‘What happened to the customer is always right?’
‘Babe, you’re in a student union bar on a Saturday night after the first home football game of the season. The customer gets what they’re given and they’re grateful for it. Just give him a whiskey.’
Scanning the three rails behind her, I search for the whiskey selection. The whiskey selection sucks. Alice grabs the bottle ofJack Daniels before I can stop her, pulls out the stopper and pours a double measure into a glass. After adding a shovel full of ice cubes, she hands it to me.
‘Tell him he’s a pretentious wanker and only Satan himself would order a proper cocktail from his friend when the bar is this busy. Or tell him we’re out of bitters. Up to you.’
I take the drink gratefully and deliver it with a flourish.
‘Sorry it’s not an Old Fashioned,’ I say as he gives the glass a sniff. ‘Alice says … we’re out of bitters.’
His grey-blue eyes close as he takes a slow, savouring sip. Licking his lips, he opens them again.
‘Tell Alice she needs to get those giant ice cube trays in while she’s ordering the bitters. It’s practically diluted already.’
‘Will do.’
If he’s noticed he’s drinking Jack Daniels, he’s too polite to say anything, and if he hasn’t, well, who am I to ruin the moment?
‘What time do you think you’ll close?’
He’s still leaning against the bar as though we’re the only two people in the room, in the world, completely oblivious to the sweaty, thirsty masses waiting on their next drink.
‘Fridays and Saturdays, we close at one,’ I say, awareness of all my other customers prickling the back of my neck.
‘You’re stuck here until one a.m.?’
Is it me or does he sound disappointed?
‘And if that isn’t bad enough, tomorrow is my birthday,’ I tell him in a conspiratorial whisper.
‘Right, I heard about that. Picnic down by the river at one, yeah?’
A picnic? It takes a second before I realize he’s accidentally spoiled Alice’s surprise. Since I don’t want her to kill him where he stands, I say nothing. Not that I have the chance.
‘If you’ve got your drink, would you mind getting out the fucking way?’
A big guy with a shaved head and at least fifty pounds on Oliver shoulders his way forward, shoving him along the bar. ‘Bottle of Stella and two double firsts.’
‘It appears you’re busy,’ Oliver says, nursing his whiskey. ‘Have you seen Bryn? He said he’d be here.’
‘In a booth at the back.’ I nod as I pull a Stella out of the closest fridge. ‘With Jenna and Michael.’
‘Knowing them, we’ll probably still be here at closing time. I can walk you home if you want?’
I do want. I want very much.
‘Mate, she’s working, she’s not going to shag you. Well, she might, but not until after she’s made my bloody drinks, so can you jog on?’
The guy with the shaved head sighs audibly and scowls, as though he’s the one who should be offended.
‘I said a Stella and two double firsts,’ he repeats, waving his credit card right in front of my face. ‘If it’s not too much fucking trouble.’
Rolling his eyes, Oliver melts away into the crowd and I know he’s right not to react to an asshole like this. I don’t want to give this guy the satisfaction but I can’t stop the burn of embarrassment that creeps up my neck and threatens to turn into tears.
‘Dude, not cool.’
Oliver might be gone but there’s someone else I know standing in his place. Ethan. He looks my customer up and down, drawing himself up to his full height before folding his arms over his chest. Even though he’s several inches shorter, the bald guy doesn’t back down.
