“It doesn’t matter." Stalking to the bar, I tip my head, taking another order before I turn back to her. “He’s gone.”
I should be grateful. At least I still have a job. To my surprise, the bar was open when I walked up earlier. Adrian muttered something about safety improvements before stalking back to the office where he spends most of his time.
Forcing all thoughts of Ben from my mind, I lose myself in work, taking orders and cleaning up with a ferocity that has Carla blinking as I sweep past her for the third time with a tray of empties. A smaller stack, this time. “Would you slow down? You’re making the rest of us look bad.”
“Sorry.” I dump them onto the bar before ducking back into the crowd. It’s not as busy tonight, our usual crowd thin on the ground after last night’s blackout.
My patience is thin. When a hand lands on my ass, I spin, glaring at the skinny weasel. “Handsoff.”
He falls back, laughing in the safety of a crowd of like-minded friends as he holds up his hands. “You’re a feisty one. I like that.”
His eyes crawl over my skin, landing on my scar. “What happened to your face?”
None of your fucking business.
Keeping my mouth shut, I move past them. Someone mutters about candle wax, and they all laugh.
Assholes.
By the time my shift ends, my mood is darker than the sky outside. It’s not raining, but I throw my umbrella up outside the bar anyway, glowering at the lights above me.
“Emmy.”
I pause for a second, before my shoulders tighten and I walk away.
When he appears next to me, matching my pace, I swing to him. “What are you doing here, Ben?”
The circles beneath his eyes are deeper today. He rubs at the back of his neck. “I didn’t want you to walk home on your own again.”
“Well, I managed just fine before last night.” Turning, I stride down the street. “Feel free to leave me to it.”
“Hey!”
We both turn at the shout, and my shoulders rise another inch. The asshole from earlier peels away from the wall outside The Setlist. He stumbles forward, his words slurred. “You. You didn’t tell me your name.”
There’s a guy with him. He snickers as he looks at me. “Scarface.”
How fucking original.
I’m bracing myself to tell them to fuck all the way off when Ben steps in front of me. “What thefuckdid you just call her?”
His voice is low, his hands tightening into fists.
I stare up at his back. “Ben – leave it. It doesn’t matter.”
“No.” He puts out his arm when I try to step around him, keeping his body between me and them. “You heard me, asshole.What the fuck did you just call her?”
“Chill man,” the first guy slurs again. “She was into me earlier.”
“Like hell I was,” I snap from around the wall of muscle in front of me. “Go home.”
“You’re coming with me.”
I can feel the fury that fills Ben. “You heard her. Back the hell off and go home.”
“Or what?” I peer around Ben to see the friend stepping forward. He’s skinny, but there’s a glint in his eyes as he stares up at Ben that tells me alcohol isn’t the only thing in his veins tonight. “You gonna make me?”
“Ben—,”
