Chapter One

Brad

I used to have a handle on life, always needing to keep up with my brothers. My twin, Chad, owns Grumpy's, and of course, because I'm petty—or I was when I was ten years younger—I opened Happy's. Ralph is the mature one who keeps us all together.

Lately, my mood has been sour.

What's the point of owning a bar that does well and owning my house when I have no one to share it with? Chad likes to remind me that I'm not getting any younger, and while it's true, I'm also not that old.

"Yo, boss," Henry calls from the bar. "You gotta come see this."

His laugh echoes into my office. If Logan, a guy who works at Chad's bar, is here in disguise again, I'm going to bloody punch him.

I have never met anyone so irritating in my life.

Walking out into the bar, I grind my teeth together. Okay, I take it back—I have met one person who gets on my nerves more.

Dylan.

She comes into the bar at all hours of the day or night, ignoring the fact that I can't have minors in here after nine. It's currently 11:59 p.m., and she has a fucking birthday cake with her again. The candles are lit, and she is looking at the clock on the wall. I really don't know who messed her up as a kid, but she really should try therapy.

"What have I . . ."

She holds her hand up to silence me and starts singing happy birthday. Henry the fucking traitor joins in, along with a group of university kids.

I massage my temples. The headache is already starting to form behind my eyes.

"Birthdayyyy to Denzellll," Dylan sings.

Who the fuck is Denzel? Maybe it's some serial killer I don't know about.

She finishes singing and blows out the candles. "A Jack and Coke, my good man," she says, waving at Henry, who smirks at her.

"You can't drink here," I tell her.

She looks up at me and smiles. "Yes, I can. Who died and made you boss?"

I can't do this with her today. "Owning the bar makes me the boss, and you being here could make me lose my damn business. Not to mention your brother is a cop."

"Fine, I give you the boss thing, and my brother being a cop. But don't worry, it's his night off, and he is probably face deep in his girlfriend's lady cave right now and won't even realise I'm not home. Plus, it's my birthday."

She hands me her licence. "I share a birthday with Denzel Washington. I had to do his cake now—Minnie organised a surprise party for me tonight."

"Why didn't you just do his cake tonight?" Henry asks, placing a plate and knife down beside her.

"Because this is something I do for me, and it has to be here. That, and I'm not supposed to know about the party, but Winnie had brownies today—the special kind—and she blurted it out. I'm glad she did because I hate surprises. The last one I got was my mum shipping me here."

"Fair enough, well enjoy Denzel's cake and I will get you that drink." Henry winks at Dylan and I want to hurt him for entertaining her.

"So is it okay for me to drink here now, or are you going to come up with another excuse for me to leave?"

All I can do is blink. Is she serious right now? "You do understand that being underage was not an excuse, right? You were not allowed in here by law."

"Law, shmaw," she says, shovelling cake into her mouth like it's her last meal. "I'm not afraid to go to jail—I could get myself a wife. I think I'm good-looking enough to be someone's bitch. I can hold my own in a fight, and do you know they feed you in there? I don't really see a downside."

"Fine, you can stay. Just don't get sloppy drunk. I don't want to be responsible for that."

She nods as Henry puts her drink down in front of her. He leans over the bar and smiles at her.

Henry is younger than I am. He's just about finished university and has been working here for the past few years. Dylan isn't his normal type; he likes girls a little less mouthy, and one-night stands he never has to see again.

Dylan doesn't strike me as the one-night-stand type.

With a huff, I head back to my office, but once I'm there, her laughter has me out of my seat and back out into the bar. Dylan has attracted some of the university kids and they are on the makeshift dance floor.

She doesn't notice me watching her, but Henry does. "Is there something there? I can back off."

I shake my head. "She's just a kid. I know her brother."

Dylan shakes her arse into some guy's crotch, his hands on her waist as they dance. "If you say so, boss, but she is legal. They say you're only as old as the woman you feel, so maybe one reckless night could be fun."

Looking away from Dylan, I cut a glare at Henry. "Don't be fucking ridiculous."

Henry just laughs, and I make myself busy behind the bar instead of going back to my office. She is just a child and has no one here to look out for her in a bar full of twenty-something boys. How would I explain to her brother that she was here, and I let her go home with strangers?

After two more songs, she comes over to the bar and sits on a stool, wiping the sweat from her brow.

"What can I get you?" I ask, beating Henry to get her drink order. "Another Jack?"

Dylan nods. "You know, Brad, you are kinda good-looking for an old guy."

An old guy?! I'm thirty-three. "Old?"

Her hyena laugh has me smiling back at her. "Maybe not old old, but if you think about life expectancy, eighty seems fair, which means you are a few years off midlife. Oh, what will you do for a midlife crisis? Get a new car? I have seen your shit-box ute outside. Maybe a hot younger wife? Kacey over there doesn't seem to have any boundaries... Hey, Kacey, will you marry Brad?"

