You and tequila make me crazy;
Run like poison in my blood.
One more night could kill me, baby.
One is one too many.
One more is never enough.
'You and Tequila' - Kenny Chesney feat. Grace Potter
A bowl of popcorn and a bottle of cold beer, decent but not the best he's ever had, leave Joe Longo sufficiently prepared to enjoy a movie in the comfortable silence of a mostly empty house. Lennox and Ryder were both upstairs with snacks and drinks to do homework and soon Mel would be on her way out for a date. He's settled on the couch in front of his movie of choice, beer in hand and popcorn on the cushion beside him when she sweeps down the stairs.
"How do I look?"
Her voice is soft and sultry as she waits for him to offer her an off-handed comment about how she must be looking to get lucky but his dark eyes only glitter in astonishment at the sexy, elegant figure that stands before him and he feels like he has to stand up, if only to admire the gorgeous blonde properly. Her lithe body is encased in a sheath of form-fitting black silk, stopping short a few inches above her knees. A pair of wine colored velvet pumps elevate her to her a taller height; dark polish gleaming up at him from her toe-nails. Soft blonde curls swept over one shoulder offer him a jaw-dropping view of the beautiful curve of her neck and the diamond studs glittering in her ears.
"You look..." His voice abandons him and the oxygen leaves his lungs, rendering him incapable of any kind of speech. "Wow! Mel, you look, uh, astonishing!"
She smiles in giddy excitement as she turns toward the desk to gather up the silver clutch that waits for her there. She drops her keys and phone into the small purse and snaps it shut before turning to him with an unsure grin. "Are you sure you don't mind watching the kids tonight?"
"It's fine, Mel." Joe brushes her off with a casual wave. "Don't worry about it."
The smile that curls her mouth further upward, crinkling the corners of her eyes, is one of warmth and of gratitude. Seeing her standing before him in a sweep of black silk and staring at him demurely through long, mascara-darkened eyelashes, it's with considerable will-power that he stops himself from doing something stupid - not that kissing her would be stupid, he just doesn't think it proper right now, when she's about to go on a date and he's about to watch Liam Neeson search for his kidnapped daughter.
The moment, unintentional and tender, is broken by the doorbell.
"That'll be my date." Mel motions vaguely with her hands, stumbling clumsily to the door. "I gotta -"
"It's fine." Joe's soft voice is all he can manage, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Go."
She opens the door, smiles that breathtaking smile at her date before latching onto his arm and letting him pull her out of the house. The door slams behind her and his head drops, chin tucking into his chest. He hadn't seen but a glimpse of the man who had acquired the honor of escorting Mel Burke to some fancy restaurant for the evening, but if Mel had a smile that big just leaving with him, he could only imagine what the man looked like.
xxx
A glass tumbler slides across a splintered bar; amber liquid sloshing over the rim, running down onto the wood of the bar. It was like liquid fire slinking down his throat, a burning torrent of mind-numbing pain that for a good ten seconds seered away the memories. His knuckles turn white; fingers unconsciously tightening around the tumbler as he slammed it back down onto the bar. He closed his eyes and let the tequila burn the memories from the back of his eyelids.
It only worked for a little while.
"Another." His dark eyes glitter dangerously; his drunkenness presenting itself in the darkness of a seedy bar just outside the city of Toledo.
The bartender stared at him with an intensity in his blue-green eyes that spoke of how much of an idiot he thought the drunken tequila shooter was but he said nothing. He was a burly man with graying brown hair tucked neatly into an elastic at the base of his neck and electric blue-green eyes. A tattered t-shirt, one that had seen the bartender through a fair share of bar brawls, was paired with equally tattered jeans and a faded, torn leather vest. His voice rumbles thickly when he speaks; "What's your name, son?"
"Longo," The tequila sloshes down his throat in a fiery jolt of cold amber. "Uh, Joe Longo."
The bartender shook his head as he easily ripped the bar-rag off of the splinter it had gotten snagged on and tossed it over his shoulder. He grabbed the bottle of Cuervo Tequila and made his way over to his last customer of the night. He poured some more liquid into the tumbler and slammed the bottle down; "Well, Joe, I'm David."
"Nice to meet you, David." Joe's dark eyes are red and glassy; evidence of his reacquaintance with Jose Cuervo.
"Listen, son, you ain't exactly the kind of guy I see in this bar a lot." David stares pointedly at Joe's leather jacket, t-shirt and jeans - all marks of a casual night but his jeans cost more than the bartender's entire wardrobe, his shirt was wasn't tattered and his leather jacket wasn't faded or torn in random places. Casual but expensive - clothes he had bought when he was still a broker. It wasn't exactly attire worn to the darker, seedier bars that the outskirts of Toledo had to offer.
"I'd normally go to a broker bar in Toledo but, uh," Joe hesitates to spill his guts to the bartender. "Toledo isn't exactly where I want to be right now."
