“No,” she says, not even looking in his direction. “It’s all yours.”
“Perfect,” he replies as he slides onto the stool next to her. “I’ll take a beer.”
I don’t know why his closeness to her bothers me, but it does. He’s not a regular here at the bar, and he’s alone. Which isn’t entirely unusual, but he’s acting a little too familiar toward her. He quickly spreads out, invading her personal space a little more than I’m comfortable with, and I’m sure she is too.
But it’s not my place to say anything. At least until he does something that would require my intervention as one of the owners of this establishment. I grab a beer from the cooler and hand it to him before leaving them to watch the game and nurse their drinks in peace.
“Have you looked outside?” Tate asks me as Imake my way back to the middle of the bar after filling all the open orders.
“No. Why?”
“They weren’t lying about the snow. It’s coming down fast, and there’re already six inches on the ground. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s over a foot by the time we close.”
“Good thing we can walk home,” I tell her, hating the snow, but at least living nearby doesn’t make it a problem besides the possibility of freezing to death.
“I hate this. I miss the sunshine and sandals.”
“It’ll be here before we know it.”
She gives me a heated glare. “Liar.”
“I can’t think about the reality of how long it’ll be cold. It makes it too tempting to move down to Florida like the rest of the family. They were smart, but our grandparents…nooooo. They had to stay in Chicago instead of moving to a warmer climate.”
“It is their fault.”
“Yep,” I snap, mentally cursing my grandparents for our current predicament. We could be working at a bar on the beach, handing out drinks as the sun sets against the water and sand instead of the snow and cement.
I glance at the clock above the door. We have two hours until close. Thankfully, the game is in the fourth quarter, so the place should be clearing out soon.
Tomorrow’s a workday for some people, but not me. I plan to spend the day sleeping in and catchingup on shit I put off because procrastination is my superpower or maybe it’s my kryptonite.
I glance down the bar and find the pretty lady leaning to her other side, moving her body away from the new guy who sat down. Immediately, alarm bells start sounding in my head. His face is turned toward her, but she’s staring straight ahead, watching a game I figure she doesn’t give two shits about.
He reaches an arm over to touch her, and she snatches her hand away, tucking it under the bar.
“Well, that’s my cue,” I mutter, knowing things are going to get dicey. Guys like him never seem to want to go quietly because they don’t have a clue that their actions are unwanted, even if all the signs are there.
“Buddy, you need to move or go,” I tell him before he even has a chance to look my direction. “Up to you which one.”
“Why?” he says, finally turning his dark eyes in my direction. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Did she ask you to touch her?”
Her eyes dart to me and widen, the panic in them evident. “It’s okay,” she says, probably used to being harassed, but it’s not okay with me.
“No, it’s not. Moving or leaving?”
“You can’t be serious,” he chuckles deeply like I’m joking, but I’m as serious as a heart attack.
“I am. Pick one.”
“I want to talk to the manager.”
Of course he does. They always do. I don’t knowwhy they think someone who’s a manager would be okay with his type of behavior either.
“I’m the owner,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to look as imposing as possible. I tower over him, but that doesn’t keep me from doing whatever possible to stop him from acting out and playing the fool.
In my over ten years working at the Hook & Hustle, I’ve been in more bar fights than I can count on both hands. They’ve usually involved a guy who got a little too handsy with someone in the bar, and it’s always our responsibility to step in. Sometimes they turn into an all-out brawl where the entire bar gets involved. Those are the worst because they are costly due to so many things getting broken.
