Freedom of Speech

Handcuffs

I love Tuesday night's at the bar.

It's quiet, the bar is empty and that means no one important is here to bother me.

Being a female bartender at the only bar in town can be a hassle. Luckily, 2 AM on a Tuesday, no one wants to be here. It was a godsend. I could clean my glasses, wax the bar, and finally organize the goddamn bottles. Oh, and clean all the spouts. Again.

Honestly, it wasn't half bad. Although I didn't realize how tonight could be a game changer. It was as peaceful as any other Tuesday night; ambient music playing at just above a whisper, all of the chairs on the floor put up, and all the peanuts swept off the tables and floors. Seriously, it was repetitive. Except when I heard the sound of the front metal door swinging open.

At first, I was like, "maybe it's just John, the building manager". Then I remembered, he went home early. Second guess, Iris- our one and only security guard. Although, for one guy he was built like four men. Yet the familiar, shiny bald head I was expecting wasn't what graced my eyes. No, no.

It was a man. A normal- not 6 foot with one gold earring loop and some hefty black sideburns- white male. He was on the tan side, recognizably handsome yet oddly disheveled. Chocolate brown hair, but like 'Dove' chocolate not 'Easter' chocolate. He was in a blue suit, the white dress shirt half untucked and I noticed a few cufflinks ripped off. He didn't make eye contact with me as he sat at the far end of the bar, but I did notice the slightest limp in his strut. The ivory shirt was almost off white, like he got in a scuffle outside and was thrown in the gutter. Plus is was unbuttoned half way, showing off a drool worthy chest with just a dusting of chest hair.

I continued my organization of liquors.

"Miss..." his voice was gruff, then he cleared his throat. I stood at attention, almost like a soldier, ready for his order. "Just a beer," he said, his voice not as scruffy but still deep enough to put Christian Grey to out of the game.

Although to my utter shame yet pride of having read the books, I slapped myself internally and shut down any random thoughts about a damn stranger in my bar. Business not pleasure, never mix the two. Stale beer taste better than that fuck up.

I pulled a glass of beer out of the cooler, not bothering to get him one from the tap because I just cleaned them. I also grabbed a small bowl of peanuts, setting both down in front of the fine smelling man when I reached his area. He looked up at me with some dashing, crystal blue eyes and gave me a small nod.

"Thank you," he said slowly. I nodded, using two fingers to salute him. On my way to the middle of the bar to grab some dirty shot glasses, I heard the sound of keys. Glancing to my right, my former assumptions of metal keys were replaced with the sight of this man. Opening his beer bottle. With one end of a handcuff.

The other end, attached to his wrist.

"Rough night?" I asked, grabbing a rag and walking over to his directions. He snorted and bobbed his head to the side, taking a swig if his alcohol.

"One of many," he said. I nodded, cleaning the glass out slowly. I've seen a lot of things, and even though I've seen plenty of people in handcuffs, this was a first.

"Hmm, lemme guess," I said, leaning my elbow on the counter and pointing to the cuffs dangling from his arm. "Met a trust fund baby at a club, went back to her place and found out she had major daddy issues and was just a little bit too freaky for you?" I said nonchalantly. It made him laugh though, and hearing it break the major silence in the bar gave me chills. He raised his eyebrows with an amused smile, taking another drink.

"I actually wish that was the case. No, more like angry brother-in-law/cop. Got a tad bit too drunk for his liking at the bachelor party. Tried to handcuff me to a radiator. Y'know, that cliche," he said, getting a confirmed facial gesture and a chuckle. "Didn't work though. I've known how to pick locks since I was nine," he finished shaking his head. I nodded, enjoying the story.

"No, go on. I've got until 3, and I've heard some pretty fucked up back stories. Let's see if yours takes the cake," I gave him a smirk, setting the shot glass down and wiping the counter down by habit. He chuckled again.

"Nah, I don't think an hour is enough time for that," he said, chugging the last of his beer and standing up, pulling a couple ones out of his back pocket. I put both hands on the counter, giving him a look.

"I only live three blocks down." He paused and glanced up at me, taking in my face and his eyes took it all in. I counted to 10 Mississippi's before he smirked.

"What are you suggesting?" He asked. I chuckled and picked my rag back up, shutting off the neon light behind me.

"A helluva good time with someone that won't end up handcuffing you to a radiator," I said. I leaned over the counter a bit. "I might actually handcuff you to myself." He chuckled, scratching his head.

"And if I pick my own lock?" He asked. I smirked, looking over at my shot glasses. I sighed and looked back at his blue eyes.

"Then I've got a new pair of handcuffs to break in. Care to try them out with me?" I asked. His smile grew and he shook his head.

"I guess I've got a new partner in crime for tonight?" He asked, sitting down. I laughed and put the rest of the glasses away.

"That's right, looks like I've found myself a Clyde," I laughed at my inside joke. I grabbed another beer and set it down in front of him. "Its on me."

"Y'know it's funny," he said, pointing to my name tag that read "Bonnie".

"Why's that?" I asked, turning around to replenish the empty liquor bottles. He chuckled behind her as she heard shuffling. She turned to see him holding up what seemed to be his ID.

"You're name is Bonnie. Mine is Clyde," he said, the ID clearly showing his birth name.

Whatyaknow.