Page 84 of Tangled in Knots

Nodding, I straighten as we go inside. I have a direction. I can do this.

I’m in a pair of jeans, crop top, and comfortable boots as I take in the bar that’s now beginning to fill up. Hazel helped me find clothing in the donations closet, so I wouldn’t look completely frumpy. I’m not wearing any makeup since I’m not confident enough to apply it, and my hair is pulled back in two braids down my back.There’s a lot of people, and I took Aisling’s advice on the alpha pheromone gel blocker. It’s helping to keep my anxiety at bay.

“You ready for this?” Caleb asks, coming to stand next to me as the first person walks up to the bar with a grunt.

“Hey, darling. Grab me a scotch, neat, would ya?” he asks.

Nodding, I ignore Caleb for the customer. I’m still not able to give real smiles yet. Trust me, I practiced in the little mirror in my room yesterday. It just makes me look constipated.

It’s not a great look for me.

The customer doesn’t mind as I get him his drink quickly, placing it in front of him.

“Here’s my card, darling. Start a tab?” he asks.

“Not a problem,” I say, pitching my voice a little louder as the volume in the bar increases. I do as asked, placing a temporary hold on it to keep it open before sliding his card back to him. “Enjoy your drink.”

“I like her, Caleb,” he says. “There’s no bullshit or sunny, fake smiles.”

My boss snorts as he nods and the customer slides a ten dollar tip over to me before striking up a conversation with the man next to him.

Pocketing the tip in my half apron, I turn toward Caleb. “I think I can handle this,” I say so only he can hear.

“I thought they’d be annoyed that your lips don’t do the opposite of this downturned thing yours do,” he grunts. “Are they broken?”

“I think they might be,” I say with a shrug and a deep sigh, finding someone else to help.

I’ve never worn something this revealing before, because I refuse to acknowledge being buck naked at an auction as being a choice. I didn’t have any choices there.

Alphas both men and women gaze appreciatively as I get them drinks, my breasts bouncing slightly, because my bra doesn’t fit the best. I’ll eventually have to fix that, but I need money first.

I don’t mind people looking as long as they keep their hands to themselves.

Bartending isn’t so bad, the pace fast and furious. There’s a couple of times that I get lightheaded as I pick things up or move too quickly, but I’m able to shake it off. I’m going to be completely exhausted by the end of this shift. I don’t mind that either, as long as I don’t dream when I shut my eyes.

I didn’t think about it until last night, laying in my bed. The thoughts came out of nowhere, keeping me awake in terror. I don’t want to get kicked out because I woke up screaming, waking up someone’s kid, because I couldn’t keep the Boogeyman inside of me quiet.

Blinking, I shake my head before moving to help the next person. I’m trying desperately to look like a normal, sweet omega who is bartending. I may not smile very much or at all, but I don’t want to look crazy.

Muttering to yourself or shaking yourself out of a deep thought isn’t the way to convince others that you’re fine.

The other bartender tonight is Orla, looking comfortable in her role as she grins and flirts with clients. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do that, but I’ve been tipped well throughout the night, and I’m keeping up.

That’s all I can ask for on the first night. It’s nearly two in the morning when Caleb shouts last call for drinks, and my feet are killing me. The bar will continue to serve drinks for another half hour before closing.

I’ve made four hundred dollars in tips so far, though, and the boss said I’ll keep all of my cash tips. The bar keeps twenty percent of the credit card tips to tip out the bouncers, which works for me.

They’re stationed throughout the inside of the bar, watching carefully for someone to get too handsy. Finnegan’s has a few televisions playing games, pool tables, and is very busy. While there are a few women here and there, it seems like a place to unwind.

I’m floored by this by the end of the night, deciding that I’m going to need a bank account. Will it be a problem for me to have something in my name? I need to ask Aisling. Hiding my tips under the mattress in a shelter seems like a good way to get robbed.

“Hey beautiful,” a woman purrs, making me shiver. It's the way that she says it, surprising me. Her chestnut and blonde streaked hair is twisted up in a messy bun, pieces curled around her face as if on purpose.

Her hazel eyes gleamed with interest, her lips curled into a knowing smile. I almost perfume, something I didn’t think was possible. I really do feel broken, my body refusing to do anything it used to do.

Smile, be aroused, anything. I can acknowledge someone is pretty or handsome, but I want nothing to do with sex. I know logically that it’s still too early for me to pronounce myself defective, but that’s how I feel.

Ruined, broken, used up.

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