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N O A H

Elliot's kiss had been in my mind for days.

It frustrated me because no matter how much I enjoyed it, the moment was never meant to happen.

I was fucking selfish. I was pissed off over Angela. Elliot was the closest outlet I had, and I couldn't stop myself from taking advantage of that. The two of us were confused over it, and the tension that loomed in the air whenever we were together afterward did nothing to help the situation.

I wasn't supposed to kiss him.

It wasn't meant to feel that right.

I couldn't explain why I'd done it. Just... seeing him like that, with his figure locked beneath mine and face only an inch away, gave me a kind of adrenaline I'd never felt before. His doe eyes trailed over my lips like they were his own version of the forbidden fucking fruit, and damn did it feel good when he gave in to his desires.

I'd never kissed another man before, but with Elliot, I didn't have to think twice about it. The motions just came naturally.

He didn't just sit there and let me do all the work, either.

It was fucking hot.

Elliot knew how to use that mouth of his. Those pretty, full lips—pink like cotton candy and just as sweet. God only knew just how often I'd thought of what it would be like to kiss him in the past... but there was nothing holy in that bathroom we were in. Elliot exceeded all the expectations.

Oh, hell. He really had me there for a minute, too, with those innocent eyes of his and his gentle exterior. That bathroom made it all crystal clear—he was the devil disguised as a harmless bartender with silver earrings and pale brown hair. Christ. My only regret might've been not kissing him sooner.

We could've gone further, too. The two of us were putty in the other's hands—swept up in the heat of the moment by our own carnal desires. If we hadn't stopped where we had... the situation could've gotten entirely more complicated.

So, if I'd never get the chance to kiss him again... at least I could ingrain that one moment with him in my memory.

And his smile.

God... that damn smile.

His eyes were the first to light up when he was happy—he had this pretty shimmer in them, a sparkle that seemed to fight against all the sorrows of his past. For that one moment, Elliot had let himself be happy. And that look on his face made it clear that I'd never be able to find someone so beautiful again.

I couldn't get the image of him playing guitar out of my mind. Watching him strum the cords to an instrument I hadn't touched in years made a strange feeling grow in my chest. He was good at it.

The music.

Elliot's music reminded me of something.

I couldn't explain it. I just knew Elliot from somewhere. It was as if it was right at the tip of my tongue and I couldn't reach it.

It was driving me mental.

It was just past eight that Saturday night as I pulled the truck into the busy parking lot of Joe's. Elliot had been sharing little conversations with me throughout the drive, mostly about the songs I had on the playlist playing in the car.

His presence was weirdly soothing. He had a strangely graceful touch to his movements and rarely raised his voice from his usual soft-spoken tone—which was a nice contrast to the loud mess that was the rest of my life. He always smelled like sandalwood, too, which I couldn't help but find alluring. Everything about him was just calming to me.

"They're staring," Elliot pointed out nervously from his seat, nodding to the gazes of bikers that had already turned to peak at our truck.

I found a free spot to leave the truck in and passed him a small smile. "Let them."

Turning the engine off as Elliot gave me a hesitant glance, we both finally got out of the truck.

Unlike Elliot, who managed to slip away quickly without much confrontation, I found myself trapped in a group of rowdy bikers who immediately began sticking their noses where they didn't belong.

"Who the hell was that?" One asked.

Another followed quickly suit. "Since when have you two been buddies?"

Chains, at least, didn't show much interest. He walked up to me and gave me his usual half-hug, passing a brief glance to the brown-haired bartender escaping through the front doors of the building.

"That's new," he said plainly.

"Mhm."

Growing a smile, he teased, "You going to be coming in every Saturday from now on?"

I gave him a shrug.

"Alright, well..." he paused to look at the crowd still yapping sentences in our direction, "want a beer or something?"

A smirk pulled at the side of my lip and I put my arm over his shoulder. "This is why you're my favorite—you don't ask questions. Let's go."

He gave me a chuckle and pushed people out of the way as we head in the direction of the bar. "Fuckin' Hell, Edge."

The inside of the bar was just as busy. Chief and Shooter waved over from the usual booth in the corner, and after moving past the busy crowd of patrons, Chains and I finally managed to greet the others.

