Page 80 of The Barkeep and the Bro

“I can. Dude, cool off for a little while. You’ve been pounding them back.” I kept my voice down since the father-daughter dance was still happening.

“That’s what you’re supposed to do at a wedding!”

“You’re supposed to have fun at a wedding, not get carried out on a stretcher.”

“What? I’m not...I’m fine. I can handle my fucking alcohol.” His face stretched and expanded in fury. “This is bullshit! You can’t do this.”

“Skeeter. Bro.” My eyes pleaded with him to calm down, but he had fallen over the edge. “Have some water.”

“I don’t want fucking water!” He spiked the bottle on the ground, and by the grace of BPA-friendly plastic, it didn’t burst open. Guests peeled away from the dance to check out the commotion. “Are you on some kind of fucking power trip? Making up for the fact that your life sucks? I am aguestat this wedding. Treat me with some respect.”

Skeeter went to reach over the bar for the vodka when a hand caught his arm and yanked him back. Mitch squeezed it tight, making Skeeter wince.

“The bartender said you were cut off.” Each word was soft and steady but with an undercurrent of barely contained fury. Mitch squeezed harder, his teeth clenched like a growling pit bull, and I could’ve sworn he was ready to break Skeeter’s arm.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Skeeter yelped.

Mitch didn’t let go. I’d never seen him so angry.

“My bartender made the right call. We have to be responsible. Are you staying here tonight?”

Skeeter’s head jiggled with a nod.

“I think you should go back to your room and sleep it off. You’re lucky this is my daughter’s wedding and not my bar, or else I wouldn’t be this nice.”

He released Skeeter, who stumbled back, visibly shaken. He hung his head and skulked out. Like a record that had been briefly paused, my lungs refilled with air.

Mitch stared at me, his eyes loaded with concern.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I shook out my arm from where Skeeter tried to grab me.

“Did he hurt you?” Mitch asked.

“No. Just a little shook up, to be honest.”

Mitch massaged my forearm, his warmth seeping through my skin. “You did the right thing, Charlie. You made the right call. I know it couldn’t have been easy since he’s your friend.”

“I’m not sure if we’re still friends.” I didn’t want someone like Skeeter in my life. He might’ve had a quote-unquote real job that made him seem quote-unquote responsible, but he was very immature. He was essentially a little kid with his own personal trust fund.

I liked my life. I had a great job, new friends.

Amazing boss.

“It wouldn’t be a wedding without drama,” the singer said into her mic. “Let’s keep the slow dances going. Bring that special person onto the dance floor.”

Couples congregated on the dance floor. The tables thinned out with people as they made their way to dance.

Nerves pooled in my stomach because Mitch hadn’t let go of my arm, and he hadn’t stopped staring at me with those concerned, determined, brooding eyes.

His hand drifted down to mine.

Most people were on the dance floor, but if they wanted to, they could look our way and see what was going on at the bar. Every muscle in my face asked him,What are you doing?

“May I have this dance?”

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