The Neighborhood Series
Stories 1-10
Tarrah Anders
Contents
BARTENDER
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
COMING UP NEXT
BASTARD
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
COMING UP NEXT
VIXEN
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
COMING UP NEXT
CONVICT
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
COMING UP NEXT
CHEF
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Epilogue
COMING UP NEXT
COWGIRL
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Epilogue
COMING UP NEXT
BIKER
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Epilogue
COMING UP NEXT
MANAGER
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Epilogue
COMING UP NEXT
REGULAR
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Epilogue
COMING UP NEXT
LEGEND
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Chapter 121
Chapter 122
Chapter 123
Chapter 124
Chapter 125
Chapter 126
Chapter 127
Chapter 128
Chapter 129
Epilogue
Also by Tarrah Anders
Chapter 130
Dear Friends,
Acknowledgments
About the Author
I dedicate this short story to the women that fall in love with bartenders.
They aren’t all cocky assholes.
Only some of them are.
COPYRIGHT © 2019– TARRAH ANDERS
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.
Tarrah Anders | Tarrah Anders, LLC Tarrah.anders@gmail.com |www.tarrahanders.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Formatting: Tarrah Anders, LLC
Cover: Jess Bryant Designs
Ordering Information: The Neighborhood Bartender
ISBN: 9780463719954 | 9798619646450
Chapter One
I'm not exaggerating when I say this, but I am a total catch.
I’m tall, dark and handsome. I’m brutally honest, sarcastic as fuck and a loyal friend, to those that I actually would label as such.
I am Noah Baker, a grade-A piece of -I’m ready for you always- kind of man. I’m sexy and I know it, a good lay and a total hot commodity in this small town of Mercy, the town to the east of Hollybrooke.
It's not because I'm cocky, well okay, maybe it is... To be perfectly honest, it's because no matter what, I have someone interested in me. So of course, I’m going to pat myself on the back and say that I’m a lucky son of a bitch. Both men and women want me. I have my pick of the litter. Granted, I don't go for the dick, but it's nice to know if I did root for the same team and like to play hide the banana that I would have my options open there too. I would have my pick of whatever I want, as if it was handed to me. But I like women, every part of them. From the top of their dyed or over sleeked out hair, to their painted toe-nails – and just about everything in between. The only thing that I don’t do is the clingy shit. So, I hook up and that’s about it. I don’t do relationships and that’s not something that I conceal.
When I graduated from junior college, I didn’t want to leave the small town that I’ve called home my whole life and instead went to work for my dad, who owned the bar. When he passed, he had left the place to me, and even though I was the owner, I loathed paperwork so I hired someone to run the joint, so I can stay behind the bar – slinging drinks and flirting with the folks who chose to spend their nights in this fine establishment.
The Neighborhood.
That’s where I spend my time. I'm a bartender, the bartender and likely what you can call your neighborhood bartender, and women find that sexy. At least that's what I'm told. That's the main reason why I work here at the Neighborhood, the only hot spo
t in town. The bar is rustic and gives the feeling of warmth when you are inside, we have music, food, booze and good people. It also doesn’t hurt that our kitchen makes the best burgers and onion rings that Mercy has ever seen- so we stay busy. And with the amount of usual’s that come into town, along with those from the city or just traveling through – there’s always, always some new people coming through here. That means new women for me to perhaps spend some time with, horizontally.
The woman sitting at the end of the bar is no exception. I’ve never seen her before, and strangely I want to know all of her. Her wavy chestnut hair, the dusting of freckles across her cheeks and her plump kissable lips tell me screams innocence, but something else tells me that she’s a vixen despite her good girl exterior. Her black tank top clings to her curves and ample breasts hidden underneath in a red laced bra, telling me that she's a wildcat and just wanting someone to tame her. I should tame her.
Wait, what? I don’t need to tame anyone, lest be tamed myself. I’m a wild wolf, not some good old dog.
She's currently ignoring me, but I bet that she's interested, who wouldn't be.
I want to find out what makes her tick, what she looks like underneath me and what she sounds like in bed.
I make my way down the bar, wipe the counter in front of her, throw down a coaster and lean on the bar top towards her.
"What can I get you, beautiful?" I give her the smirk that has drenched plenty of panties and wait for her to respond, to meet my eyes and to melt in my hands.
"Coming your way." Our eyes meet and I sense her apprehension as she gives me a weak smile and a look over She doesn’t seem like she cares and that unnerves me.
I mix her drink, pour it into a mason jar and place it in front of her as she digs out her card and hands it to me.
"Keep it open," she instructs as she stands with her drink and without a fleeting glance, turns and heads to the booth in the corner with a table of her friends.
What. The. Fuck?
I look down at her credit card and read her name - I've never had a woman ignore me the way that Valerie Dubois just did.
I look up to the direction of her table. She laughs with her friends and is not even glancing in my direction.
