The Bar Watcher Read Free

in my direction, I saw that the rest of him matched. Short-cropped hair, a nice, square jaw, a huge expanse of chest with perfectly curved pecs the shirt couldn’t hide, a V-shaped torso and a bulge down the left leg of his pants that ran halfway to his knees. Definitely my kind of guy.
    Normally, I’d have taken the first stool I came to, but something—care to guess what?—drew me to the far end of the bar. The deliveryman looked up at me as I was about halfway there, and when our eyes met, I felt like what that 3x5 card in the box at Rage said—“BOOM”.
    “Hi, Jimmy,” I said, taking a stool next to where the deliveryman stood.
    “Hi, Dick,” Jimmy said.
    “Yeah, hi, Dick,” the deliveryman said, giving me a first-class cruise smile. Then, eyes still on me, he half-turned toward Jimmy and said, in a tone that didn’t leave much doubt as to who he was really talking to, “Yeah, Jimmy, like I was saying, this is my last stop for the day, so I’m not sure what I’ll be doing after I take the truck back.” Again the grin.
    “Open for suggestions?” I heard myself ask.
    “Got one?” he asked.
    Oh, I had one, all right! I had a suggestion, too, as a matter of fact.
    “Earth to Dick,” I heard Jimmy say, snapping his fingers. “Earth to Dick—order, please.”
    I pulled my eyes away from the deliveryman long enough to glance at Jimmy. “Give me a Whiskey Old Fashioned—sweet.” And a bucket of ice water to pour over my head.
    “Can I buy you one?” I asked the deliveryman.
    “Thanks,” he said, “but not until I get off work. Will the offer still be good then?”
    “Sure,” I said. “About how long?”
    If he’d said “About eleven inches” I think I’d have fallen off my stool. Luckily, he didn’t.
    “Maybe twenty minutes,” he said. “You still be here?”
    Silly question. “Count on it.”
    Without another word, he got his truck, waved at Jimmy, who waved back, and left through the rear door.
    Jimmy brought my drink, going through his standard flourish routine with the napkin.
    “Thank God he’s gone,” Jimmy said, shaking his head, face serious.
    “Why?” I asked, a little startled.
    “I was afraid I was going to have to turn the fire hose on you two. I know Jared works fast, but this set an all-time record, even for him.”
    “His name’s Jared?” I asked, realizing he hadn’t mentioned it.
    Jimmy nodded. “Jared Martinson. And, honey, I don’t know what you’re going to do with that boy!”
    “What do you mean?” Jimmy looked up and down the bar for anyone needing immediate service and, seeing no one who did, leaned across the bar toward me.
    “I went home with him right after he started delivering here,” he said, his voice lowered though there was no one within two stools of us in either direction.
    “And…?” I prompted.
    Jimmy stood back and spread his two hands apart like a fisherman demonstrating the size of the one that got away. Impressive, to say the least.
    “Lordy,” he said, “all I could do was throw my arms around it and cry! Actually, I kind of feel sorry for him—not one guy in ten I know could accommodate that ramrod!”
    Someone at the far end of the bar signaled for another drink. Jimmy said, “’Scuse me,” and moved toward the waiting customer.
    Jared Martinson, eh? He sounded like a real challenge, in more ways than one. I was about halfway through my second Old Fashioned, having learned Bob had said he wouldn’t be in at all that night, when I felt a strong hand on my shoulder. I turned to look up into the incredibly handsome face of Jared Martinson.
    “Offer still good?” he asked, smiling.
    “One among many,” I replied, signaling to Jimmy, who waved and nodded.
    “That was quick,” I said as Jared took the stool next to me. He’d changed into a short-sleeved polo shirt that outlined every curve, indent and nipple.
    “I don’t waste time when I’m after something,” he said. I hoped he meant me.
    Without Jared’s