Page 11 of Bad Behavior

3

Jameson

The next day at work, I’m relieved that I’m not scheduled to work with Asher. Instead, it’s me and Gunnar opening, with Alice and Maia showing up a little later.

I go about my bar prep silently, thinking about what a shit show last night was. It was busy as fuck, and Asher was pretending I didn’t exist. To say that last night was rough was an understatement.

I wish I could rage about how fucked up it was, and how I didn’t see any of it coming. But the problem was, I kind of did.

I love Asher. Straight out, flat out love him. He’s as much a brother as Forest or Gunnar. I’d stick with him through hell, if that’s what’s needed. When we got drunk at his engagement party and he said he had a plan for Cure, I was with him even though he had no idea what he was talking about.

The problem is his fiancee. Or ex-fiancee, I guess. Jenna has always been weirdly jealous of Asher’s time. She resents any time he has to spend at Cure, throws a fit once a week.

Then there is the fact that she treats everybody like dirt. Only that’s not even the bad part. Most of all, the way she refers to the future is what makes me hate her.

She’s always so sure that he’s going to tire of the bar, that eventually he will grow up and suddenly like her friends more than us. She’s made herself perfectly clear on this topic a number of times.

That’s why I was so thrown yesterday when she made her move, trying to grab my cock and trying to kiss me. It just seemed to come from nowhere, but maybe that’s just some rich person shit that I can’t even understand.

The part where it became my problem is the part where I decided to confront Asher. Rather than hear what I was saying and take it under advisement, he freaked out. Then he lashed out.

Things have been strained for a good couple of months now, but I didn’t expect anything like what happened the night before last. Asher walking in on that, and assuming that I did something wrong…

It was pretty brutal.

As customers start to filter in I run the service well, not inclined to stand and talk to customers. I like working the service well on days like today, because I don’t really have time to think.

Maia and Alice ring in the tickets, and I have to make the drinks. Most of the cocktails I know from memory. It’s sort of like an assembly line, slight variations on the same six or seven drinks.

I do it for almost four hours, filling the time in between orders by running the undercounter dishwasher and restocking liquor up on the shelves.

It’s not until Gunnar comes up behind me, clapping me on both shoulders, that I pause to look around. The bar is quiet, which is pretty normal for a Sunday night.

“You can get out of here,” he says. “I’m about to send one of the girls home too. I know you guys were slammed last night. You probably didn’t get much sleep, huh?”

“I mean, I’m fine.” Even as I say it, though, I feel the pull of wanting to leave. “Actually… yeah. I do want to get out of here early.”

“I knew it,” Gunnar says. “I’m psychic.”

“You sure you’re good?” I ask, rubbing the back of my head.

“Yeah,” Gunnar says good-humoredly. “I got this.”

I clap him on the shoulder and head to the back room. I switch out my bartender’s apron for my hoodie, grab my backpack, and then hit the front door.

It’s officially dark by now. I walk to the beach, which is just a block away. Even though I can’t see much of the ocean, the salt spray and the sound of the waves work their magic. I take a deep, calming breath.

I walk a little ways down the beach, my thoughts scattered. I feel my phone buzz in my pocket, the first time I’ve felt it all night.

I pull it out and realize I’ve missed a few texts from Emma.

Hey! What are you up to?

Wanna study?

About to get in my pajamas if you don’t text me…

The last one is only a minute old. I see an image in my head of her in her pajamas, which is burned into my brain from earlier this week.

---