I poured myself another drink, eyes tracking her across the floor. She’d made it to the service station — a small alcove near the bar where the girls dropped off empty trays and picked up fresh orders. Her back was to me, but I could see the rigid set of her shoulders.
“You gonna let it go?” Owen asked.
“Dude, shut the fuck up,” Killian snapped at him.
I took a sip. Let the whiskey burn down my throat.
“Nope.”
“Milo—"
That made me look at Killian.
“Man, just… don’t. Wejustgot back,” he said. “Have your fucking whiskey, get a lap dance, and just call it a night.”
I snaked my arm around his shoulders. “I love you, man. But fuck you.”
I pushed up from the booth before Killian could say another word. The world tilted just slightly — the whiskey making everything softerandsharper at the same time. Especially in the center.
My center was her.
Brett called after me, something about letting it go, but his voice got swallowed by the bass. His shout reached me as half-formed consonants, drowned by the subwoofer’s pulse.
She was still at the service station, her back to me, talking to another waitress — a tall Black girl in the same tiny slip. The other girl clocked me first. Her eyes went wide, then narrow. She said something to Baby Doll that I couldn’t hear over the music.
Baby Doll turned.
“I feel like we started it off on the wrong foot,” I told her, adjusting my technique. Apparently, being an asshole wasn’t doing me any favors tonight. “I’m Milo.”
She looked at me hesitantly. “Mary.”
I turned the name over in my head. Tried it this way and that, and then another way besides. It didn’t hold up. Nah, she was Baby Doll to me.
“Perfect,” I grinned. “Now that we've got that out the way — what about thirty-fiveandyou won’t have to worry about your rent for a solid year?”
But before I could get an answer — a slap, a no, a bullet —a whatever — I felt a hand on my arm. I turned my head and saw Dahlia standing there. My first childhood crush. What a woman.
“Milo, you’re harassing my girl,” she said in my ear, over the loud music.
I felt a slight sway, the whiskey kicking in overdrive. I reached for the counter and sighed. When I blinked, Mary was gone, but Dahlia was still there.
“What you’re doing isn’t cool, dude,” Dahlia told me, reaching around the counter and producing a bottle of water. She took off the lid. “Drink.”
I took the water bottle but didn’t drink.
I didn’t know how I ended up on a bar stool, but there I was. Still holding that goddamn bottle. Dahlia plucked the water bottle from my hand, and held it up to my mouth like I was a toddler. “Drink. Or I’m calling Remy and having him toss your ass out. I don’t care how much money you spend here.”
I drank. The water tasted like plastic and disappointment, but I drank it anyway because Dahlia had that look on her face — and I didn’t mess with that look. Listen, I know. I am an asshole — an incredibly rich and good-looking asshole, but I digress. That being said, Idoknow when to stop. That is if I get hit on the head with the stop sign plenty of times. Dahlia? She was a clear fucking stop-block.
A cockblock if you will.
“There,” I said after I’d swallowed half the bottle. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic.” She crossed her arms, hip cocked against the bar. “Now. Tell me. You want her to get a restraining order against your stupid ass? Because that’s how you get a restraining order, Milo.”
“You’re being dramatic,” I said, resting my arm on the counter. “It’s all in good fun.”
“Yeah? I fail to see the fun in tormenting a girl on her first night.”
