382The Urban Dictionary defines a "soft launch" as "a photo preview of a talking stage before it becomes an official relationship on social media, i.e., taking photos of their dinner plate and their hands, half their face or their shoes as to allude there's someone special in your life."
all mistakes are my own.
I think we're all ready for some action.
Chapter 13 - Edward
I've been lacking speed all evening, I can't keep up. And it's not because I'm perpetually short-staffed on nights like this. No, it's because of the staff that is helping out. Sobered up, Isabella works as hard as a nun at a red light district. There is no stopping the eternal energy that's pouring out of every movement, smile, and conversation she's having with the patrons. Not even now, at three in the morning.
The bottles have run low, the bills run high, and she's washing glasses as if her life depended on it. Her forehead is a little sweaty, one strap of her top slipping off her shoulder most seductively. I bite my lip, forcing my eyes elsewhere. Of course, then, my mouth starts moving and instead of English, I speak in asshat.
"Those tables back there need a good scrubbing."
Dishes stop clattering, and something damp hits the back of my neck.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I turn my head, facing Isabella again.
"What?"
"If that's how you treat your staff, no wonder you don't have any." When I truly look at her, I notice the little things. The sweat on her brow, the disheveled hair, the redness lurking around her eyes, and the faint shadows below them.
"You're tired."
"You're observant," she mutters angrily.
"I'm sorry."
"You're apologizing?"
"You're surprised?"
She laughs, a heavenly sound. It makes the corners of her eyes crinkle cutely.
"We should call a truce, this is getting exhaustingly extra."
I grab the tea towel and hang it on the rack below the counter, smoothing it out.
"You should go home."
"I can't. I'm not done working."
I take that as my cue, and walk over to the other side of the bar, dimming all lights except for the ones back here. The three remaining regulars mumble disgruntedly.
"Go home, guys. The wives will be out in your comfy chair with rolling pins if you're out any later than you already are."
They grumble a bit more but leave dollar bills on the tabletop. Felix brings over their empty glasses, as he usually does. His cheeks are red, but it's not from any alcohol since he's two years sober now. Being at the bar as an AA member makes him the odd duck here. But he will never abandon his buddies. Plus, he's their designated driver now, which would never make the guys abandon Felix, either. It's a running joke here.
"Wow," Isabella chuckles. "And they keep coming back, don't they?" She crosses her arms in front of her chest, watching them walk out, never not talking like the compulsive sharers they are. I shake my head as Santiago and Alec both put their customized helmets on to ride in Felix' truckbed.
"They have a soft spot for the bar." I walk over, flooring sticky underneath my boots. It's definitely a night to remember, and not just because of Tanya's party. I'll have my fair share of cleaning before opening tomorrow.
"I can see why." Isabella's draining the sink, scrubbing the bartop with a bubbly sponge before rinsing and drying it. It's like she's always been a bartender, always been behind my bar. I smile and rub my wrist, aching to take off my watch and relax. Once I lock the door and close the blinds, I turn and appreciate the soft lighting. Isabella looks like she's on stage, not working her ass off. She's drying her hands as I set foot on the creaking step and toggle the key that opens the register.
"Here." I fumble with some bills, straightening them out before handing them over. Isabella's wide, whiskey eyes blink furiously before she shakes her head.
"No."
"You've worked the entire night and saved my ass. I want you to take it." I walk closer, grabbing her hand. She won't let me force her fist to open. Instead, she shoves me in the chest.
"I won't do anything I don't want to. That includes taking your money, Ed."
She takes her phone from underneath the bartop, and I gawk at the list of unread notifications. I've been keeping her from something, obviously.
"Fucking hell, you're insufferable." I shake my head, unable to keep my eyes off her. Her eyes blaze fire. Confidence looks good on her, so good.
"Because I'm not a doormat?"
"Because you don't want to take what I'm offering you for a night shift at a fucking bar, Kid!" I'd throw up my hands but that would be childish.
"I'm not a fucking kid!" She rolls her eyes, discrediting her words.
This isn't a damn truce. This is nowhere near a truce. So I take another look at this tired firecracker and decide to be the bigger person.
"Hey, I don't want to take advantage of you, okay? You've been a great help tonight and I'd like to pay you for your hours, be nice, you know." I shrug and try to back off while she eyes the bills in my hand, shaking her head.
"That's the nicest you've been to me all night."
"So, take it, then."
Her fingers cover my own, gently nudging my hand away.
" I want something else," she whispers, eyes swimming with darkness. I swallow thickly, a little sick with tension as Isabella comes closer. She smells faintly like gardenias and lemons. "No money."
"Yeah?" I'm taken aback by the sound of my voice. It's foreign, deep.
"Say sorry…" The way she's looking at me right now, I'll say anything. But I like playing with her so much. I just can't give in just yet.
"No money?" Isabella shakes her head. "Can I… show you how sorry I am, instead?" It's wishful thinking but I'd hate myself if I don't try anything. I'll never see her again so I've got nothing to lose.
There's no sound except for the humming of the refrigerators and the outro of 'Fear of The Dark'. I can hear her breathing stoke a little bit too loudly. The satisfaction is immense, but I can think of a few things that might top this.
"Fuck you," she mumbles before grabbing my shirt. Before I can wrap my mind around what's happening, she's reached up, one hand at the back of my neck, the other almost ripping the cotton off my back. A deep shudder runs through me once her lips meet mine violently, and she melts into my frame.