"No Angela?" Shooter asked, noticing that my dark-haired ex wasn't in tow with me like she always was on Friday nights.

"Nope. We're done."

Chains frowned at the new information as he took his seat in the booth. "Christ—you dumped her?"

I shook my head. "Mutual dumping."

"Oh," Shooter laughed, nudging the amused Chief beside him. The two passed me entertained looks. "She broke up with you, huh? Poor guy."

"Shut up, Shooter."

The table just laughed in response.

Leaving my jacket on the table, I frowned at them, "I'll get us drinks. Control yourselves."

Chains and Shooter began to tease with stuff along the lines of 'it gets better' and 'you'll get her next time,' but my relationship status was definitely not something I felt like discussing.

When I arrived at the bar, I could already spot Elliot fiddling around with some machinery behind the counter. Eve was serving a customer by the register—and the owner of the place, Pete, had his hands full with cases of beer for the fridge.

"I'm just saying, Eve," I could hear him say. "Maybe if the kid showed up to work on time, we wouldn't have to be doing this in the middle of open hours."

Elliot's gaze briefly flicked to me as Pete was talking, knocking the old machine a bit to get it to work before standing to his feet.

"We came late?" I asked Elliot, passing a glare to his disgruntled old boss.

"By two minutes. Two minutes," Elliot sighed in response, putting up two fingers to emphasize his point. I gave him a small smile as he asked, "What can I get you?"

I recited my order as Pete continued to drone off to the side, collapsing the cardboard packaging in his hands. "Seven glasses, broken or missing. And the ice bin—who was on shift last?"

Eve gave him a bored look as she shut the register. "There's nothing wrong with the ice bin, Pete."

I added flatly while Elliot returned with the drinks, "Why don't you give it a rest?"

Pete's face flushed an irritated shade of red at my words, but he turned away and left into the back room without another word. With me in charge of his best customer base, I figured he knew well enough not to argue.

"You can put it on a tab," I told Elliot, passing him my card.

Elliot nodded and passed a glance to the empty spot where Pete had been. Joking, he said, "I'll never understand why he listens to you of all people."

"Guess I'm just that good."

A small smile pulled on his lips, but he didn't get the chance to answer as someone's excited voice filled the air.

"Sheesh, Elliot! This place is nice."

Our heads turned to the door, landing on a tall figure standing with a smile in the doorway. He was a built guy, with an undercut of dark, curly hair and an accent that didn't sound from around here. He wasn't a Stray Dog, but he looked weirdly familiar.

"Riven?" Elliot asked with wide eyes, my gaze turning back to him. The sparkle in his eyes was one I hadn't seen before. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Crave. That's where I knew his face from. He was serving the bar that night.

They know each other?

"Heh, don't get too excited," Riven grins, reaching over the counter to slap Elliot's hand in greeting. "It's looking good in here, kid!"

Elliot chuckled in response, and I took that as my cue to leave—but not before mouthing a 'thank you' to Elliot for the drinks. He gave me a small nod.

When I finally returned to the booth, I couldn't help but notice that it was more packed than before. There were two girls beside Chains, skirts hoisted high and lips puckered with thick layers of gloss.

"Look who we found!" Shooter grinned, already buzzed off the beer he'd finished earlier.

"Ladies, this is Edge," Chains said to them, nodding in my direction. "These two here are Candice and Heaven. I told them all about the bad breakup you're going through, y'know, and they jumped at the chance to make you feel better. Isn't that right, ladies?"

Candice and Heaven. I knew Chains was probably doing it as a joke, but I couldn't help but think, kill me now.

"Hi, Edge," the second one, Heaven, drawled, passing me a light wave with her manicured fingers. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall, with caramel skin and dark, braided hair.

Her friend, Candice, sat straight with a cocktail between her fingers and a flirty gleam in her eyes. The two had even color-coordinated their outfits, sitting in pink tube tops and black miniskirts.

Jesus Christ.

Resting the drinks on the table, I gave a brief nod to the girls, though quickly turned a flat look to Chains and Shooter. The two of them were busy snickering between each other, Chains going so far as to wiggle his eyebrows.

