I met Robin at work. She was a bartender, I was a bar-back. She made drinks, talked to customers, made everybody feel at home and just a little bit flirted with or conspired with or just plain better than they had felt when they walked in and bellied up to her bar. I made a few drinks, told bad jokes, and did whatever she needed that she couldn’t do herself, whether that meant making sure that she didn’t run out of anything or making sure one of the more belligerent customers got outside without hurting anyone.

Robin was damn good at what she did, and I was damn good at what I did. She never made a bad haul with tips, her bright blue eyes and happy, easy smile put the girls at ease and made the boys want to make it happen again and again. It didn’t hurt that she was just over five feet of absolute beauty. She was tan, and it worked well to draw your eyes to whatever skin she chose to show off on any given night. Her breasts were outstanding, high and firm and round, two softball-sized globes of temptation always proudly displayed with low cut tops. On the other end of things, her legs were long and lithe, her tan and choice of either shorts or a skirt whether it was rain, shine, hot, or cold always made sure that everybody knew they were a damn nice lead up to her tight, round little ass. Her long, raven black hair was alway down, brushing across the tops of her breasts and falling sexily forward from her shoulders whenever she poured shots.

She asked a lot of questions when she first got hired. How to mix certain things, where things were, what to do about certain customers, when to cut them off. She was bright, and she never asked the same question twice, soaking up everything I told her or that the boss told her and immediately applying her newfound knowledge. We worked well together; talking, joking, making sure everybody was taken care of. It wasn’t long before Robin became my absolute favorite bartender to work with.

We flirted, of course. I was single and she was gorgeous. It didn’t go much past smiles and cracking jokes at first, though. She had a boyfriend and I respected that in the way that most men respect a woman having a boyfriend. I didn’t intervene or talk shit about the guy, or even bring him up unless she did first, and always ran with the notion that as long as he treated her well then it was none of my business. Meanwhile, I shamelessly checked her out every time we worked together, and she would laugh or give me a smile that shone all the way up to her bright blue eyes and shake whatever she caught me staring at in a playful, very fun to watch sort of way.

After she’d worked there for about three months, her boyfriend started coming in on nights she worked. He’d get a beer, then sit at the bar and watch her work all night. I served him myself a few times. He wasn’t particularly unfriendly, but he wasn’t much of a charmer either. He didn’t really talk to anyone, he just watched her work.

Nobody minded the first few times. He was quiet and he paid, tipped a buck every time. Kept to himself. He always left right before we closed, driving away instead of waiting for her.

It wasn’t until the fourth or fifth time he did it that it started to feel… off. He got more sullen, spent more time staring down anyone who she talked to than he did minding his own business. He drank faster, going through a beer every ten or fifteen minutes until he was visibly drunk inside of the first two hours.

Robin knew it, too. I could see it in the way she talked to people, this tension that wasn’t ever there before, taking quick glances over at him that were like uncomfortable reassurances that everything was okay. Something was wrong. I just didn’t know what, yet.

It finally hit the point where he was too drunk, and too stupid to keep things in the realm of alright anymore. Some guy ordered a beer and smiled at her, asked how her night was, how long she’d been working, where she was from. Pretty standard shit, really. Hell, customers did the same to me, and she was far and away cuter than I am.

I was pushing a couple of newly emptied stools back into place and clearing a table when I saw Robin’s boyfriend stand up and grab the neck of his bottle like a club. He started towards the guy at the end of the bar, who had since gotten his beer and returned to his friends, this nasty, chilling look in his eye. I’d seen that look before, but not too many times. Most people who get in a fight in a bar are just drunk and rowdy, wanting to blow off some steam. This guy was looking to hurt somebody.

I got to him just as he was raising the bottle up, just a few steps away from bringing it down onto the poor shlubb’s head. I was behind him, so I just grabbed the upraised bottle and pulled it back toward me, popping it right out of his hand. He spun around, taking a swing at me in the process.