"Women giving you trouble?" David asks knowingly - he's seen men like Joe before, given not this well dressed, in fact he can remember some that weren't dressed at all, but he has seen this before. They come in a jealous rage, wanting to forget their troubles but still leave in the same state they arrived in.
"My boss went out on a date." Joe mutters darkly, his voice thickly coated with a jealousy he rarely let show.
"This ain't that kind of bar, man." David shakes his head, holding his hands up.
"No, you don't understand. My boss is a woman." Joe sighs, staring at the half-empty shot glass on the bar. "I work for Councilwoman Burke. I help her take care of her niece and nephew."
"And you're in love with her?"
"Not exactly." It's not the best lie he's ever told but he's far too drunk to come up with a better one. Maybe it's the tequila lowering his inhibitions, maybe it's something else, something that he tries to hide. The feelings that always knotted in his stomach whenever she went out on a date, whenever his chances with her diminished. Whatever it is, it compells him to spill his story to the bartender. "I'm divorced, David. Have been for three years now. I always thought that, that would be the worst thing that could happen to me, you know, I lost all of my money but I didn't care about that. I lost my wife and that hurt. But tonight, that seemed like nothing."
"Divorces are hard, son, but take it from me. Seeing the woman you love go out with another man is the hardest thing you will ever witness." David tells him, dropping the rag onto the bar. "But sitting in a bar, drinking an entire bottle of tequila is the worst remedy. If you don't like the situation, fix it."
"I can't fix it. She doesn't feel the same way I do." Joe shakes his head, tossing back the last of his liquor. "She doesn't like me at all."
"How do you know?"
"She's told me. Several times." Joe laughs slightly, the notion of Melanie Burke feeling anything other than animosity toward him is ridiculous to him, even now.
"How do you know her feelings haven't changed?" David poses the question Joe was so hoping he wouldn't.
"I know her. I know her better than I know myself." Joe shrugs it off, "And anyway, I suppose I should be grateful. If it wasn't for her, who knows where I'd be."
"She must not hate you that bad." David raises an eyebrow in clear skepticism.
"She hired me out of necessity. I needed a job and she needed someone to help around the house." Joe smiles despite himself. "I volunteered and she agreed. It was easy enough, at first. Hating her but now..."
"You both need time."
"Joe! There you are!"
The sound of his boss' voice rips through his drunken haze like a light through fog. She's the only way he's going to get home safely. He could take a taxi but he's so far gone, he fears he'd blurt out the wrong address and end up at some stranger's house - or worse, his ex-wife's house. God help him. He looks over at her, barely tilting his head away from the shot of liquor in front of him. It's enough to see that she's still swathed in that black silk number. It's enough to know that she looks haggard in the dull lighting of the bar and that she's been crying off and on.
"Mel?" Joe manages to keep the slurry voice at bay. "What's wrong?"
"The kids called. They said you left." Mel sighs, hopping up onto the barstool next to him with a graceful sweep of her hips, despite the burgundy death traps on her feet. "My date sucked."
"What happened?" Joe slides the tequila over to her, knowing that she needs it more than he does.
"He's just not who I thought he was." Mel spins the tumbler between her fingers, listening to the scrape of glass against wood. The amber liquid swirls in the glass, sloshing against the side and up over the rim of the glass, onto her perfectly manicured nails. "He's too much of a jerk, even for me."
"You deserve better." Joe drops his head onto his hand, propping up on his elbow.
"I know." Mel smiles up at him sweetly, "You tell me all the time."
"I mean it." Joe smiles genuinely.
"Let me drive you home?" Mel offers, her piercing blue gaze focused intently on his red-rimmed brown eyes. She jumps down from her barstool and offers her hand, waiting for him to decide if he wants to risk riding in the car with her.
"Yeah." Joe nods, sliding off of his barstool. He slips his hand into her much smaller, paler hand and has to resist the urge to smile at the feel of her hand in his own. It's soft as silk and to be quite honest, it felt perfectly natural to be holding her hand. "Goodnight David."
"Night Joe." David laughs, watching the small blonde woman lead the drunk man out of the bar.
And as he sways dangerously, his body moving on its own accord, barely able to keep himself upright as they make their way to the car, Joe Longo can only think of two things. The blonde woman that was to be his ride home and the tequila that was currently scorching a trail through his bloodstream. They drove him crazy, hot and dangerous, like poison in his blood. They could both kill him and yet, he always went back for more.
He'd always have too much and yet he'd never have enough.
I feel like something is missing. This is my first real foray into this category and I feel like something is missing so I'm hoping to get an objective opinion. Of course, this could be just me and if you like it, that's great, if not, you aren't alone. If you think you know what's missing, please tell me. I'm sorry if this is below par, I'm not accustomed to this category yet so cut me some slack.
Love ya,
RobertDowneyJrLove