Page 6 of Finn

As they should.

Crossing my arms, which makes my chest and arms look huge, I ask them, “Do we have a problem here, fellas?”

“No, no,” they reply in unison as they shake their heads like synchronized puppets.

It’s actually kind of funny.

The one with the darker hair throws a twenty onto the bar and, standing, says, “In fact, we were just leaving.”

“Wise choice,” I mutter.

The dudes take off so fast, leaving their half-full beers, that they’re like a blur.

“Okay, that was interesting,” I say, chuckling, once they’re out the door.

Sammie’s shoulders slump as she rests her hip against the bar. “Thank you, Finn,” she breathes out. “I was holding off on bothering our night manager, but those two were beyond inappropriate.”

I look at her worriedly. “They didn’t touch you, did they?”

“No, no.” She shakes her head. “I would have buzzed for Evan then, for sure. They were just making piggish comments under their breath that they knew I could hear. When I called them out on it, they snickered and pretended like they hadn’t said anything. One of them even had the audacity to tell me I should have my hearing checked.”

“Fucking dicks,” I murmur.

I don’t ask Sammie to elaborate on what exactly they were saying. I can only imagine, and that’s enough. There’s no need for her to feel further humiliated.

Shaking my head, I grumble, “I fucking hate men like that.”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “I do too.”

But then, out of the blue, she starts giggling.

“What?” I ask. “What’s so funny?”

Still laughing, she shares how she was calling the two dicks Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.

“In my head,” she clarifies. “Not to their faces.”

“You should have said it right to them,” I reply. “You know, give them back a little of their own medicine.”

Looking away, she shrugs. “Yeah, maybe, I guess.”

I realize then that she was probably too scared to confront them like that, so I drop the subject.

“Are you sure you’re okay now?” I ask.

She nods. “I am, thanks to you.”

“Hey, I was happy to help,” I throw out over my shoulder as I walk around to the customer side of the bar.

As I take a seat on a stool, Sammie asks me, “Do you want a drink? I’m assuming that’s why you came in here, right?” She checks her phone and adds, “We have about fifteen minutes left till we close, so you’re still good.”

“Great.” I smile. “Just give me whatever. I’m not picky.”

“Okay, uh…” She looks back at a row of beer taps. “We have a new light lager that’s been pretty popular lately.” Turning back to me, she raises a pretty auburn brow. “Would you like to try that one?”

“Sure,” I say. “A light lager sounds perfect.”

As Sammie fills a glass from the tap, Evan, the night manager, emerges from the back.

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