The Best Man

Leaning casually against the counter below the top shelf bottles was a different bartender. Even the club’s dim light didn’t detract from his striking, pale green eyes, and I couldn’t look away from him if I wanted to. He didn’t seem to mind the fact that I was staring, though. After all, he was looking right at me.

When I could finally look somewhere other than his eyes, I wasn’t disappointed.

The tux shirt perfectly emphasized his broad chest and shoulders, while the black cummerbund subtly drew my attention to his narrow hips.

It seemed that everyone else on staff in this club was clean-shaven, but stubble heavily shadowed his angular jaw. Still, he didn’t seem out of place. He had a kind of classy, dignified air about him that let him get away with not shaving, even with a tux shirt and bowtie. As he wiped down a rocks glass with a white towel, I noticed then that his sleeves were unbuttoned and rolled partway up his toned forearms. He must have had some seniority if he could show up unshaven and with his sleeves rolled up so casually.

"Refill?" He nodded towards my empty glass.

"Uh, yeah, how about—" I looked down at my glass, trying to remember what the hell I’d been drinking.

"Jack and Coke?"

"How did you know?"

He smiled as he set the rocks glass down and dropped some ice into it. "I saw Zach pouring the first one. Figured you were a creature of habit."

"Perceptive." I chuckled, folding my arms on the bar and leaning on them. "Anything else you figured out about me while I wasn’t looking?"