“Really?” That question is in response to both things, the stealing and a potential job. “I don’t know how to bartend.”
Robbi shrugs. She’s been kind of surly this morning. “I’m just telling you what I heard. It doesn’t hurt to apply.”
No, it doesn’t. I look up at the old brass clock on the wall. My grandparents had one just like it in their house. “It’s almost ten. I should go now.” I’m kind of excited about the idea of working at Cy’s Roost. It’s my favorite bar in Ames, and it’s where everyone goes to hang out.
“No more going to football games or any other Iowa State event,” says Robbi with an arched brow. “You’ll have to work all of those.”
“I don’t do that anyway. Too expensive.”
“Then go for it,” Susanna chirps.
“Robbi?” I look up at her. “Can I mention your name?”
She snorts. “Sure. I’m quite important there,” she says sarcastically. “Mention my name and I’m sure they’ll hire you on the spot.”
Wow, she’s grouchy. “Okay,” I say, smiling. “Thank you so much.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I look over at Susanna just as she rolls her eyes, then giggles. Ignoring that because I don’t want to make Robbi mad, I quickly run back downstairs to find clothes that are decent enough for job hunting.
“This will have to be good enough,” I say as I slump my shoulders. All I’ve got to fit the job-hunting bill is a pair of black leggings and a long black shirt since wearing a dress is not a great idea on a scooter.
I search the floor for my black flats, spying one near my closet. Slipping that one on, I lift items off the floor, hoping the missing shoe is there. I finally spot it underneath my bed. I shiver thinking about the creepy-crawly things under there that I’d rather not disturb, but it must be done.
On my knees, I reach beneath the bed and grasp the shoe. Yanking it out as fast as I can, I jump up and peek inside the shoe, making sure there’s nothing hiding in there. When the coast is clear, I slip it on my foot. With a quick glance at the mirror, I grimace. My hair, in a low ponytail, isn’t very professional, but the alternative is my signature messy bun. That’s even less professional.
“It’ll have to do.”
* * *
“Hi,”I say to the irritated-looking male behind the bar. “I’d like to apply for your bartender position.”
The tall, surly man throws a whitish towel over his muscular shoulder, then places his hands on his narrow waist, making his black tee pull tight against his chest. It’s enough to tell me the guy is built. I can’t help staring at the tattoo on his left arm until he says, “What bartender position?”
I quickly stop staring and reply, “My… uh, Robbi told me there was a bartender opening.”
“Who the fuck is Robbi?”
Oh shit. I’m doing this wrong. “My roommate?”
“Well, wow, okay, that’s all I need to know. You’re hired.”
I quickly smile but then realize that was sarcasm. That’s okay. I’m feeling like I’ve got nothing to lose since the mall was a bust, so I keep the smile on my face and say, “Great. When do I start?”
The guy’s hands fall to his sides, and his chin drops down to his chest. It’s moving up and down. Is he laughing? Yes, he’s laughing. I hope it’s a good sign.
“Sweetheart.” He looks up at me and smirks. “It doesn’t work like that.”
I’m going to keep trying. “What doesn’t? You hired me, I accepted. It’s all good.” Keep in mind that the smile is still plastered on my face. I’m not giving in. I need a job, and since the mall produced zero job prospects….
“Fine,” he huffs. “Hop up and sit at the bar. Let me ask you some questions.”
Oh holy hell.Is this actually working?I do as he asks. As gracefully as possible, I lift one thick thigh onto the bar stool, then pull my body up until I’m seated, mostly. I use the edge of the wooden bar to help with my ascent. In the end, my ass is hanging off more on one side of the small stool than the other, but no worries, sheer will should keep me seated. I place my hands on the old wooden bar, one on top of the other. “I’m ready.”
I watch as he drops the towel somewhere next to him. Placing his palms on his side of the bar, he leans forward. It makes his arm muscles bulge a little more, and I can’t help staring. “What’s your name?”
I nod. I’m ready for this. “Quinn Maxwell.”
