“Sean,” my voice trembles, “please. Don’t do this. This is my work. Just go. I’m sorry about your job, but please don’t make a scene.”
He looks at me with cold disgust, leans over the barstool…
And spits. Right in front of us.
On the bar I just cleaned down.
9
Kicked out
I notice some commotion at the bar. A sketchy-looking guy with tattoos and a wired energy. He looks familiar, but I can’t pinpoint why.
He’s arguing with Camille and the other bartender, who looks like she’s ready to kill him.
Camille looks scared and that does something to me. No one should make a woman feel like that. Not on my watch.
Tyler notices too.
His grin drops, and his eyes harden in an instant. “Fuck,” he stands up quickly, leaning towards me. “That’s Cammie’s ex… Sean. He’s bad news, man.”
I finish the rest of my drink and set the glass down. “We should probably go over and make sure they’re alright.”
“Definitely.” Tyler agrees.
We head towards the bar just as the bloke spits in front of them. Disgusting.
“What’s going on here?” I ask, looking at Camille, who looks like she might cry.
He turns to face us, sizing us up. Now he’s closer, I swear I do know this guy. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him, but I’m sure it’stheSean that went to my school a couple of grades below me. He was always getting into fights—guess not much has changed.
“I just told Sean that he needs to leave. Now,” the other bartender says while still glaring at Sean.
“Well, you were asked to leave. So you better leave,” I say firmly.
He puffs his chest out at us, like some kind of junkyard rooster. Either he’s high, or he’s stupid. Probably both.
“Or what, tough guy?” he sneers, swaying slightly and wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
What the hell was Camille doing with him? I don’t look to her and keep my eyes pinned on this asshole.
Tyler steps in, calmer. “Come on, mate. Just go.”
Sean looks back and forth between us, weighing his odds—badly.
Then he takes a swing at me.
I catch his fist mid-air. “Seriously?”
He stares at his trapped fist, stunned, then throws another.
Sloppy. Predictable. I dodge it.
Tyler and I exchange a glance and nod. We’ve had enough. We both grab him—one arm under each armpit—and start dragging him toward the door. He flails, kicking and cursing like a brat in a tantrum, but he’s not going anywhere.
As we drag him outside, I glance back. Camille’s frozen, wide-eyed. There’s this look on her face, like she’s seeing me in a different light. Like I’m her knight in shining armour or something. Damn.
We haul Sean to the front, where the bouncer is standing.
