My stomach drops. I lean over the bar and scan the items, realizing immediately what I’ve done.
“I’m so sorry,” I say quickly. “That one’s on me. I added it to the wrong tab. I’ll fix it for you right now.”
He exhales sharply, clearly irritated. “I’m not paying for someone else’s drinks.”
“You’re not,” I reassure him, already tapping the screen. “I’ll void it and refund you.”
He watches me like he’s waiting for me to make another mistake. “This place needs to get its shit together. It’s like they’ll hire any idiot right off the street.”
Heat crawls up my neck, but I keep my voice calm. “I’ve got it.”
I refund his card, then pull cash from my apron without thinking, covering the drink that was supposed to go on another tab. It’s my mistake. I have no problem dealing with it.
“I think the whole tab should come out of your paycheck,” the guy growls.
“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“That’s enough.”
The voice snaps through the air, sharp enough to turn heads.
Cooper is already on his feet, towering over the guy. The room seems to tighten around him, his size alone enough to make the air feel heavier. His jaw is clenched, his eyes dark.
“She told you she’d fix it,” he says evenly. “You got your refund. You don’t need to talk to her that way. In fact, you don’t need to say another word. Now get the fuck out of here.”
The guy turns, clearly annoyed and not expecting to find someone like Cooper standing there. “This has nothing to do with you, so stay out of it, kid.”
“It does now,” Cooper replies.
My face burns.
“Hey,” I say quickly, mortified. “It’s okay. I have it all handled.”
Cooper looks at me, frustration flickering across his expression, but he nods and steps back. He watches the guy as he mutters something under his breath and turns away.
Sasha bumps my shoulder lightly. “Don’t you worry about covering it. Seriously, it’s your first night. Don’t stress over it. Mistakes happen.”
I nod even though my chest still feels tight. I hate this feeling. Hate having all eyes on me and hate even more having someone step in, like I’m in need of protection.
When I glance up, Cooper is standing off to the side near the bar. His arms are crossed, and his expression is unreadable. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t interfere.
The rest of my shift passes in a blur.
By closing time, my feet ache, and my head pounds. I slip off my apron and pocket the tips into my purse, which I left hanging in the back room. I head toward the hallway, ready to disappear outside and up to my apartment.
“Hey.”
I stop. Cooper stands near the door, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Without the noise and the crowd, he looks less imposing, but the way his eyes lock onto mine makes my pulse trip anyway.
“You okay?” he asks.
That does it.
“I didn’t need you to do that back there,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “You didn’t have to step in.”
His brows furrow. “Actually, I did. The way he spoke to you was out of line.”
“I can handle myself,” I snap. “I don’t need you and all your”—I wave my hand over his large frame—“playing hero because I made a mistake.”
