you have quite a few regulars at your job—nurses coming off late shifts, cocky wannabe business men, off-duty cops. but every week, there is only one regular you care for. fresh-cut limes. cheap beer. the steady thrum of music. the bar you work at is shabby—and probably actively breaking a few health code violations. and still, the highlight of your week is getting to see carlos during your shift. he’s flirtatious—as most people are when you’re the bartender—but you don’t really seem to mind when it comes to him. he has a charm to him. he works as a boxing trainer at the gym down the street—and since he’s never brought up what a trainer is doing at such ungodly hours at a place like this, you never ask. your co-workers have taken to calling him your guard dog—not that you really mind. he’s earned it—especially since he decked the last creep that tried to grab your ass. quiet chuckles. shared glances. holding his cold drink to his busted lip. he offers you boxing lessons after hearing horror story after horror story of what your shift usually looks like. knowing laughs. matching grins. “i’ll get fired if i go around punching costumers” you say. and yet—surprisingly enough—you find yourself accepting his offer.
pairing: bartender!reader x boxer!carlos sainz with a twist
a/n: like two suggestive comments, lots and lots of flirting
In the two years since you’ve started working as a bartender, you’ve learnt the golden rule of working at a bar. You never, under any circumstances, ever say it’s a slow night. You don’t particularly believe in karma, but you’ve witnessed it one too many times. The bar is empty, the night is moving relatively easy, it almost looks like you’ll be getting home early—until someone speaks those damned words and all hell breaks loose.
You never say it’s a slow night. Never. And yet, as you’re wiping the countertop with a rag, the sound of Franco’s playlist has you nodding your head to the beat. The dim red and blue lighting of the bar has long since stopped giving you headaches, and the bar is surprisingly empty—even if it is a Wednesday night.
You don’t say it. Not out loud, anyways—but the thought crosses your mind. It’s a slow night.
“Hey,” you hear Franco call as he turns around the corner, a tray with dirty shot glasses in hand and a rag slung over his shoulder. He nudges his head somewhere behind you, a mischievous glint in his eye as he says, “your guard dog’s here.”
You try not to make your smile too evident as Franco heads to the back. And where he was blocking your view just a moment ago, you spot that all-too familiar head of dark brown hair. He meets your gaze, and offers a small casual wave.
You smile, throwing your rag over your shoulder as you walk towards him. “Hey, look who it is,” you say as you walk towards him, standing behind the bar. “It’s been a moment since I last saw you around here.”
Carlos nods. “Yes, it’s—” he chuckles, shaking his head a little, “it’s been a busy couple of weeks.”
Even from behind the counter, you can spot his gym bag propped on the stool next to him. His hair looks disheveled, you note—not that you’re complaining. “Lot of people wanting to get into boxing lately?”
He smiles into his glass. “You could say that.”
You tilt your head slightly, taking your chance as Carlos glances towards the opposite side of the bar. The red and blue lighting really do wonders for him. The line of his nose, the curve of his jaw, his lips as he takes another drink.
You’re not blind. You know Carlos is attractive—which is why you don’t doubt there are more than a couple of people taking boxing lessons with him for reasons other than wanting to learn how to box. Not that you’re in any position to judge—it’d be hypocritical of you. Especially when you’re already checking him out now that he’s not looking.
He turns his doe eyes back to you, and you find yourself smiling. “And here I was, thinking I was special,” you tease.
He arches a brow slightly, and you take pleasure in watching how the corner of his lips quirk up. “Oh, you are.”
“Mhm.” You shake your head with a laugh. “I’m sure you tell that to all the girls taking classes with you.”
You reach behind you for a glass and a bottle of the tequila you remember him ordering last time. When you turn around, you find Carlos staring at you with his big arms folded over the counter, teeth digging into his bottom lip. Stray tufts of brown hair are an inch away from blocking his line of sight, and you have the brief urge to brush them away. Carlos doesn’t seem to notice. “Am I that transparent?”
“Only a little.” You pour his drink, feeling his eyes on your face as you do so.
“Well, it’s only fair,” he says, and there’s that tone to his voice that sends your stomach into a tailspin.
“How so?”
He raises a brow. “Well, I bet you’ve got half your regulars here tripping over each other to buy drinks from you in hopes of scoring your number.”
“You mean it’s not my abilities as a bartender that keeps them coming back?” You smile, leaning your forearms on the counter, arms barely brushing against Carlos’. “It’s hardly my fault if they think my number’s on the table. And if some wannabe hot-shot lawyer wants to spend his money paying for my rent—who am I to tell him no?”
“So long as you’re making their pockets bleed,” Carlos’ accent becomes slightly more prominent after his second glass of tequila. It drips over his words, and you find yourself leaning closer to him.
You laugh. “Oh, absolutely.”
“So, does that mean you haven’t taken any costumers home yet?” He asks so casually, so mundanely, as if that very question coming from him doesn’t shoot warmth into your stomach. As if you’re not aware of this little cat and mouse game the two of you like to play. Toeing the line, flirting with enough deniability to pull back, to not make things awkward the next time Carlos decides to show up to your bar, or the next time you decide to schedule boxing lessons from him.
You look over your shoulder, making a quick check to see if you spot your boss nearby. You serve two shots, holding up one for you and offering the other to Carlos. A strange expression you can’t seem to place crosses his eyes. “That depends.”
He shifts on his seat. “On?”
“Have you taken any of your boxing students home recently?”
Carlos scoffs a laugh, and you’re glad it comes off as banter, and not as the question you’ve been itching to ask him since you last saw him. You still remember your last session with him—how, as you were walking out, you overheard a girl telling one of her friends that she’d be more than willing to help Carlos with his cardio beyond gym walls.