"I hate both of you," I sighed to the two of them, but that just only made them laugh harder. Noticing that the burly man wasn't with us anymore, I asked, "Where's Chief?"

Shooter replied, "Outside with some bikers. Probably having a smoke."

"Right," I said. Taking the spare spot beside Candice, I offered her a disinterested glance, somewhat annoyed as she immediately scooted over to press herself to me.

"Chains tells us you're a mechanic," she began, batting her fake eyelashes. "I guess that means you're good with your hands, huh?"

Chains looked as if he was about to shit himself from holding in his laughter. I rolled my eyes and turned to Candice, opening my mouth to say something along the lines of, 'go exercise your raging daddy issues somewhere else,' but someone else's voice stopped me.

It was Riven again, his loud voice catching my attention. Standing by the jukebox, he spoke to Elliot, "I haven't seen one of these things since middle school! Jesus."

Elliot just smiled at him. "You can choose a song if you want."

"Don't threaten me with a good time," Riven said, examining the jukebox for a bit to figure out how to work it. "You know, there's an old pub in Newtown with a jukebox just like this."

Newtown? I thought though I figured it out pretty quickly with his accent. Australian.

"You guys have some good stuff on this thing," he continued, passing a glance to Elliot. With a light laugh, he asked, "Stacy's Mom?"

A few people in the bar broke out into groans. Stacy's Mom was a big no-play in Joe's. It had been played so often that they'd even put the track's name on a list over the jukebox with the very firm warning: don't even think about it.

Riven passed them a frown. "Oh, what's the matter with you people? That song is a classic. Seriously."

"Maybe the first four hundred times it was played. Check the poster," Elliot smiled. "Try something else."

"Hm, alright," he said. Moving through the selection, he asked, "Ah! Coldplay?"

Elliot shook his head. "Covered them too many times. Next."

"Good times," Riven grinned, putting a coin into the slot of the jukebox. "Alright, alright, I think I found a song."

Chains turned to me amidst their conversation, noticing the sideways glance I was passing Elliot. "What is up with you and that bartender, anyway?"

Riven asked back to Elliot with a teasing glimmer in his eyes. "Hey, Eli, you remember this one?"

Walking back to the bar counter, a smirk played on his lips as Mr. Brightside began to play from the speaker. Elliot's face flushed red in embarrassment. "I can't believe you remember that."

Riven laughed. "First time you got high. I'll never let you live that down."

I turned back to Chains, noticing that the table had gone quiet waiting for my response. After taking a moment to sip my beer, I shrugged.

"He's renting out my spare room."

The words made surprised looks flash on their faces. Shooter furrowed his brows.

"You mean, like a roommate?" He asked, letting a small smile pull on his lips. "The fuck?"

"Roommate?" Chains repeated with a frown, as if the notion was absolutely too bizarre for him to comprehend.

Shooter mentioned after a swig from his beer, "You never told us you were renting it out."

"It was a last-minute thing," I answered.

A doubtful look passed over Chains' pale face. "You sure you wanna be letting a stranger live in the same place as you?"

"Who said he was a stranger?"

"What, you two know each other?" Shooter asked with a light scoff. "Since when?"

"Since none of your fuckin' business," I said, putting it simply. "Look, he's just renting out the room, alright? It's not a big deal."

Candice took her chance to speak up beside me after having been listening quietly throughout the conversation.

"But Elliot? Really?" She cringed slightly, humor to her tone. Spinning the straw to her cocktail, she continued, "Yeesh... if I were you, I'd be careful with him."

I passed her a glare. "Did I ask for your opinion?"

"Aw, don't get so sour," she giggled, moving closer to me. Tracing her fingers up my chest, I clenched my jaw as she found the chain hanging off my neck and twirled it brazenly. "Do you really not know yet? ...Huh. He's a raging gay, Edge. Poor thing probably has the wrong idea."

The only things that pissed me off more than her touching my chain were the words she was spewing out of her plastic mouth.

That's enough of that.

"Get the fuck off me," I said, yanking my chain away from her grasp. Pushing her flimsy figure off me, I picked my pack of cigarettes off the table as I got to my feet and ignored her dumbfounded look.

Heaven let out an audible gasp from behind her friend, prompting Chains to roll his eyes. He didn't look fazed, but then again, nothing ever really fazed him.

