One Last Time- Jordan Knight Fanfic

Three

Jordan

I STEP INTO the Prohibition Lounge with no expectations, and yet I still find myself surprised as I take it all in. It's a good sized space, while still managing to maintain a sort of intimate atmosphere. The lights are dimmed down a tad, making it inviting, and the dark furniture only adds to the ambiance. There are no tablecloths on the tables, but the silverware wrapped in white linen, along with the white cloth chairs pushed up to each place setting, gives the Lounge a crisp, clean, sharp look to it. It's not particularly crowded, which isn't surprising for a Tuesday night at this time, and I wonder if their kitchen is still open.

"Good evening, sir. Table for two?" greets the hostess, pulling me from my perusal of the place.

I offer her a small smile, dipping my chin in a silent hello, and then search the bar.

Noting that there are only a few patrons sitting at the long stretch of counter, I nod in that direction before I inquire, "Would it be all right if I made myself comfortable at the bar?"

"Absolutely, sir. The bar is free seating."

"Thank you."

As I make my way past the hostess station, I hear Clay requesting a table near the door. I don't bother inviting him to sit with me, knowing already that he would decline. He always does—wishing to remain on the periphery of the room, watching my back. He's constantly on duty when he's with me. He never lets his guard down. While I don't always find it necessary, I appreciate his professionalism just the same.

I drape my jacket over the back of my stool and take a seat at the corner of the bar. Pushing up my already cuffed shirt sleeves to my elbows, I rest my forearms against the counter top and shift my focus toward the bartender currently attending to another guest.

My gaze relocates when I notice another stepping behind the bar to join her. She spots me right away, offers me a small smile, and then casts her eyes down as she begins to close the distance between us.

I watch her as she approaches, noticing her shoulders rise and fall, as if she's taking a breath—not because she needs oxygen, but because she's attempting to prepare herself for something. Just before she stops in front of me, she lifts her head, straightens her neck, and plasters on a smile.

Before she even speaks a word, I know the friendly expression on her face isn't genuine. It's a shame, really. She's got a beautiful face. Her eyes are hazel, more brown than green—though, perhaps it's the lighting that plays with the color, or her dark, wavy hair she wears loose; it frames her face, cut just short of her shoulders. Her milky skin looks soft and smooth—save the small mole she's got on her right cheek, a short distance away from her mouth.

Thinking about her mouth makes me look there, too. Her bottom lip is fuller than her top one—and with my focus zeroed in on her lips, her forced smile becomes even more obvious.

"Hi, there. I'm Kate, and I'll be taking care of you tonight. What can I get you to drink?" she asks, pulling my attention back up to her eyes.

"That depends, actually," I say, my stomach clenching in hunger. "Is your kitchen still open?"

"Sure is," she assures me, looking down in front of her. She reaches for a menu, placing it before me as she goes on to inquire, "Would you like a water while you decide on something?"

"Sure, thank you."

She offers me a nod and another forced smile, and I watch as she goes to fetch me that water. My curiosity getting the better of me, I don't take my eyes off of her, noting how her shoulders sag the minute she thinks no one is looking. Something tells me it's not just a long night she's having. Shoulders that heavy carry an invisible weight that only the bearer is privy to.