Obviously, Baylee didn't even notice her cursing into the microphone, too absorbed into his work to really care. After making a Whiskey Sour, a Mai Tai, and three Greyhounds, the hand he used to rock Jacob throbbed with pain. Luckily, those were type of drinks that you sit there and sip casually, so he didn't have to worry about making anymore until another 15 to 20 minutes. He took the time to wrap a few ice cubs inside another rag and hold it against the back of his hand.
Mila's singing was enough to make every guy in there, taken or otherwise, drool with amazement and lust. Well, all except for 1. Baylee still kept himself on task, cleaning glasses, restocking ice, and refilling the occasional pint of beer. It's not that he didn't enjoy her singing, because he truly did,. It was more about the respect he held for the opposite sex. Guys that sit there, catcalling and shamelessly oversexualizing women made him sick to his stomach, which is pretty much what everyone was doing at the moment. Was he interested? Hell yes. Was he about to make it obvious? Fuck no.
It was good to sing. Really, it was therapeutic for Mila. It didn't matter what emotion was flooding her at the moment, when she sang it all came out, when she moved her body to the beat everything else shifted away. The attention she didn't mind, but she could sing into an empty room and still feel as wonderful as she did to a crowd. Their energy was helpful in getting her in certain moods for songs, but they weren't necessary. They're eyes just felt like lasers burning holes into the naughty bits of her body.
Well all except a certain pair of green eyes. Mila had known each time Baylee glanced up at her, but she didn't use it as an excuse to overly flaunt herself to get him to lust after her, instead she just smiled that same grin that he had responded to earlier. The sweet one. And somehow it seemed way more flirtatious.
Her smiles put billions butterflies into his stomach each time they made eye contact, but his facial expression never changed. It would take a lot more than a few smiles and some insects to make his armor crack. She was, however, managing to sneak her way into the openings in the facade, resulting in a single, split second smile back before he turned around and began wiping down the countertop.
"I like a guy with a nice right hook," a female voice said from his left, but he ignored it, just as usual. She was either drunk or looking for sex, and he was interested in neither. "I'll take a Hurricane, please."
Bayle groaned inwardly. A Hurricane was the last thing he wanted to make at the moment. It was a pain in the ass to find all of the ingredients, the cups were annoying as shit, and the people who ordered them were even more aannoying. 3 minutes later, at the end of Mila's song, he slid the large, curved glass over to the blonde woman who'd ordered.
(I had to look up Hurricane just so I understood how annoying this unnamed puta was going to be. lol)
(Fucking passion fruit syrup)
She pumped her fist. Actually pumped it like mother fucking Rocky Balboa, when she saw Baylee's millisecond smile. Of course she seamlessly tied it into her dancing, but she couldn't help feeling her heart give a massive beat in excitement. She finished the song she was singing almost breathless. Honestly, this schoolgirl crush was getting over the top. Mila laughed a bit to herself in the few seconds of breaktime that she had between songs. What was she? Sixteen? Hardly.
The next song started and she could feel the slight frustration that it wasn't going fast enough. This was the last song of her set, which meant that she could go push that blonde and her ridiculous looking drink out of the way so she could chat with Baylee some more. Ugh. Mila frowned slightly, causing the notes to come out a bit deeper that usual as she chastised herself once more. Calm the fuck down. No need to go feral woman on a random patron. But damn was she really flirting with him?
"You gotta name, bartender?" the lady asked, leaning forward on the barstool as Baylee put away the passion fruit syrup. He hated that shit with a burning passion. It stains clothes, fingers, and basically everything that it touches, along with the stickiness. Overall, just a horrible ingredient to work with.
"I asked you a question," the blonde said, sounding more amused than annoyed. "What, y'ain't gonna answer?"
"No," he said simply, grabbing the 4 types of rum used in the fucking thing and returning them to their rightful spots. She was really beginning to get on his nerves.
Finally, finally, it was over. The crowd cheered and Mila took her bow. "Alrighty folks, tip me nicely. I'll be back later, if you all are lucky. In the meantime here's some less tasteful music." With a grin, she flipped on the bland playlist from the boss. He was always griping how she made fun of his music and it now seemed that it was becoming an inside joke. Mila stepped through the bars of the stage and padded over to the bar. Thankfully no one bothered her this time. Although, that was probably more Baylee's fault than her resting bitch face's.
