Getting Down to Business. Allison B. Hanson

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      Doug frowned at his phone as the bartender dropped off his beer.

      I’m not going to make it. Something came up, the text read. He had an idea what had come up. Or rather, who.

      “Thanks a lot.”

      “You’re welcome,” the bartender said on her next pass.

      “No. Not you.” The woman paused, cocking her head to the side. He’d seen her in here many times. He knew her name was Chanda and she was amazing to watch in action. She could pour a drink with one hand and make change with the other while taking someone’s order.

      “I mean thank-you for the beer, but without the attitude.”

      “No problem.” She nodded to the phone. “Did you get stood up?”

      “No. I mean not by a woman. My friend isn’t coming. He’s with a woman.” He winced as he played back his answer to make sure it sounded right.

      “Friend abandonment is worse in my book.”

      He stared at the hoop in her lip as it pulled up into a smile. Then she was gone. Off to do six other things at once. Her brain must be so tired by the end of the night.

      Rather than go home after his first beer, he stayed for a second and then a third. He had nothing waiting at his apartment but loneliness. He wasn’t in a hurry to get back to that.

      MacGregor’s was full, but not over-crowded. There were a number of women there without a ring or a man at their tables. He made a few attempts, but didn’t bother with a lot of effort. He was looking forward to having visitation with his daughter the next day, so he was okay to have a few drinks and go home.

      Watching this bartender was making him exhausted anyway. He’d switched to soda after his third beer. He was thinking about heading home, when he caught the conversation a few stools away.

      Two twenty-something men were hassling Chanda. They started by making comments about her boobs. She had very nice boobs, he noticed himself, but these guys were being crass. He frowned, but did nothing until one of the guys reached over and touched her while she was wiping off the bar.

      She jumped back and scowled at the guy, who just chuckled and attempted to joke it off.

      “Come on, I’ll leave a big tip.”

      His unintentional pun made the jackass on the next stool bust up.

      Maybe it was the liquid courage—though three beers over a four hour time frame didn’t seem likely—but Doug was on his feet heading to her rescue whether she wanted it or not.

      “Don’t touch the lady.”

      “Lady? She’s a hot bartender.”

      “Same rules apply to her that apply to your mother. Respect, dipshit, or leave.”

      It was at this point that Doug remembered he was alone, and there were two of them— both were bigger than he was. Together, they were a wall of angry muscle. Shit.

      “Where’s Mac?” Doug threw a look at his damsel who was not in distress, but safely on the other side of the bar. Mac, the owner of the bar, was large and Scottish. Despite the skirt—or kilt—he looked like he could kick some ass.

      “He took a deposit to the bank. He should be back in ten minutes.”

      “Ten minutes?” Doug said and looked up at the ceiling. It would have been nice to know that before he spouted off about respect. “Baseball bat?” He held out his hand expectantly.

      “Sorry. We’re not allowed to keep weapons behind the bar.”

      “A baseball bat isn’t a weapon,” he argued.

      “The lawyer said otherwise, unless we were heading to a baseball game.”

      “Great.” Doug let out a breath, ready to face whatever these idiots were going to hand out.

      “Not so mouthy now, huh?” one of them said.

      “I already said what I wanted to say. Don’t touch the lady unless she says it’s okay. Were you going to say okay?” He checked with Chanda, just in case he could still get out of it.

      “No. Definitely not.” That’s what he thought she would say. He squared his shoulders.

      “The lady doesn’t want you touching her.”

      “Then the lady might want to consider a different occupation.”

      “What does that have to do with anything? Are you implying that bartenders don’t deserve the same social protections given to everyone else? I mean, maybe—just maybe—I could see your point if this was a strip bar, but even then, there’s no touching the bartenders and dancers. So you see, you’re making an incorrect assumption about the job requirements.”

      “God. Make him shut up already,” the larger of the two said to the closer of the two—the one who pushed Doug. Hard.

      Despite being ready for it, he stumbled back two steps. His fists automatically came up. Years ago, he’d taken boxing, so maybe there was some fragment of memory that would kick in to help him in this situation.

      “Stop it,” Chanda said.

      “He started it.” The big guy pointed to Doug who wanted to point out that he hadn’t started it. That they had started it when the guy reached across the bar and touched her. But he was saving his strength.

      The smaller guy grabbed Doug’s shirt and pulled him closer. Doug moved to hit him in the stomach, but his swing was deflected and he was pushed up against the bar, the worn wood digging into his back.

      It was bad enough he was about to get his ass kicked, but what really bothered him was how horribly he was going to fail this woman. He’d intended to protect her honor, but now it was likely she would have to call 911 to save his life.

      Using his leg, he pulled the bar stool over. The heavy chair came slamming down on the bigger man’s foot, but also caught Doug’s shin, causing him to wince. At least he’d done something. The smaller guy had stepped away and Doug landed a shot to his jaw. The impact sent pain through his hand and up into his wrist. In his boxing days, he always wore gloves.

      The big guy didn’t wait his turn and stepped around his fallen friend to take a shot. But Doug backed out of the way, just as two police officers stepped into the bar.

      The skirmish dispersed pretty quickly at that point. Chanda stepped in to explain, the two assholes were ejected from the premises, and the cops gave Doug a nod of acceptance. He nodded back and set the stool back up.

      “You’re my hero,” Chanda said setting a drink down in front of him. “On me.” She held out a bag of ice. “For your hand.”

      “Thanks.”

      “Thank you.”

      He was halfway through his victory beer when Mac came back from the bank. Doug fought the urge СКАЧАТЬ