And then he drops his eyes.
He’s cursing himself.
He's thinking of ways to get out of it.
He's pretending I’m not here, so I’ll disappear.
He goes back to pouring a drink.
For some girl.
He’s smiling.
She’s laughing, loud and over the top.
His smile stays on,
but his shoulders grow tense,
panic hiding behind his bartender grin.
“Hey—uh, you okay?”
The voice comes from my left.
I turn, startled. “Huh?”
The voice's wearing the same black button-up pulled tight across his chest. Dark, messy hair. Full lips. Same age or younger. And he’s staring right at me with big brown eyes, waiting.
“I said this your first time here? You look lost.
“Had that‘where the fuck am I’face for a sec.”
Then I notice I’ve been standing at the door this whole time, rooted... pathetic.
As if I’m waiting for someone to open it for me or escort me farther inside.
He gestures toward the bar.
“Figured I’d come rescue you from the deer-in-headlights moment. I’m stuck workin’ barback tonight—slammed, runnin’ that side right there.”
I follow the hand.
To Andrew watching?—
brow cocked, eyes loaded,
two seconds from laughing.
Or lunging.
“Unless you meetin’ up with somebody.” His shoulder dips closer. “If not, I got room right there next to me. Front row seat. I’ll grab you a stool.” He smirks. “You sit close, give me a pretty view to look at, talk a little shit, throw me off my game while I make sure your drink stays filled—I won’t mind.”
A pretty view to look at.
Like I’m scenery. A fuckin’ flower vase with tits.
I spot an empty bartop table in the corner by the window.