Strange.
Must be an off night, or maybe, just possibly she can be into chicks. Yeah, I'll go with that. She’s a muff diver. Man, that’s pretty hot too.
I notice a short time later that one of her friends has left their booth and is giggling at the side of the bar. When I approach her, she overtly flirts when I take her order. I hand her the drink and she passes me a ten with a torn piece of paper, then winks and walks away, putting an exaggerated sway in her hips as she sashays to the booth. I look down at the piece of paper with her number on it and crumple it up then toss it in the trash.
She’s cute but I’m not interested tonight, I want her friend. I want that unmentioned challenge.
The girls all giggle as she sits down. She looks in my direction, flips her hair and starts talking animatedly, casually glancing back at the bar every few minutes. I ignore her and my challenge – to tend to the other patrons of the bar without another thought.
Three hours later, a packed bar, and one woman who has continued to not show interest in me - my constant inner battle of what the hell is wrong with the universe comes to a halt when I look up from the right side of the bar, I see Valerie waiting where she first sat earlier in the night. I casually walk over to her and cross my arms.
"Another Moscow?" I ask.
"I'd like to close my tab." She shakes her head.
I total her up and place her tab in front of her. "I'm curious." I say.
She signs the slip and looks up at me with an inquisitive quirk of her eyebrow.
"Pardon?"
"I'm curious. Most women go to bars and flirt with the male patrons, especially the bartenders. But I watched you all night and you never strayed your eyes from your friends."
"I don't see how any of that is your business, but I am enjoying a night out with friends." She looks at me with a scowl with her hands on her hips.
"Do you like dick?" I ask her.
Her mouth drops open and I can envision it wrapped around me.
"Incredibly rude. You don't know me." She stuffs her card into her wallet and turns on her heel.
"Honey, I'm the bartender, The Neighborhood shrink. I'm just observing. I call it like I see it honey." I yell after her. The crowd swallows her and I'm left wondering. And wanting, who is this amazing woman who is immune to me and poses a challenge?
Chapter Two
A week goes by before my next busy shift at The Neighborhood. I'm restocking my garnishments when I look up and see her again.
She looks carefree and unbothered as she sits in the same booth she sat in last weekend. I note the lack of drinks in front of her and her friends and wait impatiently for her to approach.
The night wears on and the place gets busy. I'm making my way out of the back office from my break when I see her in the small hallway.
I look around, thinking she's lost.
When she notices my presence, I smile and stop in front of her.
"The ladies room is around the corner." I say stopping in front of her.
"I was looking for you." She says with a firm tone.
"Oh, really now." This I've got to hear.
"I like dick." She says as my own perks up to the news hoping to get pet by her. But she walks away before I can say anything.
What is this game she's playing?
I walk out of the hallway speechless and confused. I'm behind the bar and back to work within seconds to unclog the bar. Miles, the newest addition to the bar team at The Neighborhood seems to have a backup and is still learning drinks by the herd of people waiting.
I start taking orders and when I get to the last row of customers, I see Valerie. She's chewing on her bottom lip and her eyes are roaming her surroundings as if she's never seen the bar before.
"Nice play back there." I say to her. Her eyes zero in on me and I smirk.
"It wasn't a play, I was just stating a fact since at our last meeting you had some preconceived notions. I figured that I would clear that up,” she shrugs.
"And why would you feel the need to clear that up to me?"
"Because, I wanted to make it known that I like the dick, I just may not like yours."
"But you haven't even met him yet."
"Keep the yet out of there buddy. I have no plans to meet him,” she shoots a glance down at my package.
"You sure about that?" I tease her with a playful tilt of my head.
"Yup,” she says popping the ‘P’.
I nod towards her drink. "Moscow mule?"
"Not tonight. Can I get a blueberry mojito?"
I mix her drink up and as I'm pouring it into one of the bars fancy glasses, because fancy glasses make everything more expensive and taste delicious. I push it in front of her.
"You know, I'm a pretty great guy." I say my elbows leaning on the bar and flashing my smile.
"I'm sure to some you could be, but honestly you're just not my type."
"Oh, doll. I'm everybody's type."
"Sorry..." She searches my shirt for a name tag. As if this is a name tag place.
"Noah, my name is Noah." I give her.
"Sorry, Noah. You're just not mine today." She says with a smile, gives a small wave and then disappears into the crowd.
“Tomorrow then.” I shout after her. Why am I constantly doing that?
"She's hot," Miles comments from my side.
"You're not her type." I say dryly as I rinse a tumbler.
"I think I heard her say that you're not her type. She said nothing about me."
"I think you heard wrong." I turn to him and stare him down.
Mile’s hands go up in surrender and he turns to help another customer, leaving me to my side of the bar.
I'm hanging out at the Neighborhood before my shift starts eating dinner when a busty blonde comes and takes a seat across from me.