That pissed me off. It’s not that I mind being swung at. Hell, it’s basically part of the job. What pissed me off was that he hadn’t turned to see who it was first. It could’ve been me. It could’ve been one of the other customers trying to stop him from making a stupid mistake. And it could’ve been Robin.

He was shitfaced, and that made him slow. I caught his wrist before his fist got in front of his head, planted a foot and shoved him against the bar, trapping him between it and me. He wasn’t a small guy, but he was smaller than me, and he was too drunk to think his way out of that one, so he just started cussing at me instead.

“You motherfucker,” he slurred. “Lemme go!”

“Listen up, dude,” I growled in his ear, “you just about made a real, real stupid mistake just now, and you’re going home to ponder all the ways your life would’ve gone to hell if I hadn’t stopped you. Now, you can go right now, under your own power, and I’ll call you a cab and load you right up into it friendly as can be, or you can keep being a dick about it and I’ll throw you out the door like a frisbee, pick your busted ass up off the sidewalk, and shove you into a cab like a pile of laundry that’s too big for the dryer.”

I didn’t really want to hurt him. Yeah, he was an idiot, but a lot of people are when they’re drunk. I’d stopped him before he hurt anybody, and if he went along with things, I wasn’t going to do anything else to him. He deserved to go home, he deserved to not get any more booze, but he didn’t deserve to have anything broken.

He struggled for a few more seconds, and just when I thought I was going to have to make his exit rougher than it needed to be, he slumped and nodded his head.

“Outstanding!” I said, letting him up and slapping him on the back, putting my arm around his shoulders and walking him out like we were old friends. On the one hand, that’s a friendly gesture, makes everybody I’ve ever thrown out of the bar feel a little less offended by it. On the other hand, that puts my hand in a very convenient position to wrangle them back under control if they decide to do anything stupid.

He behaved, and I got him into a cab and on his way home without further stupidity on his part. He’d have a helluva hangover in the morning, but he wouldn’t be in jail.

I went back inside and gave Robin a little nod, passing by her as she poured a row of shots and giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I went to the walk-in cooler to check my beer and see if I needed to grab any cases. I heard the cooler door open again and turned around just in time to catch Robin as she threw her arms around my waist and squeezed. I dropped my arms over her shoulders and squeezed back, both surprised at the contact (we hadn’t really hugged or even touched before) and enjoying the feeling of her lovely little body against me.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

“Just another day at the office, right?” I said.

She laughed, a little sadly, and looked up at me, her face just a few inches below mine.

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have had to deal with him. Once he figured out how well I’ve been doing with tips, he started to get weird about it, paranoid, I guess. I asked him to stop coming in, but he just does it anyway, then rants about it when I get home. He thinks every guy in the world wants to fuck me, I guess.”

“They do,” I grunted, a smile pulling up the corners of my mouth. She laughed again, this time without sadness, her bright eyes shining as I watched her lips part around the sound. Her body, so warm and curved in such wonderful ways, shook merrily in my arms.

“Uh-huh,” she said, sarcasm light and playful in her tone. “I do sort of appreciate the irony, though.”

“What irony?” I asked.

“He’s worried about all the dudes that come in here sweeping me off my feet into bed, and the only one he should be worried about is the one who throws him out,” she said, a mischievous little grin crossing her lips as she winked and dropped her hands to give my ass a quick squeeze and pressed her hips close and tight to mine.

My mouth fell open and she giggled, a high, happy sound, as she slipped out of my arms and spun for the door, her long black hair flying around her and leaving me in a cloud of the sweet smell of her shampoo. She looked back as she went to push the door open, pausing for a second with both hands against the door, one knee ready to push against it, her perfect little ass cocked out, bottom lip caught between her teeth and a look that was half mischief and half lust in her eyes.

“Even if I was kidding, it would’ve been worth it for that look on your face,” she said. Her eyes dropped to my crotch and widened, her lips parting in surprise before curling into a smile that made my blood run hot and fast. “Glad to see I’m not the only one who thinks it would be a lot of fun!”

She shoved the cooler door open and went back to the thirsty, boisterous crowd as I stood in the middle of the cooler with my mind whirling and an erection that strained against my jeans rather uncomfortably.

