Page 30 of The Games We Play
If I wasn’t pouring drinks, I was back here making sure we had enough money to keep the doors open.
I’d done this dance with Dad for years—acting as the accountant, janitor, and wearing every other hat possible. He was usually too drunk to notice or tell me how to run the place, so I had full control. Lizzie, on the other hand, thought she always knew best, when in reality, she didn’t know a damn thing.
I hadn’t seen her since she got on my case about smoking in the bar, and not seeing her didn’t bother me one bit.
Reaching down, I pulled a cigarette from the box, lit it up, and took a slow drag—just out of sheer fucking spite.
My head was a tangled mess.
It had been a few nights since my run-in with Penny, and for whatever reason, it was still messing me up.
Maybe it was the way her face softened, that flicker in her eyes—the smallest hesitation that told me,maybe, things weren’t completely broken.
Or at least, that’s what I wanted to believe.
Maybe I was reading into things. Hell, I probably was. But it wasn’t like I had anyone to talk to about it, and truth be told? I didn’t need the bullshit of anyone else’s opinions messing with my head.
If a small chance was all I had to hold onto, I’d have a death grip on it.
Chance meant there was hope.
A loud thud echoed from the main room. We weren’t open yet, which meant only one thing—Lizzie was here.
I had a plan: finish up this last task, go upstairs, and avoid her entirely. Going upstairs was my only relief because leaving wasn’t an option, considering I lived above the bar.
Even on the rare occasion I had a day off, I was never really gone. The constant thrum of old country music shook my floorboards, forcing me to either crank my TV up to an unreasonable volume or come downstairs and end up working anyway.
My fingers tightened around the pen in my hand. I took a long drag off my cigarette, holding it between my teeth before exhaling toward the ceiling, watching the smoke curl and disappear.
Lizzie’s figure flew past the open office door in a blur of blue, moving back and forth like a hurricane. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her throw shit around, slam doors, even listen to her mumble shit under her breath.
I rolled my eyes and spun my chair to face her theatrics.
Clearly, she wanted my attention. Dramatic entrances and mumbled words were her preferred methods of communication instead of just saying what the hell was wrong.
I tucked the pen behind my ear then leaned back, hands clasped across my chest.
Cigarette still dangling from my lips, I called out lazily, “Did you have something to say, or is this your audition for a soap opera?”
That did it. Lizzie went off like a Roman candle, spinning on her heel and storming into the office, smoke practically pouring from her ears.
Her face was red, jaw clenched tight, and when she jabbed a finger in my direction, I braced for impact.
“You don’t know when to shut up, do you?” she snapped. “You can never just leave me be, let me have my peace without some wise-ass comment.”
I stayed perfectly relaxed, reclining back in my chair with a slow shrug. I knew I was being a dick, still didn’t care.
“Why shut up when toying with you is just too damn fun?” I smirked, tilting my head, watching her fume.
Lizzie and I had never gotten along. Not as kids,definitelynot as adults. Hell, I hadn’t seen her for over a decade before she waltzed in here, tossed our father’s will onto the bar, and upended my entire life.
She was the one who started this.
She was the one who barged in on her high horse, never once giving a damn about how I felt or what I had to say.
This place wasmine.
And she took it.