Eye's twinkling she came up beside the blonde, copying her seductive lean over the counter to a T, except Mila was about a thousand shades more playful about it. "What's a girl got to do to get a drink around here?"
"Pay some money," he said simply, taking the ice off of his bruised knuckles and rubbing them gently. His eyes sparkled with amusement, the low lighting catching the perfect angle for the green to damn near glow. This time, no on even looked in the direction of the bar, worried about receiving one of those right hooks the blonde had been talking about "What can I getcha, rockstar?"
Mila pouted, just as the other woman huffed rather loudly trying to draw Baylee's attention back to her and failing miserably. "Money? Don't you know that I pay for my drinks simply by gracing you with my presence?" She shrugged, wincing roughly at the pain in her shoulder, but covering it by reaching over and booping Baylee on the nose. "But! Since you asked–I never got to finish my drink from earlier. Would you mind making me another?" She finished her statement softly, looking up at him through her lashes. The blonde, tapped her foot impatiently, rolling her eyes at Mila, before huffing loudly once more.
"Here," he said, handing her the rag with the ice in it. "Put this on your shoulder for a bit. And, ma'am," Baylee turned to the blonde with that same stony expression, "you still haven't paid."
With a huff, she pulled out a wad of cash and slammed it onto the bar, picking up her drink and walking back over to her group of friends.
"I'm afraid I might've broken the poor girl's heart," Baylee mumbled, just loud enough for Mila to hear as he got to work on the drink. "Seems as though I've put the fear of the bartender into your crowd. They were very courteous this time around."
Grumbling about it not hurting that much, Mila accepted the pseudo-icepack. A shiver went through her as she placed it against her shoulder, but she couldn't keep the sigh of relief behind her teeth. She hadn't noticed the adrenaline wearing off enough that actually now that she thought about it, most of her ached and she was exhausted. Christ what a day.
"I'm sure she'll survive. They're are plenty of horny asshats for her to take home." The singer said, poking her tongue out at the bartender's obvious indifference. She chuckled a moment later, sliding more comfortably into one of the stools. "You know what they say. Every touch cookie has a ninja bartender behind her." My god, had she really said that? Mila blushed furiously at the slight double entendre of her words, choosing to keep her gaze far, far from Baylee. When had she become so cheesy?
Baylee's reaction was immediate and…shocking. A loud snort came from his noise, followed by light chuckling as he topped off the highball glass with the grapefruit juice. Everyone in the bar turned to listen to the man laugh, for it was the first time they'd ever heard him get even close to it. Even some of the legendary jokes that are retold for the rest of time only make him smile. Yet, a simple double entendre was the first thing to make him crack.
"You really didn't think that through, did you?" the bartender asked, setting the glass in front of her and setting a lime wedge on the top of the drink.
"I blame the adrenaline." Mila spoke into her drink. Holy shit, did she want him to laugh some more. It positively made him a sight. She was suddenly self conscious for a multitude of reasons. One- her damn mouth had a mind of it's own apparently. And two- everyone was staring at the two of them-again–and she was reminded of what Berry had told her earlier about Baylee. Slyly, but at the same time not slyly at all, Mila peeked over at Berry. The bouncer was already looking at her and raised his brows as if to say: "See? I toldja."
Was she reading into this all wrong? She had to be. Mila didn't have crushes anymore. She didn't do relationships anymore either. That line of thought was just a recipe for disaster. As earlier with Jacob had proved. For some reason the thought made her downright moody. Frowning, Mila grabbed her new drink and downed half of it before coming up for air again. Baylee was looking at her strangely, but she paid it no mind.
"So, where were we before all of–" Mila gestured vaguely to her lip and shoulder, encompassing Baylee's bruised knuckles in the mix as well. "–this?"
"You were about to say somethin' about languages, I think," he said, picking up an empty cup someone had left on the bar and bringing it over to the sink. He found talking to her a lot easier if he had a task to do as he spoke. He was running out of those tasks, however, since people were beginning to trickle out of the bar. It was around 1, 2 in the morning, the time that the younger patrons left with their hook-ups in arm and the elder ones left to go to sleep. The only people that were left were the hardcore drinkers, the kind that Berry would have to force out when the bar closed.
