“Well hey there, handsome,” a bartender purrs. I don’t even have to look up to know it’s Brynn. Of all the waitresses at the Cockpit, she makes the most rounds, in more ways than one. I think I might be the only fighter who hasn’t partaken. “Funny seeing you while the sun’s up.”
“You’re not wrong, I do try to avoid it,” I say.
She giggles and leans on the bar, putting her rack on display. It’s much to look at. She’s not really my type anyway, but I’m not going to be an ass.
“Alright. Well, how about I fix you your regular and you tell me what’s brought you in? Other than to see me,” she says.
“Not today, B. I’m here to have a conversation, and I’d rather I was sober for it,” I tell her. “I might order some food, though.”
“A good conversation?” she asks, setting a water and a menu in front of me.
“Not exactly,” I answer. “I’ll take the wing basket. Smoked barbeque. Blue cheese and no fries.” I don’t need the extra carbs. It’s not as easy to maintain a nine percent body fat percentage at my age.
“Then why do you want to be sober for it?” she asks, and I smile.
“Do you know when Mila comes in?” I ask, looking at my watch.
“She said she was going to be a couple minutes late,” Brynn says. “She woke up nauseous today, I guess. Probably out drinking with Lainey last night,” she mutters.
Funny. I don’t know that the girl has ever accepted a drink from me. A small part of me can’t help but worry whether she’s okay.
“Mila is who you’re here for?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I answer. Brynn doesn’t seem to love that answer, but I cut the conversation short when Mila comes walking in.
“Sorry I’m late. I stopped at the store on my way here for some–” she pauses when she sees me. “Anti-acids.”
“You know I find French toast to be the best hangover food,” Brynn says with a fake smile.
“I’m not hung over,” Mila says as she ties on her apron. “I’m just…not feeling well.”
“Alright, well hopefully you can make it through the shift because tonight is probably going to be rough,” Brynn says before heading into the kitchen. Mila and I are now alone.
I watch her clock in; she does not look at me.
“You said I had twenty-four hours,” she says.
“I know,” I tell her. “I’m just here to get something to eat.”
Mila smiles, and my chest tightens. “You don’t eat bar food,” she says.
“How do you know?” I ask.
Her eyes flash up to mine as she shoves her book in her apron. She’s still not wearing her wig and her hair is down. The familiar scent of raspberries and roses wafts through the air. “Because I cook for you, remember?”
She walks off to the bathroom to finish getting ready. My eyes follow her, accompanied by a one-sided smirk. But as I swivel on the stool, the smile fades as Rafe walks in the door.
“Evening, ladies,” he says, addressing all the men in the room, including me.
“Hey Rafe,” Brynn says as she reappears.
“Hey sweetheart, fix me a drink, will ya? Actually, make that shots. One for everyone in the bar,” he says, taking a seat two stools away from me.
“Well someone’s in a good mood,” Brynn says. I nod up at her and shake my head.
“You’re turning down a free shot?” she asks. “Why?”
“I am in a good mood because my company just landed a job providing security for the governor of California,” he says.
