Page 22 of The Trick

Shit.

Debating if I should still snag the glass, the now persistent tapping at my shoulder blade, answers that question for me. Leaving the glass on the shelf, I plaster a beaming grin on my face as I turn around.

My forced smile falls flat, when a disappointed andveryirritated Glinda purses her thin lips at me.

Ah, Glinda fucking Campbell.A true Jane of all trades. Not only does she still maintain her status as the suspicious widow of Sleepy Hollow, but she still remains one of my mom’s best friends and the manager at Satan’s, which makes her my boss and absolutely inescapable.What a time to be alive.

“Hey Glinda, you’re early,” I jokingly try to diffuse her mood, but she remains stoic and seemingly irritated with my attempt at humor.

Pressing her folded arms firmly across her abdomen, she shifts her weight to one hip. “Mhm,” she mumbles. “So are you. I can’t remember the last time you’ve arrived here on time, let alone early.”

“Ha, I should ask you the same question. Thought you were too busy for this place,” I tease.

Her eyes widen before her scowl deepens. She forgets that I know the real Glinda. The one that she tries to keep meticulously hidden. But she has been my mom’s friend for as long as I can remember, so she may fool others, but she can’t fool me.

“I still show up when I am supposed to be here, so I don’t know what you are getting at, Blair,” she snaps. “Now get!” she raises her voice an octave higher, lifting her hand up, shooing me out from behind the bar.

Begrudgingly, I appease her because I know that if anyone, aside from Maddox, is capable of killing me, it’s Glinda, so I need to play my cards carefully with her…for now at least.

Clicking my heels to the other side of the bar top, I drag one of the barstools out, purposely letting the legs drag on the floor to grab her attention from where it is now turned to me.

An audible sigh sounds from her lips as she adjusts the glass on the shelf that I wish was full of beer and in my hand. “I hope you are planning on behaving yourself tonight, missy.”

“Of course,” I lie, turning my head to where the Shipyard Pumpkin Ale is calling my name, taunting me. My gaze darts back to where Glinda is now wiping the counter by the register. Fuck it, if I can’t get a glass, I’m just going to get it straight from the tap.

Carefully I rise from the barstool, trying not to let it skid from underneath me, so Glinda doesn’t hear. I continue my slow movements, twisting myself upward, allowing my back to press against the counter. Centering my parted lips beneath the beer faucet, my hand hovers over the spigot. Just as I’m about to pour some liquid gold into my mouth, I feel a sting at my hand and yank it away from the beer line. My stare falls from the tap to the damp rag that is in Glinda’s clenched palm, swatting at my hand.

Flustered, I scoff before settling back onto the bar stool. “Just one beer before my shift starts, please?” I bat my lashes, removing my hand from where it rests on the counter because, judging by her fiery stare, it looks like she’s ready to swat at me again. “Come on, Glinda.”

Her stern look is unwavering. “You know the rules,” she deadpans, pointing to the minuscule “Employee Rules” sign above the register.

“Ew, who reads those?” I laugh but again, she remains unmoved by my sarcasm.

“Clearly not you…ever.”

“We aren’t even open yet,” I say, pointing out the obvious.

Swaying, she moves onto her tiptoes, leaning forward to get a better look at where my legs are crossed. “I thought I told you that you had to cover as this year’s Katrina.” The judgment in her tone is palpable.

“Umm, I am?” I retort, emphasizing my outfit with my hands. I mean honestly, it’s not much different than what I usually wear to work, but I’m here aren’t I? That should be good enough.

She shakes her head. “Since when does Katrina Van Tassel have a knife stashed in her thigh harness?”

Since she became a stripper and has a relentless psycho stalker, that’s when.

I look down to where her disapproving glare remains on the clasp that secures my pocketknife. “Don’t be a hypocrite Glinda,” I grin. “Now, what do you say to one delicious pumpkin beer, and I will be out of your hair. Pretty please.”

She shakes her head, releasing a defeated sigh. “One and that’s it,” she agrees begrudgingly, lifting her index finger for emphasis.

“That’s a good girl,” I tease with a wink. “Oh, and don’t forget the cinnamon sugar rim!” I add, pushing my luck once again.

“Smart ass,” She mutters, rolling her eyes. “Fuck the rim, you are gettingonebeer, the way I serve it to you. You better chug it as fast as I know you can and get to it. You know, you truly are a piece of work.”

Ha, you have no idea.

“Takes one to know one, Glinny.”

She mumbles something else under her breath as she reluctantly moves over to grab a glass. Continuing to talk to herself, she pulls on the beer tap. Her wrinkled hand tilts the glass at an angle, and as I watch the amber liquid pour into the glass, I notice a ring on her left hand that I’ve never seen her wear before.

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