Journey

JOURNEY

"Hey, Butch! I need four long necks, two double shots and a whiskey, neat. Pronto!"

I laugh as Butch gives me an eye roll but puts down the glass he was filling and begins to grab my order. He loves acting all annoyed whenever I place my orders and tell him to step on it, but I know he secretly loves me. He's owned this place since the early 1980's and if the stories I've heard are only half true, my boss has lived a lifetime and more.

Foggy Goggles is in the heart of Boston and has been home to the hole in the wall rock ‘n roll junkies since it opened its door. I love it. I've never felt more at home in any job than I do here. Once upon a time I had big ideas to leave my small hometown in Tennessee and never look back. I was going to make it big in New York City and beyond, but right before I took that step, my world came crashing down.

I left my University, packed my car with as much as I could load in it and drove North, never looking back. Stumbling upon this place when I stopped twelve hundred miles later, it felt like the home I had been looking for.

"Move it or lose it, old man! I got thirsty customers!" I yell at Butch once more as he ambles his way to the end of the bar where I'm waiting with my tray. His lips turn up and one of his big bushy eyebrows raises higher than the other.

"Ya know, if I didn't love ya like a daughter, I'd fire your ass." His heavy Boston accent is thick. When we first met I would have to work to understand each word. Now I just come to expect that every word with an ‘R' is actually pronounced ‘ah'.

"No you wouldn't. You wouldn't make it one night without me."

His eyes dance around the bar that's full and the tables that are packed out. Customers are milling around waiting for the new band to play as I load my tray with their drinks.

"Don't keep them waiting, J. Get the band their first round on me, too."

"Have you met them yet?" I look over my shoulder as I hear the screech of the microphone. Every Friday, local talent, and not so local talent flood into town in hopes of scoring a gig here at Foggy Goggles. Superstition has it, if you play here and get a nod from Butch during your set, your next step is a record deal. He is an avid lover of rock ‘n roll music and has an uncanny sense of talent.

I think he's just a crazy old man that loves to fuck with the young kids.

"I have." His eyes twinkle and it gives me pause. "Their songwriter met with me last weekend when he booked their slot."

"The songwriter is their manager?"

He shrugs. "Something like that. Ya know these kids starting out try to do whatever they can do on their own." He tilts his head as he looks past me. "Something about him though."

Shaking my head, I lift my tray and spin. "Catch ya on the flip side!" Tossing up the peace sign, I head to my table and deposit their drinks. Spinning from them, I grab two more orders on my way up to the stage. There's two guys running wires and setting up microphones on their stands.

"Hey! You with the band?" I yell to them then freeze when the guy with the most gorgeous eyes turns my way. They're almost neon blue and it makes me gasp. They match the rest of him, striking and bold. Tall and built without being bulky and a tattoo on his bicep that peeks out from under his t-shirt.

A curve of his lips draws my eyes straight to them. He walks to the edge of the stage and jumps down, landing directly in front of me. His cologne washes over me and I sway, closing my eyes and inhaling deep.

"Yeah, I'm with the band."

Despite the thick Bostonian accent, his voice is so smooth and sultry that I can almost hear him crooning a tune in my mind. A low rumble falls from his lips and pulls me from my daydream. Awakened to the world, all I see now is a cocky guy thinking he's all that. His deep ‘ I'm with the band ' line that I used to love to hear, makes me cringe.

"Can I get you something to drink?" I pop a hip, balancing my tray there and hanging my arm over it. I'm annoyed with myself for giving this guy a second look. Especially because he knows it.

"Yes, Savvy B, please."

"Savvy B?" I question him.

"Yes. Sauvignon Blanc, please," he says in a french accent. And now I'm really annoyed.

"Yes, I know what it is but you realize we're in a rock ‘n roll bar and not a winery, right?" I snap out with heavy sarcasm.

"Humor me. I'm sure ya got a bottle back there, somewhere."

I eye him. We do have a bottle or two, because it's what I like to drink when I'm closing up for the night. Tilting my head, I say, "You don't look like a wine drinker."

"No? What do I look like?" He folds his arms in front of him and leans his hip against the stage. His hair hangs loosely around his forehead and I have to clench my hands to keep myself from reaching out to brush it aside.

"A spoiled rockstar."

A laugh escapes him and his eyes dance as his voice drops and he says, "Oh, but I do look like a rockstar, right?"

I bite my lip, fighting to hold back the smile that breaks free.

"There's that smile I've seen ya givin' away all night." He grins and steps closer.

I roll my eyes at his stupid come on. "You'll get your wine. Or maybe you won't. What about your guys?"

He ignores my question and asks, "Ya lack of accent tells me you're not from around here, are ya? What's ya name? Ya tag only reads "J". He eyes my nameplate then lets his heated gaze travel over me from head to toe. I feel like I'm standing here naked in front of him.

"Then I guess that's my name."

"Just J?"

"Just J." I reply with a matter of fact tone.

"As in, ‘Just J…" he continues to push.

"As in, just mind your business and order a drink."

He barks out a laugh again and his eyes crinkle at the corner. "My guys will drink anything you bring ‘em."

I pause at his words, but then turn away, shaking my head as I make my way back to the bar. This guy is already under my skin. He's good looking and he knows it. Pair that with an attitude of ‘I'm with the band' and he thinks that's all it takes to score him a date. Good thing he's only a weekend gig.