“Another beer, Til?” Bill, the bartender asks. He’s your typical macho man who cares way too much about how thin a woman is and how much makeup she uses instead of how smart she is. But he can make a mean mixed drink, and he doesn’t let anyone homophobic come in here. So we try to overlook his flaws.
“Nah, can you make me something stronger? I don’t care what it is.” I sit down at the bar and glance back at my friends. They’re looking at me, pleading with their eyes for me to come back, but I hold my ground.
I’ve sat through their share of relationship troubles and never batted an eye. But I complain about our boss—who stole the only thing I worked my ass off for—and suddenly I’m the issue? Nah. I’m pissed. It’s normal to complain about things to your friends. And it isn’t like that’s all I do—then I’d understand. But beer nights is, and has always been, our time to bitch about life. Suddenly that doesn’t apply anymore?
Bill places a fancy looking drink in front of me. It’s red and even has an umbrella in it. Without thinking twice, I toss it back. Gulping down the warm liquid, I can tell it’s some sort of tequila mixed with orange juice and something else. I assume it’s his take on a tequila sunrise. I place the empty glass on the bar and ask for another.
“Only if you promise not to puke. I’m not cleaning that up,” he says with a chuckle.
“Deal.” I nod. I can handle my liquor.
As the alcohol hits my empty stomach, I think about going back to my friends. Maybe I’m talking about Bells a little toomuch, and I can afford to stop. But as I turn to look at them, I see them watching the door. My eyes follow suit, and I see the auburn curls I was just complaining about, hanging down to her waist, which are covered in these tight ripped jeans. She’s wearing a pair of heels that look taller than my drink glass. My friends wave her over, and she heads right toward them. What the actual fuck? Did they invite her? Did they invite her and didn’t tell me?
“I’ll put it on your tab. Wasn’t that the chick you hooked up with a few weeks back?” Bill asks, nodding toward Bells.
“Yes,” I grumble. One of the worst things about a small town is everyone knows your business. Especially the town bartender.
“Looks like she and your friends are getting along,” he muses before putting another drink in front of me.
I take a long sip before picking it up and walking over to my friends. I stand behind Lina, and Bells smiles at me. Her pretty red lipstick highlights her hair and shows off her pouty lips. God, I hate how the alcohol is getting to me right now.
“Do you want to pull up a chair?” Bells asks, like she isn’t intruding on my night with my friends.
“No thanks, I came to get my phone.” I had left it on the table, but now I grab it and turn to go.
“Wait! Where are you going?” Lina stops me, grabbing the back of my arm.
“I’ll be at the bar.”
“You can join us,” Hattie says.
“I’d really rather not.” I scoff.
“She’s not that bad when you get to know her. I thought maybe you’d be more relaxed outside of work,” Lina explains.
“Is that why you invited her without telling me?” I’m probably being louder than I intend, because Bells perks up but doesn’t say anything. She makes eye contact with me for a brief second before dropping it.
“I just thought it might help smooth things over.” Lina sighs.
“Whatever. I’ll see you guys later.” I shake my head and walk back to the bar.
I sit on an old leathery stool and sip my drink. I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over the hookup app, then sigh. There was never anyone new on there—just the same guys I went to high school with or have already hooked up with. I shove the phone back into my pocket and glance at the door just as it swings open.
In strolls a bachelorette party: one woman in a white veil clipped to a rhinestone-studded cowboy hat, surrounded by her entourage in matching black shirts with snarky wedding slogans and bubblegum-pink hats. The backs of the shirts flaunt the bride’s name and today’s date in glittering letters.
Maybe the pickings tonight won’t be so slim after all.
“Bartender! Can we get lots of shots?!” a busty blonde says, and Bill nods, staring directly at her tits. I knew they were out there, but he didn’t have to be so obvious about it. She puts down a credit card, asking for an open tab, and walks away.
“Lemme take them over,” I tell Bill as the group heads toward the back of the bar.
“What?” He looks at me like I have ten heads.
“Come on, I’m trying to score. Let me take them over, and I’ll bring back the tip,” I offer.
“Fine, but if you drop ‘em you pay for ‘em.” He waits for me to accept and then starts pouring the shots.
I take the tray over to the group, and they’re devoured by the second. I’m not sure who’s into women yet, but I figure at least one of them has to be. Or maybe one is at least curious about being with a woman. I love a bi-curious woman.
