Page 45 of Pretend You Love Me
Once I’m behind the bar, I have a good view of the whole place. I always stay in the back office or behind the bar unless some real shit’s going down. Doesn’t happen very often, but sometimes a drunk guy is looking for a fight or gets handsy with one of my servers. I step in when necessary, but most of the time, I prefer to be out of sight - unlike Hawk, who lives to be the center of attention. He’s out front. Surely he heard Ginger is working tonight and needs to witness this. He keeps running over to carry Ginger’s trays from the kitchen. She can’t carry anything heavy since she’s only working with one arm. I know she’s sore too. I should have refused to let her work until she’s all healed up. She looks happy though - too happy when she’s flashing her pretty smile at Hawk. My chest tightens watching them laugh and exchange friendly glances.
Not a chance in hell that happening on my watch.
“Hey Ginger,” I call. Nearly everyone falls silent and looks at me. Her eyes grow wide. She finishes passing out plates and excuses herself. Her eyes are a mixture of fear and anticipation as she walks behind the bar and stands in front of me. I have her on her toes. Good, better her than me.
“What can I do for you, Kip?”she asks.
“No more tables.”
“What?”
“You’re just delivering drinks tonight.”
She puts her hands on her hips, her jaw set tight. “What the heck are you talking about?”
“This,” I say, pointing to her arm.
“And this.” I point to her side.
“And this.” I point to her head.
“I’m doing just fine. You don’t need to babysit me.”
I laugh. “No cupcake, that’s exactly what you need.”
She leans in closer and whispers. “Remember - you’re supposed to actually like me. You can’t show everyone that you hate me, or it will ruin our little cover story.”
Hate? Who said anything about hate?”
I want to drag her back to the hallway to hash this out, but then I remember how small the hallway is when we’re both in it together, and how good her body feels smashed up against mine.
Here. We are having this conversation here.
“I don’t hate you,” I hiss.
She bites her bottom lip. “Really?”
“Who said anything about hate?”
She just gives me a look and says, “Your face. Your body language. Your tone. Your actual words.”
“I never said I hated you.”
“Well, not in those exact words...”
I close my eyes again. I’m slowly counting to five.
“Are you counting?” she hisses.
“Yes. Shut up.”
“Okay, Grumpy McGrumpface. Count faster. I need to get back to my tables.”
“You aren’t going back to the tables.”
“What exactly am I going to do then?”she asks.
“Run drinks.”
