Page 14 of The Games We Play
The scrape of a stool dragging across the hardwood echoed, mixing with the low twang of country music filtering through the speakers.
I turned, clipboard in hand, slapping it onto the bar top just as Lizzie reached for me.
In one swift motion, she plucked the cigarette from my lips and dropped it into a cup of half-melted ice beside me.
“I said,put it out.”
My jaw ticked, but I kept my expression carefully blank, both hands flattening against the bar as I leaned in slightly.
“You owe me forty cents for that.”
“Will you ever learn?” Lizzie asked, leaning back, tilting her head in that slow, feline way that always made her seem like she was sizing me up. “Just give it up and get over yourself.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, all exasperation and superiority.
I rolled my neck from side to side, working through the tension that always formed whenever she decided to spend a night micromanagingmybar.
Except it wasn’t mine on paper.
There was no way in hell I was ever going toget over it. Our father leaving her the bar on his deathbed would never sit right with me. I’d poured years of my life into this place, built the clientele, kept the damn lights on.
This was supposed to be mine.
Yet, in his final moments, my father gave me one lastfuck youbefore taking his last breath.
Years ago, after he got sick and Lizzie decided to come back into the picture, I made the mistake of running. I left Faircloud, convinced I’d find something better, a fresh start. Vegas had seemed like the answer—women, an insane bar scene, distractions in every form.
A few months and one big mistake later, I found myself right back here, resuming my position as manager, bartender, and overall CE-fucking-O of The Tequila Cowboy.
Except, in the end, it didn’t matter.
Dad never let me forget that I left. He reminded me every damn chance he got. Even now, indeath, he was still playing his games.
Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out a small white cardboard box and lighter. Slipping a cigarette between my lips, I ducked my head slightly and lit up, inhaling deeply.
Lizzie scoffed. “See, this is exactly why Dad gave me the bar. You’re so damn childish, and that shit will kill you.”
I glanced up at her, exhaling a slow stream of smoke into the air.
That same permanent look of disapproval sat on her face, a mirror of our mother. Mom had never been happy, always carried herself like she was waiting for life to disappoint her.
I smirked, unbothered.
“What can I say?” I took another long drag, my voice lazy, taunting. “C’est la vie.”
The bell above the door chimed, signaling someone had walked in. Glancing up, I realized it was twosomeones—Aspen and Boone, making their way toward the bar.
Lizzie never stuck around to socialize with my friends. True to form, she stood and disappeared into the back office without so much as a glance in their direction.
Shaking my head, I bent down and grabbed two glasses to make their usual drink of choice. Aspen, a tequila sunrise. Boone, Jack and Coke.
By the time Aspen slid onto the barstool, placing her small purse on the counter, and Boone settled into the seat beside her, their drinks were already in front of them. I took another slow drag from my cigarette before using the half-melted ice in my cup as an ashtray.
“Everything’s on the house tonight,” I announced, reaching for a shot glass and filling it to the brim with tequila before knocking it back in one go.
If Lizzie wanted to call me childish, I was more than happy to act the part.
Boone scoffed, lifting his drink. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