I scoff at her and slide her drink across the bar.

"Sorry, Brad. Wrinkly balls and working in a bar isn't my idea of older-man material. Come see me if you have a change of career—CEO, billionaire..." Kacey responds, and Dylan cackles.

"I own the bar," I mumble under my breath.

"You're right," Dylan responds. "Owning a bar is a massive achievement in life. I wish one day I was half as successful as you. I will just be someone who works at a bar like this for the rest of my life."

"I got lucky—my older brother is good with money. If I didn't have him, I wouldn't have this bar. You're only young, so you have plenty of time to go to university and figure out what you want to do with your life."

She sighs. "I have to go to university—Minnie wouldn't drop it, and I agreed. I give it a month and I'll be kicked out. People don't get me."

"Maybe you're just not giving people a chance to get to know you beneath all the walls you have erected around you."

"Erected," she repeats, making herself giggle. "How did you get so wise?"

"It happened somewhere along the way in my thirty years of life."

"Dylannnn, come back and dance with us," a girl slurs.

Dylan throws her drink back and slips from her chair. "If you keep frowning like that, your wrinkles will just get worse."

She doesn't wait for me to reply, just skips back to the dance floor and screams, "This is my jam!" as she throws her hands in the air.

Fuck, I am getting old. I have no idea who this song is by, and if I'm being honest, the beat is making my headache worse.

I spend the next two hours making her drinks and watching her dance. Every now and again she goes outside to the smoking area and puffs on her vape—or digital durry, as she called it, the last time she came up for a drink.

For the first time in the few months she has been coming in with her birthday cakes and singing to some stranger she doesn't even know, she looks carefree, like the weight of the world has been lifted from her shoulders.

"You're drooling a little," Henry says, touching my face.

I slap his hand away. "I am fucking not. The girl is just a mystery. She has been coming in here for, what, almost three months with those stupid birthday cakes singing to serial killers."

"Celebrities," Henry corrects. Well, at least she has upgraded from the killers. I was starting to really get concerned. "And she is standing on a table dancing now."

He laughs as the patrons in the bar start chanting.

Jumping over the bar in one go, I run towards her and push my way to the table.

"Dylan, get down now!"

She ignores me and keeps dancing, until I grab her by the legs and pull her from the table, half throwing her over my shoulder. I turn back towards the bar.

"Weeee! The room is spinning."

"Henry, you can lock up."

Henry salutes me and keeps wiping down the bar, calling last drinks as I walk Dylan out to my car.

"Where are you taking me?" she demands, trying to smack my arse, but she misses and giggles to herself. "You should wear shorter shirts; your butt looks fantastic in these jeans."

"Um, thanks, I guess. And I'm taking you home to sleep this off." As I slide Dylan from my shoulder, her body presses against mine, and I grab her waist to steady her. "Maybe you should take it easy next time."

Dylan laughs in response and presses up on her toes. "Or maybe," she whispers, "you could give me that job and I can't drink."

Stopping myself from rolling my eyes at her is hard. Every few days she asks for a job, and I turn her down. I refuse to hire anyone under eighteen—it comes with its own set of problems. Now that she has turned eighteen, I better come up with a better excuse.

"How about we discuss it when you can stand on your own two feet and not use my body to keep yourself upright."

"You'reee so smart," she slurs, cupping my cheek.

"I'm really not," I mumble as I manoeuvre her body to the car. Awkwardly reaching around her to open the door, I keep ahold of her with one hand to make sure she doesn't fall face first onto the road.

Once the door is open, I push her towards it, and she falls into the seat and giggles. Shaking my head, I lean into the car and pull the seat belt across her body. Fuck, she smells so nice—like cherries.

By the time I have her door closed and I'm in my seat, she is lightly snoring. I don't exactly know where she lives. I'm sure it's close to Chad's friend's place, but there are way too many houses to knock on doors, and it's after two in the morning.

Hopefully Chad is working tonight, because I dial his number and listen as it almost rings out.

"Hello," he croaks, clearly having been asleep.

"Do not tell me your old arse is asleep right now," I chirp down the phone.

"What the fuck do you want, Brad? It's my night with Mady and sorry, bro—unless you're dead, I'm hanging up."

"Not dead, but?—"

The line goes dead. Fuck, I could use her phone to call her brother, but that would mean patting her down, and I am not about to feel up a young woman whilst she is out cold. I guess I have to take her back to my house, even if that sounds worse. Fuck my life. All I want to do is curl up in bed and sleep, not babysit a barely legal woman for the rest of the night so she doesn't vomit and choke on it.