Loving Zach (MxM)

1 Meeting D's

"No, no, no... NO!"

Fuck!

I slam my hands against the steering wheel.

It's dead. I turn the key one more time, the car sputters but doesn't start.

This month just keeps getting better. First the shit with Ben, then Marino fires me. Now my car died. I have about 100 dollars in cash and the same in my bank account. I need to find a job ASAP! Thank God the weather is good, so at least I can sleep in my car.

The clock on my phone shows it's 10 p.m. And... Fuck! the battery is 5%. I scan my surroundings again. There is a bar or maybe a nightclub a block from where I'm parked. Flower shop, which is closed for the night, and the Leo's Diner I came from. I get out of my car and head to the bar.

"Just my luck. The bar it is," I murmur to myself.

The bar is across the street in the industrial style two-story building with a sign that reads "Triple D". There's no bouncer so I walk inside.

It's surprisingly clean and bright. There is a lowered area with booths and tables to my left with a small stage at the far end, a bar to my right, and two hallways straight ahead. One leading to bathrooms and another to a room with pool tables and couches. There are a few people sitting in the booths and three older guys at a bar. The bartender is about 35, blond, and he looks friendly.

Yeah, like I'm a good judge of character.

I plant my ass on the stool on the far side of the bar so I'm facing the exit. I keep my eyes on exits these days.

"What can I get you?" Asks a smooth and a little scratchy voice. It sounds like it could belong to a country singer. You know the one with that rough growl, but still fluid and clear.

"A Coke, please." I lift my eye to meet the bartenders, but it's not the blond guy who was there when I sat down. I frown and scan the bar, not seeing the other bartender. Have I spaced out? That's not good.

"A Coke it is!"

This bartender is closer to my age, but not much. Late twenties? Dark hair, dark eyes, strong jaw with a five o'clock shadow, could be a Latino heritage. Not like my blond ass... He's tall 6'2'' or more. Based on the way his black button-down clings to his narrow waist and bulging arms, I'd say he loves to work out. A month ago I would have said he's sexy, now - he's dangerous.

The door near me, with a "staff only" sign, opens and the blond bartender sticks his head out. "Bye, Dean! You sure you can manage?"

The dark-haired one, apparently Dean, chuckles, and waves the other man off. "Just go already."

I take out my phone and check the battery - 3%

"E-excuse me." My voice cracks a little, and I clear my throat once I have the full bartender's attention. "Um... Is it possible... Can you... Can I..?"

Shit! Get it together! I chastise myself. The bartender raises one eyebrow and waits. I wave my phone. "My battery is dying... Is it possible...?"

Fuck! I wince at my stammering.

"Do you want me to plug it in for you?" He waves in the back's direction of the bar where I can see electric outlets.

"Um, could you? That would be great." Well, at least I didn't stammer this time, but I know by now my cheeks are beet red. The downside of being so light-colored, I burn in the sun easily and when I blush, I blush everywhere with these weird red patches, nothing cute about that.

The bartender's mouth lifts on one side, and he extends a hand. He has dimples. How is that fair, that with his looks and body, he also sports dimples? Damn.