"You need help cleanin' up when the night's over?" he asked, gesturing to the stage and her equipment. Was it an excuse to continue talking to her after they closed shop?….Yeah.
"Would you mind? I know you have your own closing up to do, but I'd appreciate the help with the heavy stuff…" It was only two amps–ones that she could easily carry to the back storage herself and she was pretty sure Baylee knew that–but he had offered right? There's no harm in helping each other out. Besides it's not like she couldn't reciprocate and help close up the bar area. Damn she was good at making excuses wasn't she? Didn't Mila just decide that she didn't do crushes? She chuckled under her breath as she raised her glass to her lips again.
Mila placed the makeshift icepack back on the bar. Her shoulder was pretty numb now, and although it still twinged, she could move it without wanting to cry. The pack had left a wet spot on her dark tshirt though, one she looked at with dismay as a chill passed through her. Well no use getting upset about that. "Anyway! Right. Vietnamese. You'll have to teach me." She waited until he looked up in surprise to give him that same smirky grin again.
"Vietnamese is a very complex language," he said, raising an eyebrow at her demand. "Especially for someone that has spoken English for most of their lives. You'll have to actually stay around for a bit, which, from what I've heard, isn't something you like to do."
A middle age man walked up to the bar, steady on his feet despite the 3 cups resting at his table already. His eyes were large and sad, almost like a puppy's.
"'Nother Guinness," he mumbled, placing down a 20 dollar bill next to the empty cup. "This'll be my last one."
Baylee grabbed the cup, choosing to refill it instead of giving him a fourth glass.
"You stay home for a bit, Bill," he said softly, sliding the beer over. Baylee's face was a look of pity and concern, despite the man being double his age. "Doin' this ain't gonna help."
"But it will," Bill said in return, tipping his head back and downing the glass in one go. "Have a nice night, Baylee."
"You too."
The grin faltered, and a brief flash of pain passed through Mila's eyes in response to Baylee's statement. He was right of course. Technically, Mila was as flighty as the wind, letting whims taker her from place to place. It was a miracle that she had stayed here for so long. She looked away from her bartender as he helped out the sad gentleman, Bill, running her hand through her hair once more. It was honestly the first time that she felt uncomfortable about being called out regarding her nature.
"Maybe I just have to have a good reason to stick around." She murmured, gaze focused on Bill as he walked back to his table. Mila wasn't entirely sure if she was talking to herself or Baylee. Nonetheless, she finished her drink in an impressive final gulp. "Share a shot with me? It's been one of those nights." She didn't smile now, instead looked wistful and more than a bit sad.
"I can't stand shots," he admitted, turning around and picking out the Johnnie Walker from the alcohol rack. "Shit burns me so bad that I can't speak for hours. I can only have, like, wine or cocktails. Fruity shit. That's the reason why I got so damn good at makin' them."
He uncorked the bottle and pulled out a shot glass, setting it down in front of him. He filled the cup to the brim with the vodka and pushed it over to her end of the bar, somehow not spilling a drop.
"So…" he set his elbows down on the bar and slouched over, much closer to Mila than he would've ever imagined at the beginning of the day. "You're dead serious about learning Vietnamese?"
Baylee's statement pulled a soft chuckle from deep in Mila's chest after she blinked at him in surprise for a couple of seconds to make sure he was telling the truth. When his expression didn't change, her eyebrows shot up, making her eyes look bigger and more doll like. "I wasn't expecting that. Not from a guy that can swing a right hook like that at least."
She was still chuckling as she reached for her shot, raising it in a salute before downing it. She let her breath ease out between her teeth in a sharp sigh, her body giving a little shiver from the alcohol. Copying Baylee's gesture, Mila put her elbow on the bar and plopped her chin into her hand. "Serious as death," She intoned, gaze darting from the glass she was still playing with to his green gaze and back again. "Why do you ask?"
"Jus'…never had anyone interested in it," he admitted, for once not having anything else to do while he talked to her. All of his attention was solely on her, and it…wasn't as awkward as he anticipated. "Most people jus' think I'm an immigrant whenever I start talking in it. An' being a foreigner down here means you get hassled 24/7." He didn't need to provide any proof, either, since he'd just been called a chink not even an hour ago.
