Brooke takes a sip of her beer, then leans back in her seat. “Just got off, and man, am I thankful.”
“Tough night?” I raise an eyebrow at her. She seemed to be the only one running ragged around the place while the other servers stood idly.
“Yeah, my best friend was supposed to be working”—she takes another long sip of her lager—“but Alex is busy falling for a hot as fuck hockey coach and needed the night off for his game.” She nods toward the TV where the coach of the Flames is giving a postgame interview.
“No way, Monte? She’s dating Coach Montgomery?” I ask the questions a little too quickly, giving away what Bridget would refer to as the man crush I have on him. I can’t help it, he’s the best in the league.
Brooke scoffs then says, “Not you too. What the hell is wrong with everyone? I mean, the man has an ass, but it doesn’t mean youallneed to kiss it.”
Her assessment makes me laugh, a roaring, belly-twisting bellow. This girl is a fucking trip. When I stop wheezing, I concede, “That sucks that you had to cover for her.”
“Nah, I’d do it any day. She desperately needed to get laid. Speaking of that . . . tell me what exactly happened with the girl, and maybe your name so I don’t keep thinking you’re a stranger.”
I take a deep breath. “My name is Sam. And, uh, basically I fell in love with her, but she questioned if it was real or not. I guess she couldn’t trust what we had, she couldn’t admit to loving me back, so I walked away.”
“That blows.” Brooke places her hand on my arm, pity marking her face. “She’s an idiot. I mean . . . what kind of girl lets a guy that looks like you leave her bed?” It’s not really a completely fair assessment, she doesn’t know the whole story, but I’ll give her a little credit. At least some women aren’t afraid to hit on a man—that counts for something.
“Um, thanks, I think.” I chuckle to myself, spotting the other bartender and holding my drink up for a refill. She tops it off while giving Brooke a disapproving scowl. “I don’t think she likes you very much,” I mumble to my new friend.
“That’s just Birdie, she hates everyone, especially me. Last month she told our boss I was flirting too obviously with the customers and that the tips weren’t fairly split because of it.” She rolls her eyes and finishes her drink, sliding a ten across the bar. “Can I be held responsible for being friendly when her problem is more her grumpy attitude than anything else?”
I grin at her. I appreciate that she didn’t call out that Birdie is twenty years her senior or that Brooke’s own looks could factor into it at all. It tells me she’s a decent person. She isn’t mean-spirited, which is hard to find these days. Although she is far more direct and fierier than Olive, she reminds me of her in a way. She has kind eyes and—fuck—there I go thinking about Olive all over again.
I sip my drink before answering, “No, you shouldn’t be. So, what advice do you have for me, Brooke the bartender, who’s an expert on broken hearts?”
“Oh, not a single word, I’m the last person who should be giving dating advice. I always say if you can’t get under the one you love, get on top of someone else.” She takes the glass from my hand and swallows the remaining three quarters of it in one go. “But since you’ve been drinking those all night and are clearly still in love with this chick, I will for once practice self-restraint and refrain from volunteering.”
I’m stunned by her response. I wouldn’t have accepted the invitation, for the same reason she isn’t offering. But I’m not sure what my drinking has to do with it. “I get the me being-in-love thing, and I am with Olive. I might need you to explain the other comment though, about my drinking, just so I know.”
“Two words—whiskey dick.” Brooke stands, smiling at me and patting my shoulder. “It was nice to meet you, Sam. You should probably call a ride share. Or there’s a hotel two blocks from here. Take a left out of the lot. Can’t miss it when you’re walking.” She heads toward the entrance but stops short. “Hey,Sam . . . maybe you should try to see where she’s coming from. If someone gave me an ultimatum my first instinct would be to tell them to take the bridge. But after some time, some clarity, I might change my mind, and I’m thinking if this Olive is so special . . . she probably will too.”
thirty-one
Olive
You Son of a Witch
4 Hours Until Midnight
It doesn’t take long for me to lose my shit on Irina. Howie, Ari, and me, are about two steps into the shop, nearly colliding with a young woman who looks suspiciously like Bridget’s ex. With one hand, I brace myself on Howie, and with the other, I grab the woman’s arm.
“Do not walk out of this building. Turn around and ask her to undo whatever it is that she’s done. I know you think this is fun, I did too. But you will regret it,” I warn.
The woman looks stricken, like I’ve slapped her.Good.
“Now, I don’t need the theatrics, Olivia,” Irina says, her voice reprimanding me. She flicks a wand and purple sparks flash through the air, spinning the stranger around three times before righting her. “I undid it. Now leave,” she shouts at the woman—or maybe me?
The woman jolts past Howie, Ari, and me, pushing out the door and kicking it closed behind her. Irina walks gracefully to her chair and sits, waiting for me to say something it seems. Her cauldron bubbles suspiciously over the fire, black liquid spilling over the edge with a gurgle.
“I need you to undo this.” I pull my sleeve up, showing her the tattoo that weaves around my arm. Her eyes sparkle at the sight of her work, further infuriating me.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” she asks, rolling her eyes like I’m nothing more than an inconvenience. Three chairs appear across from her, and she motions for us to sit. Ari bristles by my side, glancing between Howie and me, but we do as she commands and take our seats.
“I’ve never been more sure. Just do it,” I shout at her. A shred of doubt creeps in momentarily.Is this really what I want?
“Well, I should warn you . . .” Irina starts to say, but Howie interrupts her.
“No! You don’t get to warn her about anything. You’re done playing mind games with her. We all know the truth. You might be able to make other people believe in your bullshit, but not me. Just change her back to normal, you—you son of a witch!”
