When I arrive, The Thirsty Pony is packed. Certain weeknights definitely draw a crowd during the warmer months, but never like this. Shoving through the crowd, for once, I don’t recognize most of the faces. There must be something drawing in all the tourists.
“Thanks again,” Jim darts from behind the bar, leaving me with a crowd eagerly waiting for their drinks.
Now is the time for fun Betty. She is the woman who smiles and occasionally shamelessly flirts back with the cowboys and wannabes who wander through here. She’ll pretend to take a shot with you and slide your drink down the bar with a wink.
One after another, our patrons call out their orders. My hands and feet move faster than I would have expected with the exhaustion coursing through me. The rush giving me a second wind I hadn’t thought was possible. A few women giggle as I hand them the fruity drinks they requested, which makes me gag just thinking about that overly sugary taste. Yet, it’s the type of cocktail fun Betty would toast high in the air, causing the woman to nod my way when I pretend to agree it’s the exact type of refreshing drink for spring. This is the Betty who is girly and enjoys dressing up, caking on enough makeup to hide every imperfection.
“We love your top,” the petite blonde calls out over the music.
“Thanks,” I wink.
“Your boobs look great!” her friend shouts, nodding as she drinks from her straw with her pinky out.
I fight not to roll my eyes. These were the types of girls I was friends with in high school. The same ones who thought I was like them in college, but I wasn’t. I let my peers turn me into a fun, girly girl who was the life of the party, because back then, I didn’t know any better. I needed to fit in like everyone else, because that’s what makes everyone else happy.
My favorite line dance song comes over the speakers, my shoulders and hips swaying as I pop the tops on a line of beer bottles.
“Is one of those for me?” A male voice pulls my attention away from my task, my body going still as Ward stares back at me.
“No, but you can order one,” I grin back at him. It’d be impossible not to with a face as handsome as his. Those hazel eyes sparkle in the dim light as he leans forward, flashing perfect white teeth. The tooth next to his left canine is slightly protruding; the imperfection is endearing. There’s not a single one on Nash.
Betty, stop it!
Ward leans forward on the bar, his elbows digging into the wood as he clasps his hands in front of him. He says nothing as I distribute the drinks before pausing in front of him again. “How about instead of ordering a drink, I order a date with you?”
There’s no hiding the flush that creeps up over my skin as he stares at me expectantly. “I-well,” I let out a slow breath.
“I’m sorry,” he says, raising his palms, patting the air. “You must have a man already. I didn’t mean to overstep.” He genuinely appears embarrassed by his behavior. Shifting as if he’s going to slip off the barstool, I reach out and snatch his hand, holding him still.
“No. I mean.” His eyes slowly meet mine, and it’s as if he melts into my stare. No one has ever looked at me like that except…No, Betty!I promised myself I was letting go of this infatuation with Nash. I have to for my sake because at this point, it’s just plain pathetic lusting after a man who regrets kissing you.
“No?” Ward questions, cocking a brow.
“I mean, no, I don’t have a… man. I’m single, and I would love to go out with you.” My cheeks flush all over again, our eyes locked until some asshole yells from the other end of the bar.
“Hey, if you’re done eye fuckin’ your man, can I get some service down here?”
The bright glow that had been in my eyes shifts to dark fury. I may be the bubbly girl with those I care about, but I don’t take shit from people in my bar. Especially not some out-of-towner who thinks he’s something special.
“Hey, buddy, you don’t talk to a lady like that,” Ward interjects.
I know he’s trying to be sweet, but it only bugs me he’s defending me. I’m no delicate flower. Working in a bar with a bunch of men who like to get shit-faced drunk, I had to learn to hold my own.
“I’ve got this.” I place a hand on Ward’s forearm before moving down to the other end of the bar, tossing a hand rag over my shoulder. “Apologize,” I say calmly, staring down the stranger.
“How about you do your job?” he snaps, cackling with his buddies. “Get me a damn drink.”
Turning on my heel, I walk away until the guy grabs my arm, yanking me back. I can keep my composure as long as the patrons don’t get combative, but when they do, I lose my shit.
My back slams into the edge of the bar with the force of his strength. The guy laughs uncontrollably, thinking he has me, when I twist my body to the side, alleviating the pressure, only to quickly reach out with my other hand, grab his ratty hair, and slam his cheek down onto the bar top. He immediately lets me go, trying to fight against my hold. Grabbing hold of his wrist, twisting hard, a feminine yelp escapes him.
“You…” he starts.
“Don’t finish that. I am going easy on you, so why don’t you and your friends go find another bar? Hmm. I won’t serve you, and if you’re rude again, I’ll make sure you’re laid out on this floor,” I snap through gritted teeth. “Now, are we going to have a good rest of the night?”
He grunts, trying to nod before I release him.
The guy is smart enough not to say a word as he and his friends stalk out of the bar. Their departure signals all the regulars to cheer and whistle. It’s not the first time they’ve seen me handle things on my own. Beckett is the one who took self-defense classes so he could teach me to defend myself, knowing I was determined to stay at the bar. When I have the time, I still take them to stay sharp.
