Three strikes, you're out

Chapter-1 The Outsider

Jane

"You don't look from around here", I say to the guy that looks like he's just had a really rough day. "I'm not", he says, taking a swig of his whiskey sour.

He looks like the kind of guy that Vanessa tells me to run away from. Damaged, mysterious, and plain right dangerous. If this was a movie, this would be the perfect time to say something like "you look like you could use some company". God, movies and their cliches.

Perks of being the bartender/owner of club hell:

a) You know every kind of drunkard that enters the bar, from love struck ones to heart broken ones.

b) You almost always know which drunkard is sitting on the other side of the bar table.

This guy on the other hand, is not even a drunkard. Rarely takes a sip. always lost in thought, looks like he has gone through some trauma.

I mean, sure, he's attractive, definitely the kind of guy that I might hit on in another life, but I'm past all that. At least that's what I tell myself.

So I let him be at peace. Until of course , curiosity got the better of me.

"So what brings you to Club hell?". "A drink. Isn't that what clubs are for?" Smug. Perfect.

"If that's what you think clubs are for, then you haven't been to a lot of clubs, mister". "Guilty as charged." And he smiles. Good to know that he has dimples.

He seems familiar. Like I've known him in the past. His voice. His eyes. His gaze. Feels like a forgotten dream. Or a repressed nightmare, knowing men.

Either way, I did promise Vanessa that I won't go near men. Especially after my last breakup.

I should call it a day and close the bar. It was a good day. Not many riots, not many drunk teens. It was a surprisingly sordid day.

But he's all alone. He'll be fine. But you want to know what his deal is don't you ?

A chat wouldn't hurt.

"Hey, it's closing time", "How much do I owe you?", "On the house for the handsome outsider". Stop Flirting.

"Do you give free drinks to all handsome outsiders?"."Only ones that I might want to have a bite with". Stop. "I don't even know your name."

"Jane. Jane Shaw. Owner and bartender of this fine establishment." "You own this place?"

"My uncle passed it down to me once he got too old , and after I completed my business degree in NYU, he thought I'd be perfect for the job.." "Impressive."

"What about you, stranger? What's your name?"

"Eric. Eric Caden." "What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" "Making conversation with a flirty bartender slash owner of a club." He's good.

"So why do you look like you just saw someone die ?" Could I be any more rude? "I did". I stopped drinking my pina colada half way . "Well, I'm sorry about that". " It's fine, it was a lifetime ago , it just feels like I'm reliving that memory again"

Then a memory. I was playing with something. Sunny day, clear skies. A breath of warm air just brushed on my face, and, a boy. A teenager, maybe 18.

We were playing in the playground where all the younger kids play. There were little kids playing in the sandbox, boys sliding on the slides, and then there was me and him, sitting on the swings.

No matter how much I try to focus on his face, it blanks out, but his eyes. The sharpest blue eyes I've ever seen. He's telling me something but his voice doesn't reach me, when all of a sudden, two men with guns in their hands start making the kids run one by one, and then I hear gunshots, and a name.

"Eric!!!!!"