John price as a sexy ass bartender who likes to flirt with younger women just to see if he’s still got it
MEOWWWWWWWWWWWWWW, age gap—reader is in her early 20s and John price is in his mid 40s, 😸
Based of this post from @thundersoothers
Not proofread !
You don’t come to the bar often.
Not because the stares the ugly men give you, paired with the glares from their wives screaming ‘he hasn’t looked at me like that in years.’
It’s not even the loud music that’s never good enough to enjoy, or the fact that liquor has never tasted right on your tongue.
Harsh tastes like hand sanitizer forced down your throat just because your friends think it’s a good way to blow off steam, no. None of that.
It’s the lack of true human connection.
Every bar like a blunt way of saying if your over 21 clubbing just isn’t the same anymore. So you sit at a till knocking back play party juice to make it seem like you have your shit together.
Every visit here is the same. Your friends stop by your cubicle after work ends. “Hey,” they say your name like they’re forcing theirselves to include you.
“Me and a few other co workers are heading to the bar in a bit, wanna tag along?” In the invitation feels pressured. It’s not real, it’s never filed with real excitement.
But you still agree. It has to be better than sitting in your cold home alone with no one but your dog and a book, right?
It’s not. It’s not better in the slightest, it never is.
You’re friends are on their 6th round of shots, table filled with stores you couldn’t dream of relating to,
You’re coworker that you despise rambling on and on about his sweet wife who always keeps him on his toes. You’re other peer dropping real tears of her babies first steps.
The same couple every office has that are so painfully in love have just announced their engagement, showing off the thousand dollar ring that he proposed to her knelled down in Millon dollar soil.
They skip over you without a hitch, and you let them. There’s nothing you can add to the conversation that you already haven’t, supportive sighs and make believe delirium of a happy life you don’t have.
The shot tray is empty and you waste no time offering to get them another round. They don’t hear you, or more so they ignore. They don’t notice that you’re already have way across the bar slipping down into a cold seat.
The tray next to you like a sick reminding of what you’ll always be. A waiter. Waiting for anything that’s not…this.
“Co workers are the worst kind of friends. Always bragging about useless things.”
You raise your head up from your palms, and you can’t help but stop dead in your tracks.
The most gorgeous man you’d ever seen in your life stood towering over you cleaning a glass with a rag that looked too small in his massive hands.
Your mouth opened and closed like a fish before you regained your composure, “l- yeah. Yeah, they are.” You spoke the only words that wouldn’t betray you.
The man stopped cleaning the glass and flipped it up placing it down gently in front of you.
You shot a quick glance to the glass before looking back up to him, he just gave a soft smile that practically screamed he’d been doing this for a long time, and this was a rare good one.
“Them yer’ friends?” His accent sounded think and smooth, you could listen to it all night.
You looked back at the table that hadn’t changed a bit before looking back at the man, then at the now filled cup in front of you.
You gulped before grabbing the glass tightly. “You could say that.”
He chuckled before he ent back to clean f glasses, “don’t look it to me.”
You met his gaze once more, your finger circling the rim of the glass as you stared deep into his eyes, they were captivating. “And what gave you that impression, exactly?”
He places down the cup and picks up another one before sparring a glance over to the table then back at you. “Well fronts don’t usually leave you out or have you standing there like a kicked puppy.”
Your jaw moved on its own as you grit your teeth. “You watch all your customers as long as you do me?”
His smirks as he our foe his last glass, leaning in real close to speak into her ear, “only when they’re as pretty as you are.” His voice dropped a few octaves and truth be told—had your thighs clenching together.
You released a small breath before you picked up the glass and chugged it down with one swift motion, you near slammed the glass on the counter as you deep exhaled at the sour taste and wiped your lips cleans of the rest of the substance.
He took the liberty of pouring you another drink, you raised an eyebrow, “you tryna’ get me drunk?”
He smirked again, “only if you let me.” He stated like he knew you would. And you would. And he kept pouring, and pouring, and pouring, till he had you giggled out your seat.
Your face was flushed, and the alcohol was only half the reason,
You gave the man—which name you had picked up along this hour conversation—was price. And you’re glad he knew your name, because the way he said it had you soaked once more.
“Say,” you started, placing a stray finger in your chin dramatically, “how-*hic* how o-old are you?” Your words slurring and it was a miracle anyone could understand let alone you had the ability to still stand up right.
Price, in all his characteristic glory leaned over the counter and said “Guess.” Simply, but oh so seductively.
And your clouded brain took the liberty of dissecting his entire being.
He was hot. And I mean incredibly hot. But the scares that littered his body screaming lived in and lived through too much shit to care about what anyone has to say anymore.
His eyes spoke wonders, years of experience and secrets only God would know trapped behind them.
“28 or 45.” You spoke so sure of yourself, but honestly you were just throwing numbers out there hoping to be close and funny.
His smirk deepened as a look of pride came over his face. Or maybe it was hunger, 13 shots deep and that line between the two has long been a blur.
“One of those is right darlin’” he stated. “An’ it ain’t 28.”
Your eyes widened and you could’ve came right then an and there. You looked up at him through fluttering lashes. And he looked down like he didn’t want to wait till he got to know you.
With just a few low words and that hung smirk he’d ruin your entire being. He’d ruin your pretty face, Fuck up your walls, then he’d rebuild it back up just so he’d have an excuse to pound it out of you again.
“hey girl where’s those drinks?” A voice called from behind you. You slowly spun around to see one of your co workers spouting a confused look. Right. You forgot you were a waiter.
Price just looked you up and down before he reached his hand over, grabbing your chin with his long slender fingers before he grabbed your bottom lip with a tender touch.
His eyes darkened and he tilted his head to the exit. “Let’s get out of here, shall we?”
Your eyes widened before a weak smile over took your lips, “but—*hic* won’t you ge-get in trouble?”
He threw the towel on the counter and rounded the till to stand in front of you.
He looked you up and down again before he hoisted you up by your waist off the chair, he probably didn’t have to do that but he took his chance to touch you.
Once he had you perched on his arm like a pretty doll, he smiled up at you. “Oh Sweet thing, I own this place. They can’t get me in trouble.”
The stray hairs that framed your face did little hide the heat. The two of you stared at each other like you could pounce right here and right now.
But you didn’t, he just held you like you were a bird on his arm, and you held onto his neck for dear life.
You were too drunk to flirt with him some more, so you just, “imma ta-take a lil’ nap. Wake me up when we’re at your house..”
You barely made it to finding your sentence before you were out cold.
When you woke up your head pounded, you cracked open your eyes and was surprised and releved when you were hit in the face with direct sun light.
You sat up slowly as the memorys from last night hit you like a brick, you gasped out before you opened your eyes fully to look around.
“What the hell?” You were in your own room, in your own house?
You looked down to lift up the covers and you sported a big tee shirt and just your underwear on.
You grabbed your head and took in a breath. “Holy shit.” Is all your mouth could conjure up.
You looked over to your bedside table to see your phone on the charger, a glass of water, a small pill next to it and a white peice of paper.
You grabbed the note and let out a breath.
‘Hey sweet thing, I got your address from your coworkers and took you home myself. And before you worry you took off your own clothes.’
You let out a breath before you continued reading,
‘My numbers on the back of you still want to come over.
—price.’
Your eyes widened again before a large smile broke out on your face.
Holy shit, the hottest man you’d ever seen just took you home and took care of you.
Just wait until you get back to work.
