Page 33 of Told You So
I flip a highball in my hand and clank it down on the bar top, pouring two shots for her before she can even get her wallet out.
“Seven-fifty,” I say, sliding her shot over on a black, square napkin. I glare at the guy next to her who hasn’t moved for his wallet once tonight. He’s clueless.
The woman slides me a twenty. “Keep the change and keep them coming,” she says. It’s getting late, and at the pace the night is going, it’s going to end one of two ways. Either a bar fight is going to break out and/or someone is going to puke. I’m hoping it’s only the latter.
“You’re it,” I tell Brady, cashing Miss Jack Daniel’s out. I give him “the look” and nod at her as she downs her double shot.
Brady glances down the bar at her, sweat beaded on his brow, much like mine. He shakes his head. “Not a chance.”
“Dude, I’m not on barf duty tonight,” I say, stepping closer.
“Dude,”he says, mocking me. “I’m your boss. You’ll do whatever I say.”
I smirk at him and wring out a wet towel. “Whatever you say,boss.”I make a mental note to keep my eye on Miss JD tonight as I scoot her another shot and a bowl of pretzels.
If I hadn’t been a fixture in this place for the last few years, I wouldn’t push my luck with Brady, but we go way back, and I know he would never fire me. Not unless he closed this place down, which would be a true-life sob story.
With a whistle at Brady, I nod to the floor and head out from behind the bar to make the rounds. Peanut shells and half-full, forgotten beers litter the room and tables.A damn waste and shame.Shaking my head, I glance over at the jukebox in the back corner where Mac, Sam, and Reilly are hanging out. I notice Bobby and Anna Marie standing by the dartboard, separate from the group, but I don’t see Bethany anywhere. I try not to think about her as I clear off the tables, but that doesn’t last long.
I’m gathering discarded pint glasses, when a vision of tussled blonde hair, long legs, and a black fuck-me dress consumes every ounce of my attention. Bethany saunters into the bar, wearing those goddamn pink heels I can never get out of my head, with her arms wrapped around some guy I’ve never seen before.
Bethany’s all smiles, her eyes are glassy, and her lipstick is smeared a little, and I know she’s feeling good. She’s a temptress tonight. By the look of her now, you’d never know how angry she got in class on Wednesday.
I walk back to the bar with the dirties and submerge them in the suds tub. I do a quick drink check around the bar, pour Miss Jack Daniel’s asingleshot, and ask Brady to get another line of margaritas going for Pink Sweater and her friend.
“How did I get stuck on margarita duty?” Brady asks.
“You want to play bus boy?” I’m more than happy to switch with him.
Brady shakes his head. “You missed some glasses over there,” he says happily, and pours a line of tequila shots for one of the groups at a cocktail table. I head back around the bar for another load and try to steer clear of Bethany when she sees me.
“Oh, Nick!” she calls over the noise.
“That’s my name,” I drawl and grab an empty glass before finally looking at her.
“Can you get us a drink?” Her date nuzzles the side of her face, like he can’t take his grubby hands or eyes off of her. I’m not a jealous guy by nature, but I don’t like the way her date stares at her lips, like he’s a predator and hungry.
“Uh...” I hesitate. She’s pretty drunk.
“I’ll take a whiskey sour,” she says, oblivious, and her friend with the bad hair asks for two shots of tequila. “Top shelf,” he clarifies.
“How about some water,” I tell her, ignoring her date’s request completely.
“What? No, that’s not fun.”
I laugh. “It looks like you’ve had plenty of fun tonight already.”
Her easiness vanishes, and her hands fall away from her date and to her sides. “I’d like a drink, Nick,” she bites out. Her posture stiffens and she takes an unsteady step closer to me.
“I’m not serving you tonight, Bethany. You’re already lit.”
She looks shocked. “Are you screwing with me?”
I grab a few more empty glasses from the wall bar beside them, winking at a chick who bumps into me and giggles with apology. Bethany’s date steps closer, his greased black hair slipping into his even darker eyes. “What the hell is your problem, man?” he growls.
“I don’t have a problem, but she’s cut off.” I glare at her friend. “And if you keep pushing me, so are you.”
“Nick, stop it,” Bethany says, glancing wild-eyed between us.
