Page 42 of Shades of Silver City

Thirty minutes later, I trudge back to the bar. I’m still dressed in my work uniform from last night—jeans and my bar tee. The hem is stiff with old beer, but it could be worse.

At least there’s no vomit on it.

“Thanks for this,” Mellie says, leaning in and kissing me on the cheek. She pulls back and points at the underside of the bar. Various fruits sit in their respective cubbies on a shallow ledge. “Garnishes are prepped. Ice is fresh. And I tapped a new keg of Sharp Wing.” She jerks a thumb over her shoulder toward the back room. “Jeremiah texted and said he’d drop off clean towels later, but don’t hold your breath.” She rolls her eyes. “Fran is coming in for closing. She’ll be here at four.”

“Sounds good.”

“Oh, and the good bat is missing—the one with nails.” She takes a second to assess me with narrowed eyes before shrugging. “You look much better, by the way—awake.”

“Something like that,” I mutter, plugging my phone charger into an outlet behind the bar.

“Hey.” She gently grabs my elbow, forcing me to look at her. “I only agreed to let you cover my shift because it seemed like you needed a distraction. But we aren’t done talking. If you need me to take over, just shoot me a text. Ax will be fine on his own for a little bit.”

I pull Mellie in, giving her a quick hug. “Thanks for this,” I whisper. “I’m fine. Go take care of your boy.”

The first two patrons come in shortly after opening. A soupy green fog wafts around one of the men, while a blue cloud radiates from the other. I force a smile onto my face.

“Welcome to The Rising Star,” I say, infusing extra enthusiasm into my voice.

“Mornin, miss.” One of them gives me a wide smile, tipping his head. “Where’s Mellie at? She okay?”

The concern in his voice is touching. These men must be a couple of her regulars. I haven’t met them before, but they appear much more bearable than Fredrik and my other unruly evening regulars. Lucky her.

“She’s good,” I say. “Her son’s sick, so I’m covering for her.”

“Shame.” He scratches at his red beard. “Hopefully the lil man feels better soon.” He holds out a hand. “I’m Kyle, by the way.” I clasp his hand and shake. He releases me and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “This is my brother, Bruce.”

Bruce supplies a quick wave and a bashful smile before averting his eyes to the floor.

“Tasia,” I say with a nod.

They order a pitcher of beer, pick a song on the jukebox, and plop down into seats at one of the high-tops. Thankfully, they chose one of the few rock bands I actually like. They talk animatedly with each other, flicking complimentary peanuts into their mouths and bobbing their heads. Every so often, one of them lets out a rumbling burst of laughter.

The vibes are good. Chill. I’m appreciative.

I busy myself with wiping down the bottles that line the mirrored shelves behind the bar, keeping an eye on the door and the pair by the jukebox.

The time slowly melts by. An hour into my shift, I’m getting antsy to talk to Reed. The more I replay in my mind what happened last night, the hotter my cheeks blaze with anger. It’s clear, after two years, that the two of us are going nowhere.

My fingers instinctively reach for my phone, until I remember it’s charging a few feet away. I unplug it and turn it on. Only a couple of messages from Stace come through, asking where I am. I sigh and stuff my phone into my pocket without replying.

I bring Kyle and Bruce a new pitcher of beer a short while later. I keep my eyes downcast, not wanting to interrupt their good mood with my pity party.

Smack.

My body jolts forward as a large hand lands on my ass.

The pitcher slips from my hand, crashing to the floor.

“What the fuck!” I yell, stooping down to pick up the largest shards of glass. Gods forbid one of these assholes cut themselves on my watch.

Kyle laughs. “You could use a little more meat on ya, girl.”

Gone is the polite man from earlier. Now his voice is slick like oil, his tone taunting. It sends a wave of unease through me.

Great.

He can’t hold his liquor.

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