“No, I don’t,” I yell back, “What can I get you?”
“Jack,” The smile drops as irritation flashes because I’m not entertaining him, “Exactly three cubes of ice.”
I stifle my eye roll and pour him the drink, dropping in the ice before I hand it over and take the cash he hands me, “One for yourself too.” He winks again.
“I’m good.”
I hand him his change and move on, but he follows, talking over the customer I’m trying to serve, “There’s a party later. Come with me.”
I barely catch the order I’m given but I manage and turn to make it, ignoring Patrick.
“Vanessa, baby,” He yells, leaning further over the bar, “You hear me?”
“I’m not going to a party.”
“Come on,” He pouts, “You gotta stop playing hard to get, I know you like me.”
“No, really I don’t,” I hand the drink over to the guys next to him, and they throw some serious side eye at him which makes me smile. Desperation never looks good on anyone.
“Just let me show you how good we could be.”
“Patrick, I’m busy.” I tell him, “Please stop.”
“Later then?”
“No.”
He continues to talk at me but after several minutes of pretending I can’t hear him and his irritating begging, he gives up. Though it won’t be that easy. He’ll be back, he always is.
I go through the next two hours as busy as ever until the bar starts to empty out, the college kids disappearing to the party Patrick had mentioned before.
He’s still here though with some of his friends. They’re all so drunk they can barely sit up straight, their laughter obnoxiously loud now the music has been turned down for the last hour.
With it quieter, we start to close, getting the floors clean and the glasses into the washer. I start my way back to the bar with a tray full of cups only to be stopped in my tracks. Patrick is the same height as me, so I have his face right in front of mine. His whiskey breath is nauseating, and I can smell the sweat on him.
“Excuse me,” I say politely.
His hand lands on my hip, “Come on,” He slurs, “Come home with me.”
“No.”
His face contorts into anger, but he smooths out the lines almost immediately, “Stop being a tease. You wore these jeans for me,didn’t you? You know how much I like you in them. Your ass looks so fucking good.” He groans.
“Get off me,” I tell him, “I have work to do.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
“I’m good.”
I manage to get away from him and head back behind the bar where it’s safer. The lights are brightened, and the bouncer calls out close in five minutes and I’ve never felt so damn relieved in my whole life.
Scanning the bar, I check how many are left inside. They’re slowly exiting but right in the corner there’s a lone guy. He’s just sitting there, unmoving, shrouded in shadow.
And there’s something so familiar about him that awareness runs down my spine. It’s likely someone from class but I can’t help but feel like it’s more than that.
He’s purposely angled to keep himself out of the light of the bar but it’s like I can feel him watching me.
There’s a tugging in the pit of my stomach that’s urging me to go over, to see and I’m about to do just that when Patrick steps back in front of me.
