ruger, at first Opie would bring Ruger around every once in a blue moon. Then he started bringing him to our weekly dinner dates, to Deadwood for drinks, to my house for breakfast. Soon Opie was bringing Ruger around as often as he brought around Jax. Then one day, Ruger started coming around without Opie or any of the other Sons.
"Maybe, I came to get a drink, Sari" He said his smokey voice draped itself around my ears in velvety lush waves. I loved the way my name rolled off his tongue, it sounded the way a summer breeze felt and I couldn't get enough. "Is that a crime?"
"No Ruger, it isn't a crime", I replied with a laugh. "But you've been here every day for the past two weeks and you've never [i]once [/i] ordered a drink."
"Is that so?" Ruger asked, pushing a hand through his long, sandy blonde hair, twisting the tendrils into a messy top knot that made me want to mount him until I couldn't walk. I tried to ignore the heat building in my nether regions at thought of having Ruger flattened against my naked body.
"Yes sir, so order a drink or leave the bar because this is no parking zone, sugar." A smirk played on my full pink lips. Ruger raised his brow in a delicious way and I fought back the urge to sit on his face.
"What do ya got?"
"All my favorite men," I answered leaning in closer. He smelled scrumptious, like leather, sweat, and cigarettes. "Jim, Jack, Johnny Red, Johnny Black, and José. You can have it any way you like it, as long as it's in a shot glass."
Ruger shot me a delicious smirk that almost made my knees give out. "Gimme a shot of Jack."
"Two shots of Jack coming up." I flipped two shot glasses onto the bar top before grabbing the bottle of Jack turning it over the empty glasses. "The second shot is for me of course" I said tossing him a smile.
"Bad idea, babe."
"Don't tell me the big, bad biker is afraid of a little underage drinking?" I teased pushing one of the shots his way.
"Baby girl, I ain't afraid of anything." His bright blues eyes looked right into my brown ones. I felt my face heat up at the direct eye contact. To cover up my pink cheeks I rolled my eyes and grabbed the shot.
"Salud" I tossed back the dark brown liquid without batting an eyelash. Ruger tossed back his shot, slamming the little glass on the bar top. I held my palm open as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "That'll be six dollars"
Ruger chuckled, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. "You just hustled me, babe."
"Nuh-uh, honey if I hustled you like these other douchebags you'd be shit-faced, broke, and asking me to marry you", I said plucking the crisp bills from his large hands.
There was nothing false about this statement. There were many ways to get a man to fall in love with his bartender and Lil made sure I knew them all. Surprisingly none of them had to do with how well you mixed drinks. At its simplest level the game goes like this: I'm your bartender, you come in one afternoon and I have an ice cold Miller Light opened and waiting before you sit down. I ask you questions, I sympathize when needed, make you laugh and berate you when you have your head up your ass. I make you feel like the most important man in the world and in return you love me with all your heart and wallet.
It is a great thing to be a much loved bartender, to be a celebrity within a boozing community. I found that drunken love to be narcotic and as addicting as smack. I was adored by my regulars, they were miserable and at times pathetic. I was the Queen of the Gutter and fuck me if I didn't love that gutter with all my heart.
But with Ruger there was no game, I didn't have to call him pet names, laugh at his lame jokes, or make him feel like the Sultan of Brunei. I was his. From the day he stood in my kitchen and introduced himself, I knew I was his whether I liked it or not. Every time I looked at the stupidly beautiful man, I knew it was true. We hadn't gone on dates, kissed, or even fucked but it was love. An unmovable, inexplicable love.
"Would you marry a man who asked you to marry him after he had a few drinks?"
"If I married every man who asked me after a few drinks", I said, "I would have been gone long ago."
There was a time when I was a novice at Deadwood Saloon where I'd measure a good night by how many marriage proposals I had received. Even though it the stupidest question anyone had ever asked me, I married him anyway.
A/N
This is only the beginning! Let me know what you think
MM