Page 43 of Bastard Bartender

“I was just feeling inspired.”

I scrunch my face and glare at him. “Make it stop.”

“I can’t. There are three more plays. I can’t override it.”

“Like hell you can’t.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?” I yell, which isn’t as dramatic as it should be because I’m drowned by Rozonda “Chilli” Thomas’s smooth vocals.

He adjusts the box in his hands and smirks. “Oh, come on. You and Dick were having fun with the song before.”

“His name’s not Dick,” I say through my clenched teeth.

“He likes the song. I think it fits him.” The devilish grin on his face speaks volumes.

I push Nic in the shoulder. “Richard’s not a scrub. And stop being such a jerk! We’re having a great time. If you have a problem with me dating guys, then I’ll just stop bringing them here—”

“Don’t do that!” His demeanor changes, and I halt my verbal reprimand. “I mean, I like vetting the guys you date.”

“You’re not vetting him. You’re calling him a scrub.”

“His game is kinda weak,” he mumbles.

“His game is fine. And I like him, so leave him alone. We can’t be friends if you’re going to get jealous.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” His fingers fly up in the air while his thumbs hang firmly on to the holding circles of the box. He looks offended by my insinuation. “I don’t do jealous.”

My exhale is sharp as my brow furrows. “You’re sure acting like you are.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

He leans against the wall and looks back at me. His green eyes seem conflicted as they flicker to the floor and back to me. His lips part, and I stare at them, waiting for words to form but he says nothing.

Like a blanket of warmth to my ears, the song ends, and this time, a Kane Brown and Khalid song comes on the radio. I’ve never been happier to hear a song before in my life. The crowd in the bar starts to cheer. Their jubilation makes me smile. Nic follows suit, and we stand here, grinning.

“Truce?” He’s trying to be charming.

I roll my eyes. “Just stop being such a bastard.”

“Aww, but you love your bastard bartender.” That damn smile of his, the one where he flashes his perfect teeth and widens those full lips to show his dimple, has me fighting a smile.

“Minimally.”

I turn on my heel and walk back toward the bar. When I get there, Richard is finishing his drink. I place a hand on his shoulder, and he looks happy to see me.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I eye Nic as he walks the box of Tito’s behind the bar and starts to unload the bottles. He isn’t looking at me, and I have a feeling he won’t for the rest of the night. “I’m kinda tired. You ready to head out of here?”

“Sure.” Richard places money on the bar.

As we walk out, I take one last look at Nic. Just when I think he’s going to let me leave without an inkling of noticing I did, he looks up and winks.

He’s right. He is a bastard.

And I’m getting used to his wicked ways.