“I would have put you for more of a cocktail girl,” I say with a wink, turning to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of Smirnoff Ice. Plus, I don’t say it, but she asked for the drink nicely, not just barking an order as some customers do. I appreciate that.
A faint blush stains her cheeks. “Maybe later,” she smiles, somewhat awkwardly. I notice immediately that she can’t hold eye contact for very long, her gaze darting behind my shoulder, to the bottles behind me, or to the bar itself.
Autistic perhaps?
A friend of mine has a son on the spectrum.
Then again, she could just be shy. It is hard to tell from such a short interaction.
I serve a few more people and notice she does not leave her seat at the bar. When the rush dies down again, I step over to her and ask, “Here by yourself?”
“No,” she shakes her head dismissively. “Well, yes,” she snorts, gesturing to the empty chairs beside her. “I’m meeting my sister here.”
“She is running late then?” I inquire, trying to make conversation.
“No, I’m early,” she says, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. She’s fidgeting a bit with her fingers, and I notice her bouncing her leg a lot.
Perhaps she’s anxious? Restless?Neurodivergent,the voice in my head states smugly, like there couldn’t be a more obvious explanation.
“I’m Robbie, by the way.” I extend my hand, trying to see if she can hold my gaze for longer than a fleeting moment.
She hesitates for a second before shaking my hand firmly. “Katie,” she replies, her eyes darting away before she even releases my hand. Then they flit back just as quickly.
She’s trying, God love her. This must be stressful for her, having the place this busy. Too many people. I get it.
Her gaze shifts to something to the right of the bar, I turn to see what’s so interesting, only to grin at the sight of him.
Of course it’s AJ.
He seems to have that effect on women.
He comes straight for the bar, not so much as a hair out of place as he confidently navigates through the crowd. I glance at the clock—ten minutes exactly.
“Sorted?” I ask, refusing to find out the gory details of what he’s done to scumbag in the back.
“Sorted,” he nods, pausing for a split second when he spots Katie alone. “She alright?”
“Yeah, waiting for her sister,” I say, stepping by him to pour a pint of Carlsberg for another customer. I notice him doing his not-watching but watching thing, subtly observing Katie from the corner of his eye.
She’s attractive, though a little socially awkward, but beautiful women are not a rarity where my brother is concerned. I’ve seen the women he dates, and though Katie is pretty, she is not quite on the same level as the glamorous and confident women he usually surrounds himself with, so I know, it’s not her looks he is drawn to.
There’s something else about her that has caught his attention.
Something only he can see.
His brow furrows slightly, he makes no move to approach her. Instead, he turns to me and says, “Keep an eye on her.” Then he disappears into the back.
I catch Katie’s eye and approach, “Another?” I ask, noticing her drink is almost empty.
She debates it, then nods and says, “Eh, yeah, please!” She makes sure to add the please.
“Not a bother,” I smirk, turn back to the fridge, and pull out another bottle. It opens with a hiss, and I pour the cold liquid into a glass, watching the bubbles rise to the top.
Her sister—or at least, who I assume is her sister—slides up beside her just as I’m handing Katie her drink.
She turns to me with a wide smile. She has dark hair, and similar eyes to Katie; only this girl can hold my gaze a little longer. “Can I get a strawberry daiquiri, please?” she asks, her voice sweet and playful.
“Sure, no problem.” My smile is tighter than I’d like it to be; I’ll admit, I’m panicking slightly. I fucking hate cocktails. I tap on the earpiece and ask one of the lads to send out AJ because I’ll most likely make a balls of it and end up wearing it.
