Page 4 of Make Me Dream of You

“Is Chad here?”

“He’s in the back somewhere.” Riley shrugs then goes back to taking drink orders.

“I’ll make sure to snag him for you,” Bex says to me. “Sometimes he’s sneaky.”

“Great.” My enthusiasm is implied.

It’s not that I’m not grateful for Bex helping me out, I am. It’s just not what I envisioned doing after graduating. I don’t know exactly what I imagined doing. Graduation always seemed like a far-off thing in the distance, a problem for Future Livvy, until, well, it was here.

Because what sort of job does one get after graduating with a Fine Arts degree?

Bartending, naturally.

Bex’s long, blonde hair shines in the neon pink lights behind the bar as she pours shots and pints of beer, all with a smile on her face while random men ogle her cleavage.

She bartended here through college. Worked as a paralegal for six months after graduating, then promptly returned when she realized that it was better money, better hours, and that she absolutely did not want to be a fucking paralegal.

Maybe I should have listened to my mother when she tried to talk me out of my major and into something more practical. She didn’t really care what I did at school, though, as long as I found a potential husband. An absurd expectation, when factoring in I was painfully shy, awkward, and too self-conscious to even speak to a guy until this past year.

“Blueberry mojito,” Bex yells over the loud music as she slides the drink across the bar to Macy on my right. “And a vodka-cran for you,” she says, winking at me. “I made them both doubles, on the house.”

My third drink. Exactly what I need—to be sloshed before a job interview.

“Relax!” Bex says. “Jupiter is in Taurus, and it’s a new moon. A prosperous new beginning is practically guaranteed for you.”

I nod and smile, even though my insides are performing some type of Cirque-du-Soleil act in my stomach, and take a big gulp of my drink.

“You’ll be fine,” Macy says with warm brown eyes. When she smiles her nose scrunches.

“Oh, Chad!” Bex yells, waving to a guy in a black button-up shirt who looks to be in his mid-forties. He’s just emerged from the back of the bar and is now heading our way. She flashes him a big smile. “This is my sister. She applied for the open bartender position.” She motions toward me. “Livvy, this is the owner, Chad.”

Oh fuck.

I lean over the bar, narrowly avoiding knocking over my drink as I put out my hand. “I’m Olivia Bishop, nice to meet you.”

I’m not sure he even hears me over the crowd around us.

He looks me up and down, scratching the salt-and-pepper stubble along his jaw. “If you vouch for her,” he says to my sister, “she’ll do. Tell Trish to get her on the books.” He looks back at me. “You start training Monday. You’re on your own next weekend.” And then he saunters away.

That’s it? On my own next weekend? I guess it’s a real sink or swim situation.

I shouldn’t use that analogy because I’m a terrible swimmer.

Bex shrieks. “Yay!” And then she’s off pouring more drinks.

“See, what did I tell you?” Macy gives me a reassuring nudge with her elbow.

I guzzle my drink, slurping air through the straw when I hit ice.

Macy raises her eyebrows. “Goodness. Let me buy you another drink.”

I start to say she doesn’t need to do that—I’ll get my own, but my throat is burning, and she’s already flagging down Riley.

He replaces my empty glass with a new, pink vodka spritzer just as I start to really feel the buzz kicking in.

“Thank you,” I say, my cheeks warming. “You didn’t have to buy me a drink,” I say to Macy.

“You deserve to celebrate a little,” she says, waving it off.

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