Work Text:
The noisy-ass bus was taking forever to come today.
Riley leaned against the side of the bus stop pole, eyes lazily tracking the cars zooming down the street. Riley’s car was in the shop right now, damn the emo twink that had hit them with a delivery truck in that fender bender. But thank god, insurance was covering it. For now, they just had to take the bus in to their bar- the week’s schedule needed writing, inventory needed taking, so on.
There were a lot of people at the bus stop today. Two women to their left, a slightly older man, and a-
No way, was that the fucking emo twink that hit them?
Damn, it was. He was slouching against the pole opposite theirs, earbuds in. The wire on their earbuds was disconnected, though, and playing a song that was familiar to Riley’s ears. They couldn’t remember the name of it. The twink didn’t seem aware of it himself, but the older man was bobbing his head along to it with a tiny grin. The young women beside him had no outward reaction, except for a small grin pulling at the corner of the lips of the chick with the white blouse.
Damn, what was that song’s name? It was stuck in their head now. And they couldn’t look it up, because the music was just faint enough that they couldn’t make out the lyrics.
Doo-doo do doooo doo..
It took Riley a moment to realize the tune wasn’t just playing in their head now. They glanced to their right.
There stood another young woman, hunched over her notebook like a turtle. A pretty one, too, with long hair as dark as her skirt. And she was humming along to the tune.
“…hey.” Riley leaned over a little bit closer. The woman stood up a tiny bit straighter and looked up at them. Her eyes widened immediately.
…she has pretty eyes. God damn. Riley cleared their throat. “What song is that?”
The woman hesitated, with a soft inhale that made Riley’s stomach clench just slightly. Her voice was quiet, and high-pitched, but endearing in a way. Like a mouse. A cute one. “‘Isn’t She Lovely, I think. By Stevie Wonder.”
Ah. Yes, that would explain why it sounded so familiar. Their mother loved that song. “Oh. Thanks.”
The woman quickly nodded, and looked back down. Damn. Riley wanted to talk more, find out her name (and maybe her number), but the woman seemed shy. Relax, you desperate lesbian.
Finally, the bus came, and everyone at the bus stop boarded one by one. The seats left available were limited- the old man sat down, as did the emo twink and the two other young women. While the man and the blondeish woman started arguing in the most polite way possible over who ought to have the seat, Riley noticed that there was only one seat left. It was between them and the pretty woman with the notebook.
Well, far be it from them to act any way other than gentlemanly- gentleenby?- to a pretty girl. With a small wave of their arm, they silently offered her the seat.
“Oh-” the woman closed, opened her mouth again. “No, no, you can have it, I couldn’t-”
As the bus shifted and started again, the floor jostled slightly. It didn’t bother Riley, but an obvious wince crossed the woman’s face, and she grabbed the seat like she needed it to keep standing.
“Please.” Riley reached up and grabbed one of the straps hanging from the top of the ceiling- See? That’s that- and stared down the woman until she sheepishly, gingerly took a seat.
“Thanks…” the woman looked up at her. Her eyes went to their arm Riley was holding the hanging strap with for balance- and immediately looked down as if flustered. Riley’s heart kicked up a notch.
This is literally what I work out for. That, and for lugging around heavy boxes of liquor, but also to impress girls. It works. Holy shit.
“No problem.” Riley smiled as nonchalantly as they could at her. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, yeah.” The woman set her notebook down in her lap, and fidgeted with the cover. “I’m fine. Sore back. Got into a little injury at work a while ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Such a shame. Pretty girls should never be allowed to feel pain. No, don’t say that, you fucking cheese. “Work injuries suck. I cut my hand open on a shotglass a week ago. Had to make a dozen drinks one-handed.” Is that weird to say? It’s probably coming off as desperate to keep the conversation up, I should just-
“Oh, really?” The woman’s head lifted more openly towards her. “Can I see?”
Riley felt their eyebrows raise without permission. She immediately blanched. “I- I mean, one of my OC’s has a scar on their hand, I’ve been trying to look for a good reference to help draw it, I just thought- an-and an OC means-”
“I know what an OC is,” Riley interjected, as smoothly as possible. “I get it. Here.”