Shooter started, "Oh, come on, Edge. I'm sure she was just joki—"

Cutting him off, I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jacket and got to my feet. "I'm getting another drink."

Chains passed a bored look to the girls as I began to leave, flicking his hand lazily at them. "You two can fuck off now," I heard him say.

I approached the bar, where Elliot had just finished serving a generously tipping customer. Riven sat only two stools down, chatting with a fancy beer in his hands as I took off my jacket and rested it over the counter.

"Alright, alright, this is all well and fun, but—" he started with a mischievous look— "I'm not going to let you go home without making me one of your special Long Islands. You know what I'm talking about."

Elliot gave him a look. "You only call it special because I'm the only bartender in Boston who was ever willing to put it in a beer glass for you."

"...For old times' sake?"

Succumbing to his friend, Elliot sighed and pulled out a glass from behind the counter. "Fine. You want it with the lemon and everything, too?"

Riven laughed, rapping his hands against the counter. "You bet your ass I want the lemon."

"I'm charging you extra," Elliot muttered.

Taking the spare stool beside Elliot's sprightly friend, I ran my hand through my hair and passed a look to him.

"You two old friends or something?" I asked indifferently, resting my arms on the counter.

Elliot's eyes lit up with a soft glimmer as they landed on me. Riven offered me a nod, fiddling with the piercing at the center of his lower lip.

"Friends?" He chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Elliot's hair. Elliot gave him a small smile. "This little shit is like my younger brother."

"Riv, this is Noa—uh, Edge," Elliot introduced me as he fixed up his locks, passing me an apologetic look for the stammer. "That's Riven."

Riven furrowed his brows, somewhat buzzed. "Edge? Like, the biker, Edge? Stray Dogs, Edge?"

"That's me."

"Wow," he answered. "Well, uh, you can just call me Riv. Jesus, this is crazy. Last time I was in Boston, your old man was still in charge."

I scratched the back of my neck.

"Chief's running it now," I said. "I'm just VP."

"Woah."

"You're a bartender too?" I asked him, changing the topic. "I remember seeing you at Crave a couple nights ago."

Riven nodded. "Yeah, full-time." 

"He taught me everything I know," Elliot added with a soft gaze, pulling a bottle of liquor from the speed rail to add to the drink.

"Speaking of that..." Riven grinned as he leaned onto the counter. "How's your flairtending, Elliot?"

Huh?

"Flairtending?" Elliot repeated, a shy smile pulling at the edges of his full lips. "It's been a while... hard to practice when most of the stuff people order is just bottled beer. So, probably not that great."

"Oh, now you have to show me."

"Alright, let me think," he chuckled, taking a near-empty bottle of tequila from the speed rail.

"He's always been so much better than me at this," Riven said eagerly to me. "No pressure, kid."

Taking a hesitant look back to the bar, probably to check that Pete was out of eyeshot, Elliot mentioned, "You're paying if I break the bottle."

"Not on your life," Riven smirked.

"Alright, you ready?" Elliot asked. Checking once again that he wouldn't be seen by his boss, Eve passed him an amused nod.

Hesitating for a moment, he gave us a sheepish smile and tossed the tequila bottle loosely behind his back. The bottle spun enough for Elliot to catch it cleanly with the elbow of his other arm, flicking it up again so that it could spin once more. Elliot caught it smoothly, letting show an awkward smile at the attention he'd drawn from other patrons.

"You've been able to do that this whole time?" I asked, as Riven laughed in amazement beside me.

Heat warmed Elliot's cheeks as he answered. "I'm not really supposed to, so uh... pretend you never saw that."

"Show-off," Eve grinned, walking past him with bottles of beer in her hands.

The three of us spoke for a bit longer afterward as Elliot served Riven his unconventional Long Island Ice Tea. Or as I liked to call it: a raging hangover in a beer glass.

"Not bad, kid—not bad," Riven smiled, wincing slightly at the taste of liquor.

I was about to try it for myself, but someone's contact on my shoulder stopped me.

Turning quickly, my gaze caught on Chief standing by my side with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his worn jacket. I frowned.

"Marcus is here for you," he spoke simply.