It took me a few minutes to get myself back on track and figure out what beer I needed to bring upstairs. I had to haul four cases. I’m not a little guy, just a bit over six feet, and I exercise regularly, both at the gym and hauling heavy shit around at work, so I took them all at once to save myself some time. I had to run back down for a couple of bottles of liquor, and when I got back up with them Robin was mixing up a round of shots.

I had to put one of the liquor bottles away on the high, hidden shelf above the bar, right over her head, so I just reached over her to slide it into place.

“Can you grab me down a José?” she asked without looking up from her pour.

It was three bottles to the left of the Jack I was putting up, so I reached over with my left hand to grab it without thinking, the move making it so I was standing squarely behind her. Robin set down the bottle she was holding, put both hands on the bar, leaned forward a little, pushed up on her toes, and pressed her tight little ass straight into my crotch.

My cock hardened immediately, mercifully pointed down my pant leg so it wasn’t jammed up too hard, and it made things nice and vertical for her as she wiggled her ass and caught me between her gorgeous cheeks, only my jeans and her short skirt between us. Robin looked back over her shoulder at me and winked, her hair falling sexily across her face as she gently ground her ass against me.

“I can’t reach them, and you’re just so BIG,” she said, emphasizing the word by pushing her ass against me a little harder, “and I just knew you could get up in there real good for me.”

Two can play this game, you little shit, I thought.

I pulled the bottle down and leaned over her to put it next to her hand, the length of my body pressing against her arched back. I put my hands on either side of her ribs and ran them down her sides until I gripped her hips and pulled her against me as I put my lips to her ear, letting her feel my breath hot against her cheek.

My lips brushed her ear lobe as I whispered, “Any time, little girl,” and pulled her back against me one last time before letting go and stepping away to take a drink order.

As I moved I heard her groan and saw her head fall forward, a happy, naughty little smile on her face.

“That was fucking hot,” I heard the girl whose drink Robin was making say. I never heard Robin’s answer.

We flirted the rest of the night, giving each other long, hungry looks, letting our hands brush against the other person’s hip or shoulder or the outside of a thigh. She kept reaching around me to grab beer out of the standing cooler, making sure her breasts brushed my back or my arm.

I walked her to her car that night after we closed and all the liquor was stocked and all the tips were counted. She looped her arm through mine and smiled at nothing in particular, dropping her head onto my shoulder. When I got her to the car she gave me long, tight hug, pressing as much of her body against me as she could and holding me tight.

She pushed up on her tip toes and kissed my cheek, her soft lips pressing against me just above the line of my beard and I squeezed her gently as she did it. Robin let out a soft sigh, melting a little in my arms.

She jumped when I reached down and squeezed her ass with both hands, then laughed and playfully slapped me on the arm.

“Fair’s fair,” I said, a grin plastered across my face. She really did have an amazing ass.

“True,” she said. She was trying not to smile, or maybe she just couldn’t decide how much trouble we were in. Either way, I knew she wasn’t mad. “I have to go home.”

“I know,” I said. Neither of us really wanted her to, but we weren’t quite ready to go there yet, I think. I leaned down and returned her kiss, my lips and beard brushing lightly across her soft, smooth cheek, lingering longer than I planned.

“Good night, Robin,” I whispered.

“Good night, Shane,” she whispered back.

Part of me was sad to watch her drive away. The rest of me was on a sort of high that only comes from knowing that a pretty girl is interested in you. I walked the two blocks back to my apartment practically skipping, as dumb as that sounds. Whatever. She was gorgeous, and she wanted me. Skipping is excusable.


We worked together again two nights later. It was open mic night, and our bar ran a special on dollar drafts. Busy was somehow not a strong enough word.

Robin was pulling beer as fast as she could and barely keeping up while I poured any shots and whatever beer she couldn’t get to. I didn’t have to do much by way of hauling up cases or liquor that night, but I did have to run down to the keg room and switch the lines over four or five times. With the press of bodies in the bar the AC was struggling to keep up, and we were sweating hard an hour in.

