The bartender stiffens beside him.
My jaw tightens slightly.
That reaction tells me more than anything else.
People don’t tense up like that unless they already know what kind of trouble is standing in front of them. Whatever these guys want, they’ve probably been in here before trying to get it.
I lean back in my chair and take another slow drink while watching the interaction unfold.
Because men like that always assume nobody is paying attention.
They walk into a place believing the room belongs to them, like everyone else is just background noise that will stay quiet while they do whatever they came to do. The loud ones expect confrontation. The quiet ones expect compliance.
What they never notice is the guy sitting in the corner who isn’t saying a word.
Tonight that guy happens to be me.
The man leaning across the counter says something low to Wayne that I can’t quite hear over the music, but the moment he speaks I see Wayne’s shoulders tighten slightly. The rag in his hand pauses against the wood for half a second before he forces it to keep moving.
He’s trying to act normal.
Trying to look like this is just another customer asking about drink specials.
But the tension in his jaw says otherwise.
Across from him, the man smiles slowly like he already knows exactly how this conversation is going to end.
“I’m telling you,” he says, raising his voice just enough for a couple people nearby to hear, “you’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
Wayne finally stops wiping the counter and sets the rag down.
His shoulders square a little when he looks up at the guy.
“I already told you boys,” he says evenly. “I’m not interested.”
The man chuckles under his breath and leans farther across the bar, invading Wayne’s space like he owns it.
“That’s the thing,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “This really isn’t about whether you’re interested or not. It’s about business.”
A glass hits the bar with a sharper sound than it should.
My eyes shift immediately.
The bartender has stepped beside Wayne, setting the glass down a little harder than necessary while she looks straight at the man across the counter.
My chest tightens again.
She’s stepping in.
Most employees would hang back and let the owner deal with something like this. Getting involved usually just makes the situation worse.
This one doesn’t seem concerned about that.
“You heard him,” she says clearly, her voice carrying across the bar without hesitation. “He’s not interested, which means the conversation is over.”
The man slowly turns his head toward her like he’s just realizing she exists.
My grip tightens slightly around the neck of the beer bottle.