As soon as you heard them say it—among other things—you couldn’t help but look at the girl speaking. She was pretty. Very pretty. Pretty enough that you’d consider it if she was flirting with you at the bar. Pretty enough that it left you wondering whether Carlos would take her up on it.
You meet Carlos’ dark brown eyes over the rim of your glass. Fragments of girl’s whispered phrases come back to mind—his arms, his hands, have you seen him? I bet he’s the type that talks you through it—
You feel heat climbing up your throat just as Carlos chuckles. “No,” he says raising his glass in unison with you.
He doesn’t drink. Not until you match his answer with, “Good to know.”
He rolls his eyes with a laugh as the two of you down your drinks. You don’t need to say it. And if Carlos’ shoulders seem more relaxed after that, you don’t let yourself feel too hopeful.
A beat. Carlos toys with his glass before clicking his tongue as he casts a look around. “Hey, is that guy from last time still giving you trouble?”
“Nah.” You shake your head, biting down your lips to prevent a pleased smile from spreading on your lips. “Pretty sure you scared him away.”
“That’s good to hear.” Carlos pauses for a moment. He looks at you from his seat. He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, looking somewhat hesitant. He searches your face for another beat before he finally asks, “How bad would it be if I asked you at what time you get off tonight?”
You purse your lips, pretending to think about it. “Not sure.” Your fingers trail gently over his arm, and you don’t miss the goosebumps that appear on his skin in your wake. You meet his gaze. “I guess you’d have to ask me to find out.”
Carlos’ eyes flick down to your glossy lips, and you swear for a moment your heart stops. You’re both standing on the line of plausible deniability—after you cross it, there’s no going back.
“At what—”
Carlos phone buzzes next to your hand. Both your eyes drop down to it. Annoyance flashes across his features as he reaches for it. “Joder,” he mutters breathlessly, turning it around to check who’s is calling him.
You’re still tracing featherlight patterns on his skin, relishing in the way he seems to react to it. You flash him a cheshire smile, “Is that one of your students?” you ask.
Carlos exhales, his focus alternating between the contact name and you. “No—no, it’s…” his jaw clenches and unclenches, “…work.”
You stop your drawing of meaningless patterns on his skin, arching a brow. “You don’t look too happy.”
Carlos catches your hand in his before you can pull it back. His thumb brushes against the back of your palm. “I am not a fan of my boss interrupting when I’m talking to a pretty girl.”
“Ah,” you hum, and he pulls back his hand. Neither of you say it, but the two of you can feel it. That unspoken boundary snapping back into place. You find yourself missing the warmth of his touch. Still, you smile, “Want me to get you a drink while you answer?”
“Ah… no, that’s okay.” Carlos’ jaw clenches slightly as he glances back at the screen. He runs a hand through his hair, scrunching his nose frustratedly. “Just… I’ll be back in a second, okay? I—” he looks like he wants to add something else, but then a text flashes on his screen, and his teeth grind together. “I’ll be back,” he repeats, and you watch him walk out of the bar with his bag still left on the stool under your care.
Franco’s voice comes from behind you as he moves to take the dirty shot glasses from you. “Aw, gone so soon?” he teases, and you stifle the urge to shove your elbow into his rib.
“Shut up,” you roll your eyes, shoving him back anyway as you hear him making kissing noises as he walks away.
Carlos ends up coming back fifteen minutes later, looking more annoyed than you’re used to seeing him. By the time he comes back, the bar feels a little more crowded, but his seat remains unused.
He sits down, only to find you leaning against the bar, rag in your hand as you stare up at the TV.
“Crazy, huh?”
Carlos furrows his brow as you watch the screen, enraptured. “What?”
You tilt your head towards the news report. “Stolen paintings. Don’t know much about art, but I know what a million euros means to me.” As you turn around to face him, Carlos doesn’t look nearly as impressed as you do. You fold your arms over your chest “What about you? Say you get all that money. What’s the first thing you’d do?”
His gym bag is heavy on the stool beside him. You never ask what he carries inside it—that much should be obvious, right? He’s a boxing instructor, someone who works at the gym. And yet there are facts that slip past you. Like the fact that it’s nearly three am, that his gym closes at ten. That he has no business heading into a bar with a bag that he could very well leave in his locker. A bag that looks a little too heavy to be just gym clothes.
“That’s easy.” Carlos grins. “Buy a drink from you.”
a/n: heist!au is that you??? oh i’ve been procrastinating all afternoon on a test i definitely should study for but oh well. heist!carlos calls to me. i’m not sure whether this would qualify as a drabble or a one-shot (i write this on a whim so i couldn’t check the word count but i’ll add it tomorrow probably)
also that franco cameo was absolutely self-indulgent idc
i saw that each caption is labeled detective notes 👀👀 is that the reader by any chance?? also could we maybe see more of those notes of carlos???
not the reader not in this version of the au at least but she’ll make an appearance soon enough 🙂↕️ as for the detective notes on carlos…
CHARGES: ASSAULT AND BATTERY [DISMISSED]
Sainz was first detained after taking part in a bar fight, during which he caused severe injuries to three other suspects. These injuries inflicted by Sainz included: facial lacerations, broken limbs, broken nose, blunt force trauma, among others. In comparison, Sainz seemed to be relatively unharmed. Witnesses attest that he wasn’t the one to begin the altercation.
There are previous incomplete documents that could lead me to believe this isn’t Sainz’ first arrest. Further investigation yielded no answers.
Sainz walked before he could be processed any further. Case was dismissed. But why?
