Page 141 of Forgotten Comeback
My knee-jerk reaction is to bristle at his word choice, but I shake it off. “Thanks. Have fun tonight.”
“You too,” he says wistfully.
After tidying up and washing my hands, I venture in search of the bar.
Go past the petting zoo…
Oh my, some of the petting has already begun.
Past the cigar lounge…
Never seen a cigar inside that orifice.
Make a left at the music room…
A masked woman’s getting railed bent over a piano.
And you’ve reached the bar.
And here I am, all hot and bothered, only to find multiple bitches thirsting over my man.
I march right behind the bar, wrapping my arms around Gavin’s neck and kissing the shit out of him. “Why don’t I help you?” I offer against his lips.
“Sure,” he says with a grin. “Get me started on a cosmopolitan.”
My nose crinkles.
“Thought you liked that drink?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Hate it,” I admit to him quietly as I line up the juice, booze, mixing glass, and jiggers, getting to work.
Staring down a woman who’s eye-fucking Gavin, I pour the concoction and tamp down on the mixing glass a little too hard before giving the shaker a violent shake.
The drink gets strained into the cocktail glass, and I add a wheel of fresh lime and present it to her. This woman has audacity in spades. Still eye-fucking Gavin, she tears her gaze off of him and finally acknowledges me. “Here’s your cosmopolitan,” I tell her.
She takes a sip, making a face. “This is in desperate need of more vodka and cranberry.”
“Sure thing.” Gavin intercepts the drink before I pour it over the woman’s head, and he turns his back to her. Doing absolutely nothing, he turns back around and presents the same drink. “There you go.”
She takes a sip and flashes a sultry smile. “Perfect.”
Gavin locks eyes with me when our backs are to the bar, with mine rolling so hard they’re in danger of becoming dislodged. He silently chuckles before grabbing a beer and popping the top, giving it a perfect pour into a fancy glass.
Turning around, I attempt a polite smile at the patron next to cosmopolitan woman. Not that it matters; she’s checking out Gavin’s ass. I clear my throat. “What can I get you?”
“I’m waiting for him,” the woman tells me dismissively.
“Same,” cosmopolitan lady says.
“He’s not on the menu.” I meant for it to come off as a breezy joke, but it sounds more bitchy than anything. “What do you want to drink?”
“Don’t order a cosmopolitan from her,” the woman beside her whispers conspiratorially.
“Vodka soda.”
I get to work on the drink, deciding that I do need to learn how to throw a bare-knuckles punch.
After the rush clears out, I inform Gavin crossly, “I’m never bartending with you again.”
