Lieutenant Colonel Franklin Clay took a long look around the bar and wondered precisely when his life took him down the path that brought him to this particular point? It wasn't the WORST place he'd ever been - that would probably still be Bolivia - being dead, especially when you were still breathing would always rank all the way at the very bottom of rock bottom, but it sure as hell wasn't the top either.
The bartender, a woman who Roque would have absolutely warned him about being just a shade too young for ANYONE in their team, but it was best not to think of Roque, not here and now - not after, he waved his hand and she came over with a smile worn best by those in the service industry. A smile that said "what can I get you" while also keeping the familiarity at arm's length.
"Can I get another?" Clay asked, his own grin growing as his eyes took a tour of the scenery that she presented. Long red hair, piled high in a loose knot of curls, green eyes that were highlighted with just the right amount of makeup to make them pop and snap, lips that he'd bet were naturally pinkish red and had a pout that would make a peach jealous. She wasn't tall, her chest level with the bar top, and the outfit she wore was one that would have fit into any of the many bars he'd frequented over the years. Jeans, tank, pushup bra - he corrected that when she leaned over to refill his glass and realized that she was wearing a thinly padded sports bra that criss crossed under her tank, no push up needed for what was pressing up under that shirt. "Quiet night," he offered as she stood back, leaning against the counter parallel to his spot at the bar.
"Observant of you," those pink lips of hers were twitching into a smirk. "Tuesdays tend to be slow."
"Must suck for you," he took a drink from his glass and smiled as she shrugged, a lack of concern rolling off of her in waves. "Don't you get bored?"
"Me?" She shook her head and the red of her curls caught the lights that kept the bottles in sharp relief. Her smile came easily. "Nah, I make my own fun." Head tilting she reached behind her and pulled out a book. Holding it up, she hopped onto the counter she'd been leaning on. "Lack of customers means I can catch up on my reading."
She wasn't what he was expecting. Dressed like she was, tending bar in a place like this - and instead of everything he thought he knew, she was going to open a book and get lost in the pages? What the hell?
"You read on slow nights?" His eyebrow felt like it was going to leave his face soon. "That's your fun?"
She snorted and looked at him over the top of her book. "What did you think I meant? Did you expect me to offer you a lapdance or a blow job?" Rolling her eyes, she turned the page and let her eyes drift back to the pages. "Sorry to disappoint you, Grandpa, but while you drink away your sorrows and regrets, I'll read away my boredom."
"Grandpa?" That was it, he was going to lose both of his fucking eyebrows. She was going to make them leave his face. "I'm not THAT old."
She giggled, looking up again and biting her lip at his reaction. "Out of everything I JUST said, the ONE thing you picked up on and got pissed about was me making a crack about your AGE?" She shook her head and marked her place in her book. Hopping down from the counter, she grabbed the bottle of scotch that he was drinking from and a bottle of something else and came around the bar. Taking the stool next to his she leaned over the bar and grabbed a glass for herself. "That's it, you're too fucking sad for me to make my own fun. Let's have a drink and you can tell me ALL about it."
Clay stared at her as she poured herself a frosted glass of what he now saw was straight vodka, then topped his own off. He was trying to wrap his head around the change of direction the entire situation just went, but she was staring at him as she took her first drink. "What's your name?"
Her lips curled into a smile and he wondered how they'd taste. "You can call me, Ettie."
Clay didn't know how it happened. How the evening went from him sitting at a bar drinking and thinking about how attractive the bartender was to sitting next to her, drinking together and sharing stories about shitty exes?
"I had this one," Ettie started, rolling her eyes and reaching for the bottle of scotch because his glass was growing thin. "I swear I still don't know how I missed the crazy. I should have been able to SMELL it. Slashed tires. Broken phones. I think I could blame the death of my cat -"
Clay's eyes went wide. "Killed your cat?" Ettie nodded. "Damn, that IS crazy." He remembered a different time. A graveyard in Bolivia and being reminded of his OWN checkered past. "I had this one," he shook his head and took a drink from his glass to fortify himself for the memory.
