Here we go.
For a second he just studies her, his gaze moving over the messy dark hair twisted into those two buns, the glasses sliding down her nose, the small ring in her septum catching the light.
Then he laughs.
“Well now,” he says, glancing back toward the two men standing behind him. “Didn’t realize the bar came with a guard dog.”
A couple truckers at the end of the bar glance over, but nobody says anything.
People in places like this learn pretty quickly when something isn’t their fight.
The bartender doesn’t step back.
Instead she plants one hand flat on the counter and leans forward slightly, looking straight at the man over the top of her glasses.
“You’re standing in my bar bothering my boss,” she says calmly. “So yeah, I’ve got something to say about it.”
My eyebrows lift slightly.
That’s bold.
Not because she’s wrong, but because men like the one standing across from her don’t usually respond well to being called out in front of a room full of people.
Behind him, the other two shift their weight slightly.
My gaze flicks toward them automatically.
Watching the room now.
That tells me they’re used to doing this together. One talks, the others watch for problems. It’s a small detail, but it says enough about how these three operate.
Wayne tries to cut in before things escalate.
“You shouldn’t, ”
She lifts one hand without even looking at him.
“I’ve got it.”
My mouth twitches slightly at that.
Confident.
Or stubborn.
Possibly both.
The man at the bar leans his elbows on the counter like he’s settling in for a longer conversation.
“You’ve got spirit,” he says, studying her more carefully now. “I’ll give you that.”
She tilts her head slightly and shrugs one shoulder.
“Funny,” she says dryly. “I was just thinking the same thing about a mosquito that wouldn’t leave me alone earlier tonight.”
A couple guys at a table near the back choke down quiet laughs.
The man’s jaw tightens just enough that I catch it from across the room.
