A Chicago Christmas story
Photo by Steven Wright on Unsplash. Edited by Jenna Malin on Wix.
After uncountable rounds of bar-golf, Diesel admitted defeat, and promised Shiloh an embarrassing karaoke session as her reward. “Camera phones encouraged”, he’d said, but she opted to commit the experience to memory – a memory for just the two of them to share.
That was until he’d decided to dance on the bar.
“Diesel, please get down. The bar is not a stage.”
He waved her off. “Every bar is a stage if you’re drunk enough.”
Shiloh scoffed. “You’re not nearly drunk enough.”
“I don’t know, I’m feeling pretty fuzzy.” He looked down suspiciously at his drink on the bar. “Did you roofie me?”
“You wish.”
He laughed and continued his exaggerated performance to a Kelly Clarkson Christmas song. She shook her head as he sang into a spoon. Though, she had to admit, she felt fuzzy, too.
Diesel was magnetic. When he was around, he brought her to life. Hours ago, she couldn’t wait for the day to be over. Now, here she was, wishing this serenade would last forever. The lonely chill deep inside her hadn’t faded, but his presence kept her shivering at bay.
That, and the spiked coffee.
Perched comfortably on her stool, she held her new mug to her chest, savoring its warmth. Diesel spun on the countertop, ending the song in a flourish. She whooped her applause and he bowed, and then the beginning notes to that godforsaken song began.
“I don’t want a lot for Christmas—"
It was Diesel’s turn to holler while Shiloh groaned, letting her head fall back to glare at the ceiling. How could the DJ not get tired of playing that song? She was tired of hearing it.
“There is just one thing I need—”
“Yeah, to find that infernal remote,” she complained, while Diesel sang along. She set her mug down and stood up. As entertaining as he was, she refused to listen to that song one more time. She stepped towards the office to resume her hunt for the remote, but Diesel jumped down from the bar.
“Oh, don’t you dare!” he said as he rushed over. He yanked her hand towards him and away from the door. She yelped in surprise as he spun her around and pulled her into his arms. “You turn that off, and you’re on the naughty list.”
Beside herself, she laughed as he led her into a wobbly waltz. “Your favorite place to be,” she said, making him laugh. “Afraid I’ll take your place?”
“Please. You couldn’t handle the naughty list.”
“Mords-moi.”
He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh, that’ll definitely get you on it.” She laughed as the beat picked up and he spun her again.
They danced behind the bar, not a care in the world. She forgot all about her hunt for the remote as his goofy waltz turned into a lazy salsa. They were blurs of shimmies, twirls, and fits of laughter. Her muscles strained to remember the steps, but he was an excellent leader. He spun her out, back in, and dipped her.
When he brought her back up, she gripped his shoulders to keep from falling. She gasped; their lips were just a breath apart, the tips of their noses lightly brushing each other. His hand at the small of her back pulled her close, pressed their hips together. She gulped. He squeezed the back of her knee, which he held up by his hip, all the while smiling down at her with those sparkling blue eyes.
Her heart fluttered away in her chest which was pressed so maddeningly against his. The next song played on above them - a slow, Christmas ballad - as they both caught their breath. She lost herself in his oceanic eyes. For such a skilled fighter, they were remarkably soft. Alluring, even. The song faded the longer she gazed into them. His hand gravitated farther up the back of her leg, pressing flat against the back of her thigh. His arm tightened around her, pulling the hem of her sweater up and exposing her steamy skin to the crisp air around them. Goosebumps rippled through her, her skin aching for his touch. She licked her lips, heart pounding.
The last time they were this close was at the ball. Her stomach lurched at the memory. She ran her fingers along his neck, across his pulse point, where her lips had once been. His lips twitched with a ghost of a smile as her fingertips lingered there longer than necessary. They never talked about that night after they left. They each went home, forgot it ever happened, and continued life as normal.
But tonight, in each other’s arms, they both remembered.
His half-lidded eyes searched hers as he leaned closer, his breath hot against her lips. Heart racing, she brought both of her hands to each side of his neck, her fingers threading through his hairline.
As his lips brushed against hers, doubt took over. Were they really going to do this? Was it the copious amount of liquor they’ve shared taking the wheel? Or were these true feelings bubbling to the surface? She knew she wanted to – god, did she want to – but fear settled heavy in her stomach. Much heavier than her burning desire. What if she was just another girl for him to lay? Was their friendship worth risking for something as trivial as a kiss?