They offered their left hand, the one not on the strap, to her for her inspection. The delight in her eyes at seeing the mostly-healed scar made their stomach buzz, because holy shit, no way that she was that cute and a freak.
The woman immediately flipped open her notebook after staring at their hand, and with a mechanical pencil- where did that come from?- started sketching out what looked to be like a replication of their hand and scar, with details like the wrinkles and the way it stretched jaggedly across their middle thumb (where Riley had fucked up the homemade stitches). “So what was it that happened?”
She seemed a bit more relaxed now that she was focused on drawing. Riley’s heart rate kicked up a notch; maybe this could actually go somewhere. “A patron at the bar I work at had a bit too much to drink and accidentally smashed a glass. I was in the middle of trying to take it from her, so my hand was pretty close, and, uh. Yeah.” They flexed their hand, as if to say, the rest is obvious.
“Ooh! Ooh, do that again.”
Riley paused at the sudden request, but slowly flexed their hand again. It barely hurt, and the excited glint in those dark eyes of hers was addicting. “Good for your reference?”
“Yeah! Yeah, a lot.” The pencil was moving faster now, onto a second, even messier drawing of their hand. Riley watched the lead speed around the base of the palm for a few more moments before going for it.
“So, uh…what’s your name? I’m Riley.”
The woman finally looked up at them again, before back down at their hand, then the drawing. “I’m Zoey.”
“A name as pretty as the girl.” Riley narrowly avoided saying their name again. “I’ve always liked names that start with Z.”
The pencil staggered on the paper, and Zoey quickly erased the tiny imperfection and resumed her drawing, with what looked to be like a hair more pressure on the pencil. “Oh, uh…thanks.” A pause. “Did you say you worked at a bar…?”
“What’d you say?!”
Riley had to practically yell over the bass thumping from the corner; it was a rowdy hour at the Triangle Bar, and business was picking up. The patron shouted their order back, some guy that looked like a basic frat boy that usually Riley would have worried about keeping an eye out in case he started to harass customers, but there was a small trans pin on his shirt. Good for him.
Still, a Red Bull Vodka?
…maybe that combo could work, actually. Riley would have to try it later. For now, they just grabbed the ingredients. The customer is always right…in taste.
Somewhere to their right, a small gust of fresh air blew in from the door opening. Another customer to join the fray. Riley didn’t even look up; they were getting into the zone. The Vodka Red Bull served, a quick and easy rum and coke to that lady over there, an older bloke to the left wanted an aperol spritz and a G&T, fuck, where were the lime wedges-
“Riley?”
It wasn’t every day Riley heard their name from a customer. They looked up, and nearly dropped the bottle of tonic water they’d picked up.
Zoey was there, holding her bag close to her hip as she leaned against the counter with a nervous little smile.
Well, there went any hope for finding those lime wedges or any train of thought. Riley straightened up like someone had tapped their ass with a hot poker. “Hey! Zoey!”
Zoey smiled wider in return. “I- I thought I’d come by and surprise you. Talk a bit more, maybe…but you’re pretty busy, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, yeah, a little bit..” Riley nearly shoved the aperol spritz towards the gentleman standing nearest to Zoey. He didn’t seem to mind. “Uh, I can make you something, and we can chat once this dies down?”
Zoey hesitated, looking up at the menu put up over the bar- the basic drinks and snacks were written there, mostly for newcomers like her, since a lot of usual bar goers already knew what they wanted. “Uh…I think I’ll wait a minute, see what you recommend.”
Bless this woman for understanding not to ask a bartender about preferences and recommendations in the middle of a rush. Riley gave up on finding the cut limes and shoved a lemon wedge onto the edge of the G&T.
“So, a Rose Kennedy…that’s tart, right? It has lime in it?”
“Just a squeeze and as a garnish. A Rose Kennedy is kinda a fancier name for it. Most people just call it a vodka cran, or a Cape Cod, but I think that’s more of an old people thing.” Riley sliced up a few limes, refilling the little bowl kept under the counter. “You like it tart?”
