Page 76 of Forget Me Not

Wildcat: I’m not going to lie, this is a little creepy.

HawkEye: You don’t need to fear me, Wildcat. I simply did a little research and found the address.

Wildcat: I don’t even know what to say. You have no idea how much I appreciate this, but it’s weird.You shouldn’t have.

HawkEye: It’s the first step in your fresh start. You can do this. I know you can.

My crippling fear is slowly replaced with elation. I’m not sure why, but I truly think he just wants to help me.

Wildcat: Thank you for that. No one has ever believed in me the way you do. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.

HawkEye: My only hope is that eventually you’ll believe in yourself, too.

Wildcat: I think I’m on the right track.

HawkEye: I think so, too.

Excitement about the laptop ripples through me, so I leave our conversation at that and tear into the packaging.

The next three hours are spent setting it up and scrolling aimlessly on TikTok. I’ve never had social media, and I still don’t. I’m currently viewing as a guest. But I watched some of the most fucked-up, most hilarious, and most emotional videos. I just have to ensure I don’t fall down this rabbit hole daily because I could lie in bed all day watching this shit.

Before I know it, it’s eight o’clock and time to get ready for work. My nerves are at an all-time high, considering it’s my first weekend and night shift.

I decide on a pair of blue jeans and a cute baby blue crop top that shows a sliver of my stomach. Then I destroy my whole ensemble with my worn shoes that have the backs pressed down. I’m currently saving money for next month’s rent, but once that’s paid, I’m investing in some new shoes.Brand new. Not smelly used ones from the thrift store.

My hair is thrown up in a high ponytail and I brush a few strokes of mascara on my lashes. Feeling pretty confident in the way I look, I blow myself a kiss in the mirror and head to Taryn’s.

* * *

The vibeat Taryn’s is crazy. People are chatting with friends, dancing to the band, eating delicious fried food. Everyone is in good spirits and the tips have been insane. I’ve been here three hours, with only an hour to go, and I’ve already made a hundred and thirty dollars. That’s more tips than I make during the day shift in a week. If I could do this every Friday and Saturday night, I’d be able to pay rent without a problem.

I look around at the crowd of over fifty people, searching for the one person I shouldn’t want to see.

I’ve been so busy since I arrived, pouring drinks left and right, slinging cash, and making money, but he’s been in the back of my mind the entire time.

It’s odd that I haven’t seen him yet. He claims to always be watching, so where is he now?

“How’s it going?” Tyler asks, sliding up beside me and snapping me from my thoughts. He sticks a frosted glass under a beer nozzle and tilts it slightly to decrease the amount of foam. It’s a trick he taught me when I first got here. He’s also had to help me with almost every mixed drink, and I’m sure he feels like I’m more hassle than help.

“It’s going,” I tell him, lifting a brow. “Scotch on the rocks?”

He chuckles. “That’s an easy one. Rocks means ice. Just pour some scotch. If they didn’t specify,” he grabs a bottle of dark liquor and he sets it on the bar, “then they get bottom-shelf scotch and it’s five bucks.”

I reach out a hand, wrap it around his arm, and squeeze. “Thank you, Tyler.”

“Welcome. Holler if you need anything else.” He tops off the mug of beer and heads to the other end of the bar.

My eyes lift slowly and I find Alaric standing directly in front of me on the other side of the bar. His blue eyes flash with anger and his jaw is set tight. There's no question that he's livid.

“You look like you could use a drink,” I say to him casually as I pour a shot's worth of scotch in a small glass over ice. Well, it was more like two and a half shots, but I did the best with the pressure I’m under.

Alaric rests his arms on the bartop and leans in, beckoning me with a curl of his fingers.

“I don’t have time for this, Alaric. Do you want a drink or not?”

“What I want,” he grits out, speaking each word slowly. “Is for you to stop throwing yourself at your fucking co-worker.”

“Throwing myself at him?” I laugh as I sweep my hand in the air. “Get the hell away from me.”

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