The Bartender

The Cherry Popper

"I need a cherry popper."

"You've got one right here!" Shawn held out his arms proudly. Camila rolled her eyes and scoffed.

"Shut up. You know what I meant. Who the hell named these drinks anyways?"

"I don't know," he chuckled. "Help me make it?" Camila looked around, making sure she didn't have any tables to attend to before agreeing to help him. The restaurant wasn't busy. Neither was the bar, hence why he probably wanted her assistance. She watched him as he reached up and grabbed the bottle of Malibu coconut rum from the shelf. "Can you grab the maraschino cherries and grenadine?" He pointed to a low shelf under the bar. She nodded happily. She didn't even think twice about bending over to grab the cherries and grenadine. That is, until she turned around and saw that he had clearly been staring at her ass.

"Don't stare," Camila snorted as she set the items he requested onto the counter. She watched him as he licked his lips.

"Those shorts look good on you." He gave her a wink before grabbing some pineapple juice and a shaker full of ice. He was a good bartender. And a good teacher. You could tell he really loved what he was doing. She listened intently as he showed her how to make 'the cherry popper'. Four ounces of pineapple juice, four ounces of coconut rum, one teaspoon of grenadine. Shake it up and then pour over ice and serve with some maraschino cherries on top. Easy. He made it look easy, at least.

"You're good at that." She didn't mean to whisper it but she did, too distracted by his jaw line and subtle scruff to use her full voice. He looked down at her and paused. Their eyes were locked and for a brief moment every single touch and kiss from the night they met replayed in both of their minds. "Thanks for your help," she said quietly. He took a deep breath and nodded, trying to bring himself back to reality.

"Anytime."

He watched as she walked away and delivered the drink to a nearby table. He hated that interaction. Well, not everything. Just everything he felt. It wasn't much but he felt the tiniest flutter in his chest — a feeling he hadn't experienced in years. A feeling he hadn't experienced since...fuck. He shook the thoughts out of his head, grateful to the man who had just sat down at the bar for being the perfect distraction from his own mind.

He woke up the next morning with a random redheaded girl next to him in his bed. For some reason the sight made him feel better about the weird emotions he felt with Camila the day before. That encounter with her, the feelings that came along with it...that wasn't safe. This was safe. He looked over at the girl one last time and sighed before dragging himself out of bed and getting into the shower. It was his routine. After each new girl he took a long, hot shower. Partially because he needed it, yes...but also as a way of washing them off — making sure they couldn't leave traces of themselves anywhere. Maybe that was why he was having these weird feelings with Camila. Sure, he showered like always but he also immediately did it with her again. She left traces. Whether it be with her kisses or her sweat or the red scratch marks she made down his back. He couldn't help but start to scrub his skin harder. Was it too late to get her off of him?

He finally finished his shower and stepped out into his bedroom with nothing covering his body but a white towel wrapped around his waist, as always. He looked over at his bed and let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. She was gone. Whoever the fuck that random girl was had left. He did a quick double check of his apartment, making sure she was actually gone and not in his kitchen trying to make him breakfast or something. Thankfully, she was gone. He glanced over at the calendar that he kept by the door to his pantry and sighed. One more week. One more week until the worst fucking day of the entire fucking year — the day he dreaded every time it came around. He rubbed his hands over his face and dropped his shoulders, walking back to his bedroom to finish getting ready for the day.

Camila was there when he got to work, of course. They didn't talk at all though. At least not outside the normal drink order callouts she would give him. Part of him wished they had more playful moments like they had been having. He liked that side of her. But another part of him knew it was good for them to keep some distance between them.

Now that Camila was no longer training with Dolly it gave Dolly the opportunity to desperately try to work her way into Shawn's pants, including slowly pulling the neckline of her tank top down teasingly.

"Sorry, Dolly. I prefer them natural." Shawn ignored her advances. He always did. Not that he wouldn't actually fuck her. She was hot. He'd be an idiot if he didn't admit that. But she was desperate and he hated desperate.

Just then, Camila walked up to them.

"Hey," she chirped happily. "I'm getting ready to head home for the day and would love a Shirley Temple to go." Dolly's eyes were locked on Shawn but Shawn and Camila only saw each other.

"You know how to make a Shirley Temple..." he pointed out.

"Yes," Camila giggled. "But they taste better when you make them. Please?"

"Anything for you, peach." They didn't say much else until he handed her the drink in the plastic red to-go cup.

"Thanks Shawn," she said sweetly as she took the drink. He just nodded in her direction before watching her walk to the back to get ready to leave. As soon as she was out of his line of vision he looked back at Dolly, seeing her smirk devilishly as if she had just figured out the biggest secret.

"What?"

"You like her!" Dolly squealed. "Oh my god...you really like her. Does our little Shawn have a crush?"

"First of all, don't call me little. That's slander. Second, I don't have a fucking crush on her. That's ridiculous. You've known me long enough to know that's fucking ridiculous. And weren't you just trying to convince me to fuck you? Now all of the sudden you want to play match maker?"

"No need to lash out, Shawn. It was a joke." Dolly turned on her heel and walked away. Shit. Maybe he was a little aggressive there. She didn't deserve that. Sure, she was fucking annoying...but she didn't deserve that.

Shawn walked out to his car at the end of the night, powering his phone on to check and see what he had missed. One of the first notifications that popped up was a text from Camila — a selfie of her happily enjoying her Shirley Temple.

C: This is the most delicious-est and you're the most best-est. 🍹

He got into his car and sat down in the driver's seat, admiring the photo she had sent as a small smile tugged at his lips. He forced the smile away as soon as he became aware of it. He exited out of the conversation but he knew that wouldn't be enough. He'd still go back to look at that picture. Instead, he deleted the conversation completely without even responding to her message. He locked his phone and dropped it down into the cup holder before running his hands through his hair in frustration before angrily hitting his fists against the steering wheel, his car still parked in the parking lot of the restaurant.