“I mean, I’m not opposed. I like cranberry juice.” Zoey tapped her open notebook absently; as Riley had dived back into the rush, she’d just sat there at the side of the bar, sketching. Didn’t see that every day. “…is there a way to make it sweeter?”
“Ya wanna customize?” Riley chuckled, and fished under the counter for a minute. “We can swap out the regular Smirnoff for some vanilla vodka.”
“Vanilla vodka?” Zoey repeated incredulously.
“Yeah. Didn’t know that was a thing?” Zoey shook her head, and Riley had to smile. “You wanna try it?”
“Yeah, sure.” Zoey leaned forward to watch Riley move around the counter. It was an easy drink to make- ice, vodka, cranberry juice, stir, and squeeze a bit of lime in there and toss the rest of the wedge in. Riley might’ve squeezed a bit too hard- gave it too much juice, hah- but they stuck the crumpled wedge onto the glass and handed it across.
“There you go. Vodka cran, sweet-style.” Riley let themself stare as Zoey took the cold glass and sipped.
“Oh, that’s good!” Zoey’s cautious smile disappeared behind the glass as this sweet, almost soft-looking girl downed it like a kid’s cup of lemonade.
Oh, Riley’s knees were going weak. Holy shit. “Uh, those are kinda strong, do you want a water with that-?”
The glass bumped back against the counter, and the ice rattled inside. “Can I have another?”
Riley opened their mouth. Closed it. “Yeah. Yes, ma’am.”
“You want the fuckin’ what?” Riley leaned over the bar to squint at the patron. “What the fuck is an Oppenheimer?”
The guy laughed at their confusion and started to explain something about a Japanese beer and American whiskey shot. Riley shook their head and made the thing he asked for- shot of American whiskey, drop in a glass of Japanese beer. Ridiculous.
“Haven’t you heard?!” Mr. WW2 laughed. “It’s the bomb!”
Riley rolled their eyes as they set it down in front of him, and moved on to the last person ordering a Last Word. Gin, green Chartreuse, maraschino liqueur, ice dumped into the shaker. Riley slammed the top tin on and lifted it for every bartender’s favorite part (the one that got them the most tips)- shaking. Up, down, a little flip if you were feeling fancy or wanted to impress. And for some truly inexplicable reason, Riley wanted to show off.
The ice rattled violently in the shaker as Riley gave it their all for a solid fifteen seconds, with two tosses thrown in for style. The patron looked happy, which was good. But Riley couldn’t help the urge to look over their shoulder at where Zoey sat.
Oh. Damn. Riley barely managed not to fumble with the shaker mid-flip. Zoey was staring at them, head propped up on her fists. Full attention. Riley barely remembered to add the maraschino cherry for the garnish as they set the chilled glass out, popped the shaker open, and strained the drink into the glass.
As the patron wandered away with their cocktail, Riley was finally able to give their own attention to Zoey. C’mon, be cool.
They wandered over and propped their hands on the bar, looking straight at Zoey. “Whatcha looking at, there, doll?”
Zoey’s mouth opened and closed as it stretched into a grin. “Can you do that again?”
Do…what? Make a cocktail? “Do what again?”
Zoey lifted her arms off the bar- with some effort, it seemed- and made a vague motion of shaking her hands, then aggressively yet clumsily hitting something with her elbow.
“Oh, you mean shaking a drink?” Riley felt a little glow of pride. That classic move had worked. “You liked it?”
Zoey nodded. She didn’t seem as shy as before. “Can you make me one? A shaky drink?”
“Uh, sure. A vodka cran doesn’t need shaking, so I’d have to make you something new…”
“Surprise me.”
Riley squinted at Zoey. Her movements were clumsy, her eyes seemed glassy in the dim lighting. Maybe three vodka crans had been a bit too much.
“…I’ll make you something special,” Riley said, stepping back to grab the shaker. In it, she put club soda, cranberry juice, and a squeeze of lime. Add the ice. Slam the tin on.