His eyebrows furrowed, and she gulped. He pulled away, loosening his grip on her leg. “What’s wrong?” he whispered, breathless.
She shook her head, accidentally brushing noses with him. “Nothing,” she lied under her breath. Her cheeks flushed as silence fell between them. Neither of them moved, the magnets that pulled them together losing their strength. The ache in her lips remained, but her hands sank from his neck to his chest. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he searched her face with darting, disappointed eyes.
The bar phone rang, the shrill sound cutting through the tension like a knife.
Shiloh sucked in a breath. “I should—” she cleared her throat, “—I should get that.”
Diesel released her with a short nod. Both feet back on the ground, she skirted past him to the phone. Now without his body heat, a chill shot down her spine as she reached for the phone. He sighed behind her, retreating to his side of the bar and she grimaced. What perfectly terrible timing. She put the phone to her ear. “Shiver’s Lounge.”
“What in the hell are you still doing there?” Blaze scolded.
She scoffed. He wasn’t even here, and he was still interrupting things. “Well, gee, I’m swell, thanks for asking. How’re the Bahamas?” Diesel raised an eyebrow. Blaze? he mouthed. She nodded.
“What – the – hell are you still doing there?” Blaze repeated.
“Definitely not dancing on the bar.” Diesel gave her a sarcastic thumbs up, mouthing smooth. She swatted his hand away.
“I’ll pretend I believe that,” Blaze said through a sigh. “Close up and go home. Now. You’re gonna get stuck if you don’t, and I don’t want you stuck there alone.”
“Relax, Blaze, I’m not alone," she told him. She glanced over just in time to see him wide-eyed and slashing his throat with his hand. She shot him a look.
"Who's with you?"
"Uhm—" Diesel mouthed something she couldn't understand, so she went with, "—just-just a straggler caught in the storm. And I can't leave the bar unattended with a stranger, now can I?" Diesel shrugged and nodded. That'll work, he mouthed.
Blaze, however, paused. “Diesel’s back, isn't he?”
Shiloh bit her lip and shot Diesel an apologetic look. He sighed and glared at his boots. "Yeah."
“Hand him the phone.”
She did as she was told, earning a hard glare. "Tattletale," Diesel muttered and snatched the phone out of her hands. She whispered an apology as stepped away from her. "What's up, boss?" With his jaw set and eyes closed, she knew it wasn't good. "Blaze, wha—"He was cut off by what she could only assume was an ass-chewing. Nostrils flaring, he shook his head at the ceiling while keeping her in his periphery. "Blaze, I can't, I'm—"
She jerked her thumb behind her. "The office is unlocked," she told him.
He sighed. "Hang on," he barked into the phone. He stomped behind the bar, mumbling a thanks as he stormed past her. She stayed put until she heard a door slam. Then, she scurried over to the other end of the bar where the landline was. She'd always been too nosy for her own good. She took the phone off the hook, holding the receiver down until she brought it up to her ear.
"—aze, relax. I've got everything under control."
"You were supposed to call me the second you got home and made the drop. The very second."
"I can't get there with the snow, I told you that. And if I can't get there, no one can. It'll be safe 'til then."
Well, that explains it. Blaze's rule number one: don't come home until you've finished the job.
"Like hell it will. You could've led them right to her."
Her heart raced. Led who? More Rogues? She shuddered at the thought.
"I wouldn't let that happen."
"You said that last time."
Shiloh cringed.
"Don't throw that in my fucking face, I swear—"
"I gave you an order—"
"Which is exactly why I didn't call you. Because I can't yet, but I will. In the meantime, I'll keep it safe. And I'll keep her safe." Silence fell between the two. "I wouldn't have stopped if I knew someone was tailing me. You know that."
Blaze's voice softened. "Yeah, yeah, I know." Another silence permeated the space between them before Blaze spoke up again. "Are you sure you can't get—"
"Dios mio—"
She rolled her eyes and hung the phone up softly. Retreating back to her stool and mug, her thoughts spun. What did Diesel bring back that needed safeguarding? And why were they so worried about her?
Reappearing behind her, Diesel shoved the phone at her and shook out his coat. “I'm going to check out the roads,” he growled, loud enough for Blaze to hear him.
“Be careful,” she replied.
“You're not my mom.”
She rolled her eyes at him, then put the phone up to her ear. “You still there?” she asked.
“Sure am,” Blaze answered.
"You sure know how to sour his mood," she said, watching Diesel storm out. Frigid, unforgiving winter air swirled through the bar as the door slammed shut behind him.
