“Melinda. I'm a bartender. I've gotten good at reading people. Spill.”
“So if something was going on with you and a guy and you and that guy weren’t exclusive, but you still got upset seeing pictures of him hanging out with models when out of town, what would you do?”
“Ask him what it’s all about. It’s the only way to find out.”
“You’re smart,” I said, slurping my drink down in one gulp.
She leaned forward and crooked her finger at me. “Tell Chris how you feel. If you don’t want him banging hot models, tell him. People can’t read minds.”
“I just assumed…”
“Ah! That is where you messed up. Don’t ever assume. Don’t ever have expectations. You’ll be disappointed when the person doesn’t follow through on your high standards that they didn’t even know existed.”
“Hey, baby. Can I get a beer?” an old drunk said, staring at Mary’s ass a bit too long.
She turned around and pushed him back in his seat. “I don’t know, can you? If you can lean over without falling over, I’ll give you a pint for free.”
The guy stood, leaned over the bar to pour himself a draft, and right as his hand hit the handle, he fell over, collapsing on the floor.
“Happens every single time. Idiots,” Mary shook her head and stepped over him as she came from behind the bar, grabbing a serving tray and served a few other people playing pool.
I understood Mary’s words, but it didn't remove my insecurities. Even if we weren’t exclusive, if our time together had meant so little to him, he was still hanging out with models when away, then…what? He just wanted a fling with me? On the flip side, if he really liked me and saw us as exclusive, was he OK with hanging out with models without telling me about it? Would he always crave the company of other women? And if he did, did I even want to be in a relationship with him. I’d always feel neglected. It would be like my relationship with my dad—always having to take care of business while he was off with some woman somewhere.
I wasn't going to let a man make me feel like that again.
I said that now, but I still sat at the bar, drinking my sorrows away and hopefully a bit of those pesky insecurities too.
Was I getting my insecurities confused with my gut? I had a habit of ignoring my instincts, and maybe this was one of those times.
If Chris truly cared for me, he wouldn’t have been seen with those models.
“Don’t even think about it, asshole!” Mary held a man’s arm behind his back.
“I’m sorry.”
“You won't ever touch a woman's butt again without permission, or I'll kick your ass, got it?”
“She is so hot when she does that,” Ben said, watching Mary as he scrubbed the bar—apparently, the same spot needed a lot of cleaning. I suppressed a smile.
When I grew up, I wanted to be just like Mary. Leather and all. Just not the tattoos.