I stripped off my button-up, running back and forth behind the bar in the white tank I’d worn under it. Robin was sweating, but on her it looked damn good. Little hairs stuck to her forehead, small beads of sweat ran down her neck to disappear between her breasts. She caught me looking a few times and gave me a happy, glowing smile.

We had a little lull in the press for a few minutes between acts as everybody either headed for the bathrooms or stepped out to smoke. One lone customer, a regular that we saw pretty much every night, sidled up and ordered a bottle. Didn’t matter to him if there was a special on, he always wanted a bottle. Robin was taking a well deserved rest, leaning against the standing cooler, so I slid the door open and grabbed the bottle before realizing that she was right in front of the bottle opener that was mounted on the front of the cooler.

“I’m gonna need that opener,” I said, a half smile on my face.

“Well, I’m just not sure what I can do to help you,” she said, a naughty twinkle in her eye. She was right in front of it, completely blocking it, leaning against the cooler with her feet about shoulder width apart.

“Oh,” I started, my grin getting wider, “I don’t think you’ll need to do anything, actually.”

I reached low between her legs with the bottle, letting the cap touch the cooler under the hem of her short skirt, and slowly moved it up, letting the back of my forearm drag slowly and gently up the inside of her strong, soft thigh. Robin’s lips parted in a smile that grew with every inch until her mouth was wide open in a sort of half smile, half gasp. The bottle cap finally clicked into place on the opener just as my forearm, now at a rather steep angle, ever so lightly brushed against the front of her panties.

I could feel the heat of her radiating against my arm, the soft material of her panties just caressing the skin, brushing the little hairs on my forearm around. I held there for a second, staring straight into the those bright blue eyes, her mouth still open in that smiling gasp. My arm dragged across her incredibly hot mound for just an inch or two, so lightly it might have been my imagination, or hers, when I pushed the bottle back down and popped the cap off, hearing it fall into the little container built into the cooler.

“Oh, you dirty, beautiful bastard,” she whispered just before I turned to hand the beer to the rather amused regular who had ordered it. I collected his money and he walked away, leaving me to drop his change into the tip jar.

“Think you can watch the bar for a second?” Robin asked. I nodded, still grinning at her. She walked away, swaying her hips as she went, looking back over her shoulder at me to make sure I was watching and smiling brightly when she saw that my eyes were glued to her.

A few fast smokers made their way back in and I got to work mixing up some drinks, pulling a couple beers. She was only gone for a few minutes, my eyes glued to her again as she walked back to the bar, putting a little sway into it, giving me and anybody else who bothered to look a fun little runway show. Everybody looked. She was a knockout.

“I want you to know that this is your fault,” she stepped up to whisper in my ear as she walked past me and into the little cubby where we cut the fruit and all the employees keep their coats and purses.

“What is?” I called after her.

I watched her step into the cubby, out of view of the rest of the bar, and noticed that one of her hands was balled up into a fist. She flicked on the light over the little table in there and raised her balled up hand, opening it and brining her other hand up to stretch a satiny white thong between her hands. The front and bottom were turned a darker shade from moisture, and she made damn sure I saw that before she stuffed them into her purse and flicked the light back off.

She skipped back over to me, her hair dancing around her shoulders. She hopped right up to me, stretching up on the tips of her toes, pressing her breasts against my chest, her hands on my shoulders. Her lips brushed against my ear, her tongue flicking out to gently tease my ear lobe.

“That little stunt with the bottle made me so wet I had to go take my panties off,” she whispered.

Her skirt was denim, one of those short jean skirts with the white stringy threads hanging from the bottom of the hem. With the hand that was hidden, more or less, from the rest of the bar I quickly hooked two fingers into the waist band up to my palm between her hip bone and the center of her body, feeling her hot, smooth skin against the backs of my fingers, just beginning to feel the curve of her mound. I used them to pull her against me tight, letting her feel how hard she had made me. She gasped into my ear, pushing her hips into me and moaning softly as her fingers dug into my shoulders.