Amber. God, she was gorgeous. He met her by chance, at the grocery store of all fucking places. He'd gone in to grab - it didn't matter - there she was, wearing a white sundress made of that weird lacy fabric that's heavier than lace? What's that called?
"Crochet?" Ettie supplied, taking a sip of her vodka and smiling around the cool glass.
Yeah, crochet. Her skin was so dark, she loved the sunlight and the beach. They were talking about how much she couldn't wait to go out the next day - while they were in the check out lane and the next thing he knew he had her phone number.
First date was great. They had dinner and they came back to her place. She told him that she was going through a divorce. Her and her husband were separated, but it was over. He stayed the night and woke up to this huge man standing over him with a knife and thought - SEPARATED?!
He left while they were screaming at one another. She called him and SWORE her husband had broken into the apartment. He didn't know boundaries. They were over. So they went out again. And he stayed over again. The husband didn't wake Clay up, but he started to pull away. She was a little too clingy. She was asking - second date, remember - when she could move into HIS place? Where did I see THEM going? And on and on.
He was heading out of town, for work, and Clay heard this screaming and then a bang - she shot him.
"She SHOT you?!" Ettie's eyes were wide. "Like with a gun?"
Clay nodded. "Just in my leg." He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal.
Ettie stared at him for a long moment, taking a sip of her drink almost absently. "Who ARE you?"
Clay chuckled. "I'm GRANDPA, remember?"
Rolling her eyes, Ettie studied him. "So Amber shot you, in the leg, and you just went about your business like -" she shrugged and he nodded, taking his own drink. "Alright."
"You had an ex who killed your cat," he reminded her.
"Murdered my pussy," she nodded, and he snorted. "I'm thinking my exes were NORMAL crazy and you had fucked up crazy exes."
"I did have one who planted a bomb in my car." He laughed as her eyebrows tried to escape from her face. Finally.
Emma. What was there to say about Emma? He didn't actually sleep with Emma, that was a very important note to make. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure why Emma ever fixated on him so heavily.
They had met through work.
"Work?" Ettie asked, eyebrow still elevated and waiting for something to lower its expectations. None came. "Come on, give us a bone."
Work, that's all there needs to be said. Emma was a work colleague. And she saw in Clay something special. It was unfortunate that he missed the memo and the signs. Right up until he sat down in the car that was a literal ticking time bomb.
"How did you know?" Ettie was staring at him like he MIGHT actually be more interesting than her book. "I mean, about the bomb?"
"She called," Clay shrugged again. "Not me, but one of my other work -"
"Colleagues." His drinking buddy supplied with a nod. "And this coworker knew how to diffuse the situation?"
Clay's grin had his dimples coming out to play. "I work with a lot of specialists."
"Huh," Ettie was digesting this information and missed the fact that his glass was getting well below the bartender's level of comfort. He reached for the bottle and topped himself off. "So you were shot and nearly blown up by your exes?"
"Yup." He nodded, thinking about the hotel in Bolivia that he and Aisha had burned down and the one stateside that they made resemble a slice of Swiss cheese.
"You're worse at this shit than I am," she shook her head and took another drink. "That's almost impressive, but mostly it's sad."
He laughed, drawing her attention and making her smile come back. "Thanks."
"Stating the obvious," she shrugged. "Shit, is that the time?" Her eyes had landed on his watch. "Closing time is closing in." Hopping off the stool, she moved back to the professional side of the bar. "Lucky me, there's not a hell of a lot of clean up to do."
"Yeah, two glasses and two bottles," Clay nodded, pulling out his wallet, but she held out her hand. "I can't let you pay for my -"
"Sure you can," she grinned. "I own the bar, asshole." Shaking her head, her grin grew as the bell rang out that someone was coming in. Her eyes lit up when they landed on the person coming closer. "Look what the cat drug in."
"Stop saying that," the tall brunette muttered, coming closer and leaning over the bar to kiss Ettie. "It sounds like you think I look disgusting." She was staring at the smaller redhead with a soft smile on her lips, and Clay felt extremely jealous. "Oh, sorry." She stood up and held out her hand. "Etta Ray is a complete ass when it comes to introducing people. I'm Catrina, and you are?"