The Bar

30. The Returned

Clara was moving past tables with two beers in hand. Past the roaring men who stare at the TV, past the laughing men who were on their fifth beer and finally to the table she needed to be at.

She placed the two beers on the table, the men arguing over something had not even noticed her. She gave a slight giggle at the sound of one man saying; "Your a total dumbass, you know that...right?"

With that, Clara turned on her heels and walked back to the bar. Najeem gave her a quick glance then nodded towards the storage room door.

"The captain has been looking for you," he says with his thick accent. She smiles and at him but bites her lip. Flint would probably have one of the other girls cover her tables since it was a slow night. He probably planned to have her all to himself, but Clara only wanted to go back to work and think about something else. Sure, she wanted to be with Flint, and yes she wanted sex, but she did not want to think about whether or not he had changed his mind. It was odd, how she had told him her dark past, and he was okay with it. Sure, the man had a dark past of his own, but his was justifiable. Clara however, felt like she was at fault.

Clara turned back to her section, only two tables had patrons, both of them busy talking with full glasses.
She turned back to Najeem. The tall man leanrd on the bar to facr Clara.

"Sweetheart, he is waiting, and I have known that man for years and years, and trust me, when he is as anxious and angry as he is now, he is not patient."
Clara bites her lip again then turns to walk back to the storage door.

Flint finally had finished the books, finally filed his orders for supplies and finally organized the paychecks for employees. He sat at his desk in the dim lit office, a glass of scotch on his desk. He leaned back, his button up shir had a few buttons undone. His hair combed back, his hand moving over his jaw as he thought. Picking up the dark stained glass full of scotch, he tilted the glass, staring at the alcohol that had made his bar a success. He stared long and hard at it, thinking about his bar and the pros and cons of owning a bar.

"Whatever is in that cup must be fascinating," a voice perched up.

Flints eyes gazed up to the girl in front of his desk. She takes a few steps to his desk, gliding her fingertips on the wood with a smile.

"Not as fascinating as you," he says with a sigh. She tilts her head to the side, curious and concerned.

"Whats wrong?" She says as her smile fades.

"Just thinking...come here."
She moves around the desk, leans against it right beside him. He rolls the chair to be in front of her. With the cup out of his hands, he wraps his arms around her waist, leans his head agaist her stomach and lets out a deep breath. Clara runs a hand through his hair, pulling the dark red locks away from his face.

"You smell good," he says atempting to change the subject.

"Whats wrong?" She asks again twisting the locks of his hair around her fingers.

"How about we go home...forget all of this...never look back," he says nuzzling against her. She giggles.

"Or...we could stay, work, then go home, have mind blowing sex, sleep in, and do it all over again," she suggests.

"I like the mind blowing sex part."

"So do I."

"Then why wait..."

He clutches onto her legs and lifts her onto the desk. He stands and kisses her hungrily. Sucking on her lips like they were going to save his life. He departed after a minute, moving his lips to her neck. She pants, excited, already soaked between her legs.

"F-F-Flint," she stutters as she feels his hand reaching for the hem of her shirt. He stops suddenly.

"You okay? Your chest isn't hurting right?" He asks worriedly.

"No...just...you really want to have sex, here?"

"I would have sex with you on the bar, on every table, in the kitchen, in the storage room, everywhere, if it means being deep inside you," he nearly growls his words with hunger.

With his hands on either side of her, planted firmly on the desk, he leans down, allowing her to cup his face in her hands. His lips brush against hers, he teasingly pulls away for a moment but then returns to her with a smirk, loving her eagerness as her nails dig into the base of his neck. At first the kiss is soft but then it turns into pure starvation. Biting down on her lip, sucking on her skin. A soft moan escapes her. Now that he was motivated even further with the sound of her acceptance he is just about to move his hands to grip her thighs but a sound abruptly halts them. 

The office door swings open, Najeem takes a step inside, hating himself for interrupting but he knows that he needed to tell his friend what was occurring in his bar. 

"Flint, those men are back," He says hastily, trying to suppress the anger he feels towards the men who had just stepped inside the bar. 

Clara can't move from her position on the desk because Flint still borders her from leaving. Flint clenches his jaw, hating to be interrupted. 

"What men?" Flint asks through his teeth in a deep stern manner. 

"Those men from a week ago, those four men..." Najeem tries not to be blunt with Clara in the room, knowing that he had simply stated that it was Clara's father, it would cause panic. Thankfully Flint gets the idea. 

"What men?" Clara asks worriedly. 

Flint rises from his position and sighs. Flint shifts his gaze to Clara, seeing the worry in her eyes. She didn't need this right now, not with her heart problems. He leaned down again, this time his hands cupped her face. He kissed her forehead longingly, lovingly. When he moves away, he places his forehead against hers. 

"It's nothing, just those men I helped Najeem with a week ago......stay here, don't leave this room, not unless I come and get you, understand?" He tries to be calm for her sake but deep within him he is ready to spill blood. He urges her to stay once more and she nods, seeing the worry and anger in his eyes. She knew Flint well enough to know that even the simplest thing would set off his protective nature, she knew that those men were probably not a big deal, or, they would indeed harm her. 

Clara sat on the desk for what seemed like forever, she heard muffled yells and glasses being thrown, she heard a scream from a waitress, and a few more muffles yells and screams, all of it was an argument. Clara wanted to run, hide, call for help, to know what was wrong, but like Flint had pleaded, she stayed on the desk, her legs crossed, her arms folded over her chest hugging herself in the cold room. She knew something was wrong, that Flint was not at all telling the truth.