"I don't see why not." Mila said softly. Christ he eyes were right there–his face was right there, just staring at her in a way that made her stomach do summersaults. It wasn't even that he was giving her 'eyes', or what not, it was just that all his attention was on every word she said, as if this little conversation was the most important one he had had today. That fact made it impossible for her to hold his gaze for very long. "The world is a big place." Mila continued after a moment. "It would be such a shame just to get stuck in one place, one mindset. There's so much out there. To do. To learn. To feel–" She stopped, her hand stilling the glass she was gently spinning on the countertop between them. "Haha–Ah–Don't mind my musings. It's kinda silly."
Berry interrupted the moment by tapping his watch, his nail clicking loudly against the glass covering. He was grinning openly at the two.
"Closing time, lovebirds," he said, getting up from the stool and stretching. "As much as it amuses me to watch you two flirt, I gotta dog to get home to."
Baylee straightened up from the bar's surface, picking up Mila's shot glass and setting it into the sink. There wasn't much to do other than wipe down the bar, which the bartender did when Mila lifted her arms from the bar, and the last of the customers left when Berry said, "Last call, everyone. Time to get home."
"Still need help with the equipment?" Baylee asked, tossing the rags onto the back counter behind the bar, leaving them for the first-shift guy to wash. The thought of asking for her number passed through his mind, but he chose against it. He'll let her do that if she's truly interested in him.
Mila wasn't a hundred percent sure if she should thank Berry profusely or throttle him for interrupting the conversation she and Baylee were having. Instead of getting violent, her face turned tomato red and she spun off her stool, stomping over to clean up her mess of equipment without a word. She worked quickly, efficiently tying up her cords and putting them back into her worn duffle with practiced ease. Was she intentionally leaving her amps for last while Baylee finished up at the bar? No.
Maybe.
She was just zipping up her bag when Baylee's question sounded from over her shoulder. "If you don't mind? I usually just throw them in the back…" Mila trailed off as the bartender was already moving, hoisting one of the amps easily in his arms and striding away. Scrambling, she picked up the other and followed him. It was curiously silent as they finished up work, and she wondered idly if her stupid blathering earlier had upset him.
Mila was dillydallying now. Taking all the time in the world to shrug on her jacket and shoulder her bag. It bumped at her hip as she, Berry, and Baylee stepped out the back door, pausing only a moment for Berry to lock up. Then there was another tense moment as they huddled awkwardly under the eave, looking back and forth at each other. "Welp! G'night." Berry said, all smiles as he strode away. Mila watched him, something that felt weirdly like panic squeezing her heart. What did she do now? Baylee was lingering and she had nothing worth while to say. Christ. She toed the ground, pink tint working it's way up her pale olive cheeks. But it was definitely the cold that was causing that, not the growing silence between the two of them.
"Um–Goodnight, Baylee." She finally murmured, moving towards her hatchback not to far away. Why was she hoping that he'd stop her? She shook her head at herself, baffled. It was one thing to be infatuated with the handsome guy, but crushing this hard? Had to be the damn alcohol. Stepping up to the side of her car, Mila fumbled with her keys, her frozen fingers dropping them entirely. "Dammit–ah hell." She had a flat. Or rather, two flats, and slashes all around the rubber. Mila sighed a curse, pushing her hair away from her face and leaning against her car in defeat. This was exactly why she didn't do relationships.
"I'll take you home."
The words surprised even him. Driving someone home that he met only, like, today? That was something he wouldn't have even imagined doing. Not even for someone he knew. Called a cab? Sure. Helped them switch out the tires? Probably only for Berry, but still. But taking them home? He had to be going insane.
Baylee hid his turmoil by walking over to his truck and setting the amp in his hand lightly in the back, in a spot where it wouldn't be tossed around by the car turning. Then he came back and grabbed the other one, setting it in a similar spot.
"Does this shitweed know where you live?" he asked, walking back over to where she sat against the car, staring up at him in amazement. There was a light red tint to his face, but it wasn't from the work, or even the cold. It was from the suggestion he was about to make.