Page 78 of Prince Charmless
The woman behind the bar counter holds up a finger. “It’ll be a minute,” she mouths, so I take a seat.
My sulking is interrupted when a man, maybe in his mid-forties, shuffles up next to me.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” he states in a thick Bostonian accent.
Not in the mood, dude.
“I’m not from here,” I say without making eye contact. Hopefully, he’ll get the message.
“Tourist?”
“Yep.”
“You probably don’t know who I am, then.”
I don’t attempt to hide my eye roll. “And who might you be?”
He leans in far too close for comfort, his smell of alcohol and cheap cologne making me wince. “Harry,” he brags.
“I don’t understand,” I lie to piss him off. The untruth slips right out of my mouth. Who have I become?
He frowns, then points at the hugeHarry’s Tavernsign above the bar.
“Oh.You’reHarry.” My statement drips with unenthusiasm.
“What’s your story then, missy? Where ya from?”
I cringe at the pet name. They’re so demeaning when coming from a person you’ve just met. I know this guy’s type. He assumes everyone should be impressed by him.Come on, bartender.
“St. Claire,” I feel the need to answer.
“St. Claire,eh?”
I ignore his attempt at mockery.Our population has a habit of puttingehat the end of sentences, a vocal tick that’s been used for fodder since the dawn of time. The joke is old by now.
Harry taps his lips. “Is that a country or an island? I always forget. I’m bad with geography.”
Yeah, I can tell.
“Both,” I humor him. Just when I think the woman is going to ask me what I want to drink, she takes the order of the person next to me.Dammit.
“You’re too beautiful to be from St. Claire.”
My hopes of him taking the hint burst into flames. I don’t care about politeness now.
“Are we all supposed to be ugly?”
At first, he’s taken aback by my tone, but then Harry taps me on the arm with the back of his hand. “Come on, I’m just trying to make you laugh, babe.”
This conversation keeps getting better and better.
I stroke my bicep to make his touch go away. “Right. I’m just trying to get a beer right now, so—” I cut myself off when I feel flesh on my upper thigh.
“Why don’t I get you a dri—”
“Please take your hand off me,” I say, finally looking him in the eyes.
As soon as he does, Taylor appears in my peripheral vision. Weaving between patrons, he goes from the pool table to the bar in a matter of seconds.
