My laugh comes naturally. I could lie and say I don’t find Beck attractive, but Lucie would 100 percent call me out on it.
“It’s more than that, though. It’s a lot harder to blow him off. He was getting under my skin in passing enough, but…” I trail off, unsure of how to even describe that I feel the most like myself around Beck.
It’s like I’ve reached this threshold of time with him and all my perfectly placed guards have come crumbling down.
“But?” Lucie squeezes my arm.
“If you want me to answer, that counts as one of your questions.”
Lucie purses her lips. “Okay, deal.”
Ah, hell. I should’ve known.
I groan softly. “It’s just—he does all these things. Especially over the past several days, it’s like every interaction with himturns in his favor. He should be annoying, right? He’s been obnoxiously hitting on me since we met, but don’t freak out when I say this…I think I really like him.”
Lucie attempts to not freak—she tries her best not to, at least. Her eyes practically bug out but her squeal is moderately contained. “Okay, great, love to hear that out loud. Totally cool, no biggie. Um, new question, to help me move on, why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing?”
“Because it is a bad thing, Luce! I can’t—not right now. And that was your last question, so that’s all you’re going to get for now.”
Lucie’s eye practically twitches as she squeaks out, “Okay.” She swallows hard, and I can only imagine she’s trying to think of ways she can trick me into talking more about this. “To recap, we officially have feelings for Beck, but liking him is bad for reasons unknown.”
“Reasons I know,” I say smugly.
Lucie squeals again except this one has a hint of frustration in it. “Right, right, okay, well, I’m going to go help my brother look at rings, then go to my baby’s first doctor’s appointment. I probably won’t be thinking about this conversation at all.”
I pause in front of her car. “Of course you won’t. I’ll let you have three more questions at your wedding.”
“Do I get bonus ones if I send you pictures of the baby?”
I shrug. “Eh, we’ll see.”
I don’t think I’ve had three days off in a row since I moved to Boston a year ago. Apparently, it’s affected me more than I realize because this shift is kicking my ass. With my past callouts, I seemed to have started a bit of a chain reaction. Two of our other bartenders sent Mia a text right as their shift started that they would not be coming in.
I told Mia I could handle it and she’s helped where she can, but I’m starting to eat my words.
My feet are killing me, my patience is shot, and if one more person orders a Manhattan, I’m going to lose my marbles.
“Stirred, not shaken,” every man in a suit has snapped at me tonight. I don’t know what fuckboy finance convention is in town, but that must be the signature drink.
Mia moves around behind me in the bar restocking some of the liquor bottles. “Christ, what is in the air tonight?”
“Apparently, whiskey and a whole lot of bitters,” I grumble. “The next finance douchebag that complains he doesn’t like the shape of our cocktail glasses is getting his drink poured on his head.”
Mia snorts. “Hey, I support women’s rights and wrongs. I didn’t see anything.”
Leaning on the back bar next to her I take a deep breath and try to find my bearings. “Mia, are you seriously wearing heels? Please, tell me you haven’t been wearing them all night.”
Mia grabs a near-empty bottle of vodka from the mid-shelf, then looks down at her black square-toe heels. “To be honest, I kind of forgot I had them on. I’m pretty sure I lost feeling in my feet years ago. I’m good.”
My feet hurt from just the look of them alone. We’re a pretty classy bar, so with my white button up and black dress pants I appear polished from the bar, but you best believe I’m wearing comfortable shoes.
“Okay, I’m going to ask a question and your answer could very much piss me off. Are you even remotely tired, sore, any degree of pain really?”
Mia tilts her head up. “Um, not really…I mean?—”
“Fuck you.” I wave her off at first but then look at those heels again. “What do you mean you don’t want to kick those shoes off?”
Mia scrunches her nose. “I don’t know what to say! Image is huge to my parents, they had me in suit dresses and heels by the time I was eight. It’s my normal!”