Riley couldn’t surprised a grin as they lifted the shaker and started to rattle it around. Double-handed, one-handed shaking, a flip around the hand, over the arm. Riley was by no means a flair bartender, but they knew a few tricks. Tipping culture was hell, but it wasn’t the ninth circle if you could at least wow the customers before giving them something to ruin their liver and their tomorrow morning.
Zoey watched it all with starry eyes and an open mouth. She probably hadn’t even noticed the drink didn’t have alcohol. She might not have noticed if Riley served her water.
Riley finished off the little jester juggling routine, which was also earning attention from several others- Abby, a new barcomer and also their accountant, gave her a little cheer- but the only one Riley really wanted to impress was the girl with the notebook.
Zoey gave a few little claps as they finally lowered the shaker, and they made direct eye contact as Riley slammed their elbow against the bottom’s edge to pop it open.
Zoey covered her mouth and giggled into her hands as they poured. “Damn, crack me open like that…”
Riley was not prone to getting easily flustered. They were a bartender. They knew how to handle drunk people. But they had no idea how to handle this. They could deal with drunk people, but not pretty drunk people- not one looking at her with watery, pleading doe eyes. And saying shit like that. Oh, god.
Riley swallowed as she strained and set the glass in front of her. “Uh, yeah, sure. Enjoy..”
Zoey barely seemed to notice the drink. She was just staring at the way Riley didn’t look directly at her with a forced straight face.
“Did I say something wrong?” Zoey’s head dipped, trying to meet their eyes. “I’m sorry, please don’t…you’re the, the prettiest- the gi- b- person? Person I’ve ever met!”
Oh, her voice pitched higher when she was sad. A fact Riley hated to learn. “No, no, you’re fine. I’m just, uh-” wait, she said I was pretty? And that little fumble was adorable…
“…uh, you- you think I’m pretty? You want my number?”
Those magic words completely flipped her mood- Zoey lit up like a New York power generator. “Whuh? Yes! Yeah!”
“Okay! Uh, let me write it down for you!” There was a notepad around here somewhere, that-
“Use this!”
Zoey turned and shoved her notebook towards Riley, who felt their throat go dry. It was a sketched drawing of them. Standing behind the bar, rattling that damn shaker with one hand, the other holding a bottle of what might have been vanilla vodka.
This girl was going to kill her. Riley grabbed the nearest pen, and scribbled down her phone number and full name in the space below the drawing.
“Alright…here.” They pushed the notepad back towards her- and gave a little nudge to the glass she hadn’t seemed to have even looked at yet. “Now try.”
Zoey took the notepad and hugged it with one arm, while her other hand snatched the drink up and slammed it back. Thank god Riley had swapped out the liquor for club soda. But the beaming grin Zoey gave them gave no hint whatsoever that she’d realized a difference.
“Okay…maybe it’s time for you to go home,” Riley suggested gently, grabbing her a glass of water. Zoey nodded without appearing to have heard them, taking the glass and starting to chug it to- though she faltered and stopped halfway through when she didn’t taste anything special. She pulled back and looked at the half-full water, then at Riley, confused.
“Do you have a roommate or friend or someone to take you home?” Riley asked, ignoring a patron trying to get their attention on the other end of the bar.
Zoey frowned slightly. “…why? M’sketch isn’t done…”
“Well, I think it’s gorgeous. You can finish it later- I can send you a picture of myself when you text me if you want a reference,” Riley added when Zoey opened her mouth to protest. They gentled their voice, as quiet as they could make it over the music and general bar ruckus. “But you’re drunk, doll. And I’d like you to get home safely, for my own peace of mind. Okay?”
Zoey took a moment to absorb that, but they eventually nodded. Maybe it was just because she thought that they were pretty that she dug out her phone and started clumsily texting someone, but if that was what worked, that was fine by Riley.
“Eat something before you go to bed, okay?” Riley took her mocktail glass, leaving the water, and gave her a little wink as they stepped back with a little phone motion to their ear. “Call me!”
Zoey smiled droopily and gave them a thumbs-up in return.