Karena-Lynn: I do six shifts a week, then take care of three kids, and still manage to give my hubby a blow job on weekends, where’s my me day?
Russ: Only on weekends?
Tammany: Is that a Saturday or Sunday?”
Arlene: He’s lucky, my bf only gets one on his birthday.
I chuckle away to myself as I scroll through the messages on my phone.
I’ve just hung up my apron for the day, so I’m game. I need a night out.
JoeyJo: You still got your fake ID?
Yeah, but a fat lot of good it does in this town. Everyone knows me.
JoeyJo: We can go to the harbour bar. Tony will serve you.
The harbour bar always has fresh eye candy off the boats.
I slip off my ballet flats and wiggle my toes after a six-hour shift waitressing. I’m still angry with myself after the whole interaction with Chief this morning. After last night, I really thought he would go for the mistletoe thing.
Heat rises in my cheeks at the memory of how I embarrassed myself. He’ll probably never speak to me again. I’m such an idiot.
Russ: Count me in. ‘Tis the season and all that.
Logan: What season?
Tammany: Christmas, dummy.
Logan: It’s not even December yet.
Tammany: Anything after Thanksgiving is officially Christmas, and I plan to party.
I’m just gonna shower and then I’ll meet you at the bar.
JoeyJo: How you getting there?
I’ll ask my neighbour, Ember to drop me off.
JoeyJo: I’ll meet you there.
The bar hums with life,full of locals and fishermen. A live band plays at the far end of the large open-plan room, the air thick with the scent of salt, beer, and fried calamari. Fairy lights wrap around the ceiling beams, and a glowing anchor hangs above the bar covered in twinkling lights.
My hair curls around my shoulders, my lip gloss sticking to the salty air as I tug at the hem of my short black dress, wishing I’d picked something less obvious—but I needed a win tonight after the rejection and making a complete idiot of myself with Chief.
I hook my arm through my colleague, Russell’s as we saunter to the bar. He’s already drawing stares in his ripped skinny jeans, tight-fitting shirt, and bright teeth that could give Hollywood a run for his money.
“You know I only agreed to come out because you promised there’d be eye candy,” he says, scanning the room. “So far, I’m getting dad bod fisherman.”
I laugh. “You mean my type.”
“Girl, your type’s ‘emotionally unavailable.’”
I smack his arm. “Shut up.”
He leans close, whispering, “Speaking of unavailable… Isn’t that your ex’s dad?”
I follow his gaze before I can stop myself.