“That's his own fault,” he claimed.
Beside herself, Shiloh chuckled. “Yeah, sure.” She stared at Diesel’s half-empty glass on the counter. "Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine.”
She scoffed. "Not according to the look on Diesel's face and your backroom, 'behind-locked-door' conversation. That's some serious intrigue."
"Everything is fine," he repeated, more stern this time. "It's nothing you need to worry about, okay?" She ran a hand through her hair and leaned back against the bar with a huff. She had a hard time believing that. "You trust us, don't you?"
She peered out the window at the blizzard. "I guess I have to, don't I?"
Blaze chuckled. "Yeah, you do."
She sighed. "Fine."
"Atta girl. Now, you call me if you need anything, okay? Anything."
"Ah-ha—" she exclaimed, "—so I should be worried."
He ignored her. "You two better not get too cozy. There are cameras."
She blushed, thankful he couldn't see it, and rolled her eyes. "Yes, Dad."
Blaze hung up.
Shiloh set the phone down on the counter. With a quick check over her shoulder to reaffirm that she was still alone, she ran her hands over her face and sighed.
She had already forgotten what they were up to before Blaze interrupted. Have you ever been swept off your feet? Diesel’s voice echoed in her head. Shivering, she pushed that thought out of her mind. Her heart raced back up her throat, but she snatched her mug off the counter and took a sip. Then another. And another.
“That is not strong enough,” she muttered, placing the mug back on the counter. She pulled her sleeves down past her hands and held them to her chest. It was too cold in here without him.
She gulped. How many times were they going to toe that line? They’d always flirted, though not necessarily out of attraction. They were multi-lingual: English, Spanish, French… and in Diesel’s case, Flirt. It became their form of small-talk. Just innocent, all-in-good-fun small-talk.
Her fingers brushed her lips. There had been nothing innocent about that. Good fun, yes. But innocent? Far from it. Goosebumps rippled across her skin as her thoughts spun, too dangerous, too close. Perhaps all the flirting was blurring the line between friends and more-than-friends too much. All the somersaults her stomach does when he’s around are enough to make her nauseous.
He was intoxicating.
She shook her head. “Snap out of it,” she said aloud just as the door swung open again. A string of Spanish obscenities flew in with the snow and her best friend.
“Te lo juro por dios—” Diesel, covered head to toe in snow, slammed the door shut and dropped his duffel, “—que hace frio, joder frio—”
She rushed over, laughing all the way. “Language, padre,” she playfully scolded, helping him shrug out of his snow-caked coat. "This is a family-friendly establishment."
He gaped at her from the corner of his eye. “Did you just call me ‘daddy’?” he asked, a hint of a smirk on his frozen face. She grimaced. Apparently, they were back to flirting. “That warmed me right up.”
She yanked his beanie off and smacked him in the arm with it, effectively ridding it of the clumpy snow. “You’re a pig.”
He cackled as she shoved the beanie into his gloved hands, his Cheshire smile reaching his ears. “With a heart of gold,” he reminded her with a wag of his finger.
She rolled her eyes and strolled back to the bar. “If you insist,” she said, draping his coat over a stool. “I take it we’re stuck?”
“Not unless you have a huskie who can mush,” he answered, pulling off his gloves. “Or Santa’s phone number.” He gasped. “Oh, no, do you think he can still deliver presents in this weather??”
She couldn’t help but laugh at his ridiculousness. He could be such a child. “You know, I heard a rumor he has a reindeer with a very shiny nose.” She walked back over to lock the door behind him. “I’m sure he’ll make it.”
“I swear, it's dropped twenty degrees since I showed up.” He kicked his boots off and shuddered. “I freakin’ hate Chicago.”
She secured the last lock and pulled the shade down. “Then move.”
“Freakin’ hate moving.”
“Well—” she threw her hands up, “—I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Tell me you love me.”
Her cheeks burned. Thank God for low-lighting. “I’ve never lied to you before, Diesel,” she deflected, retreating behind the bar as the somersaults started again. “I won’t start now.”
He shrugged. “Worth a shot.” He picked up his duffel bag and scurried towards the bathrooms. “I’m gonna change real fast. No peeking.”
She topped off their coffees. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Your dreams sound boring.”
She sighed mid-pour as he disappeared from sight. If he only knew… She rinsed out the now-empty pot of coffee before filling it back up with water, staring into the fireplace the whole time.
This was shaping up to be a long night.
END PART TWO
PART THREE COMING DECEMBER 16TH.
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