The Little Barmaid

by Holloway, Taylor

  I glanced back at the television and Adam still looked miserable on the live feed of the awards ceremony. His face was still deliciously pained. I hardly got to relish it, however, because one of Ward’s buddies crossed the room, reached up over the bar and changed the channel to football.

  I was sure he didn’t realize I was the one who turned on the ceremony. I weighed my desire to bask in my ex’s misery with the possibility of coming into conflict with a customer.

  “Excuse me,” I said, forcing my voice to be as honey-sweet and friendly as I could when I wanted to get back to watching Adam’s misery as quickly as possible. “I was actually watching that.”

  The guy shrugged. “Really?”

  I nodded seriously. “Yes.”

  “Well, can you watch it later on YouTube?” He seemed mystified by the idea that I might not want to watch football.

  I bit my lip and said nothing. I didn’t need to get into an altercation with a customer, but I really wanted to watch the ceremony. Ward arrived next to his friend a second later. He cast his glittering sapphire eyes over me curiously. He was even better looking up close.

  “Hello there, Emma,” he drawled, grinning. “It’s been ages. What have you been up to?”

  He did remember me. Should I be flattered?

  “I just got back from studying in Europe.” The way he was looking at me made me feel feverish and lightheaded. I looked at Ward’s dumb friend who turned off my show. “Could you please turn the channel back?”

  Ignoring the issue at hand, Ward was smiling at me. “So, you haven’t been avoiding me these past few years?” His tone was teasing.

  Of course, I’ve been avoiding you.

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” I said with a nervous grin. I turned to his friend, “Could you change it back to CSPAN, please?” I pointed up at the screen.

  Ward looked up at it in fake-looking surprise and then down at me, shaking his head. “You can’t be serious. I didn’t know anyone actually watched that channel.” Ward looked over to his friend and must have telepathically communicated with him, because the guy returned to his chair, leaving us alone. Ward was wearing that teasing look that he’d worn at that Halloween party four years ago. I got the feeling he was trying to get a rise out of me, to test me or mess with me. He must enjoy seeing me blush and struggle to stick up for myself. I could only imagine that I was as red as a lobster now, but I wasn’t going to let myself melt in front of him. Not this time.

  What makes you think I’ll just give up on what I want? I didn’t say it. There was no point in arguing with Ward. He was as stubborn as his sister. I simply smiled, leaned my mop against the bucket, and climbed atop the bar to turn my program right back on. I wasn’t going to give Ward what he wanted.

  Behind the bar, Willie looked up from his newspaper and raised his eyebrows at me. I shrugged and scrambled back down. Ward could stick his condescending attitude right up his hot, amazingly toned butt. Willie frowned and returned his attention to the paper. A wise choice.

  “Emma, sweetheart, please turn that back to the channel it was on. My friend wants to watch the game.” Ward was now back at my elbow. His voice was a bit less teasing than it had been. All across the room, patrons were beginning to tune into our little clash. Ward was now grinning from ear to ear. He was definitely enjoying seeing me get flustered.

  Sweetheart?

  I forced my clenched teeth open to smile at him again. “Ward, sweetheart, I don’t really care for football. I want to watch the poet laureate ceremony.” I affected an innocent face and played with the end of my ponytail.

  “Why the hell would you want to watch that? It sounds incredibly boring, even by CSPAN standards.” He said ‘CSPAN’ like I might say ‘hardcore furry pornography’ or ‘the Miss America swimsuit competition.’ I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes at him.

  “What’s wrong with CSPAN?” I asked. My voice, unlike his, was reasonable and pleasant, although slightly more tart than it had been. I just wanted to watch my program and was starting to lose my patience. “I was watching it. It’s educational. No one else was paying any attention to it. Why can’t you just go drink your beer with your buddies and let me work?” I truly didn’t understand some men’s attachment to watching grown men in tight pants throwing themselves into one another’s arms. For being such a popular pastime amongst straight men, it seemed like a deeply homoerotic game. The players even swatted one another on the ass.

  Ward didn’t answer my question. He simply reached up again and turned off my program.

  “No one wants to watch anything educational in a bar but you,” he told me. His voice was light and teasing. “Watching some football will do you good, anyway. Think of it this way, it’ll be educational for you.” He paused. “Unless there’s an actual reason you want to watch CSPAN. Or are you just being stubborn to mess with me?”

  Don’t let him fool you. He’s the one messing with you, I reminded myself. Don’t let him see you get annoyed. It’ll only encourage him. And don’t tell him why you want to watch it so badly.

  I smiled and nodded, and then, once he walked off and sat down, I clambered up on a barstool to hoist myself atop the bar. I tuned the channel back to CSPAN. I wasn’t even off the barstool before I heard him clearing his throat directly behind me.

  “Really?!” he asked loudly, right behind my ear.

  I heard a sharp, unladylike squeak escape me. Surprise made me gasp and slip, and I turned and nearly fell backwards off the barstool. Ward’s strong hands shot out to grab me, gripping my shoulders and under my knees and then setting me on my feet and pinning me to the bar before I could regain my footing.

  He’d caught me. Damn, he was fast.

  We were now only inches apart. My heart thudded against my ribs. His lips parted in surprise, and I remembered kissing them. My mind was a thousand miles away…

  Ward was tall. At least a full foot taller than my five-one-and-three-quarter-inches. I had to look up and up to see his eyes, which looked surprised, and then confused. We stared at one another for a long, long moment.

  Suddenly, he released my shoulders like I was on fire and stepped back. His face went blank as if remembering something. I was too shocked to speak, so I just stared instead.

  But it was his fault I’d fallen in the first place. Belatedly, I felt myself scowling. I drew myself up to my full height—all five foot two inches—and glared.

  “Come on, Emma. You’ve lost this round. Give it up,” he ordered me before I recovered the powers of speech. With his height, there was no need for him to climb up on a barstool precariously. He just reached up around me and returned the channel to football. “Also, you really shouldn’t stand on the barstools or the bar. They aren’t meant to be climbed on. Perhaps you’re used to dancing atop bars, but this isn’t that kind of place.”

  He let out a small chuckle and looked me up and down appreciatively.

  “Excuse you?” I hissed. He might own the bar, but Kate managed it. I dropped the sugary tone from my voice. He no longer deserved sweet Emma.

  “Nobody here likes CSPAN.”

  “I do. Please turn it back on.”

  His eyebrows lifted in apparent amusement and he laughed at me while shaking his head. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” Perhaps being so ridiculously sexy meant women just did whatever he ordered them to do. Likely so. It was time someone knocked him down a peg. And these days, I was just the woman to do it.

  “Listen Ward, you need to—” I started.

  At the same time, he said, “Last time I checked, this is still my bar.”

  I made a dismissive, huffy little noise that silenced him—at least temporarily, because he chuckled. It wasn’t exactly a dignified noise and his reaction seemed to indicate he found it cute rather than intimidating, but I used the moment to explain,

  “Your bar or not, I’m a human being who doesn’t appreciate being talked down to! I don’t put up with jerks ordering me around for no reason and being condescen
ding, sexist, and high-handed.”

  He laughed. “I’m hardly a sexist because I want to watch football. By that logic, all men are sexists.” He looked down at me like he was having the time of his life. He was definitely getting off on this little spat, and it was infuriating me. Another part of me—a small but vocal part—was enjoying his attention and our fight way too much. I shifted from foot to foot as my brain pinged between anger and attraction. Anger won. Nobody calls me sweetheart.

  “Not everyone likes football. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to mop in peace and have the TV tuned to something that isn’t boring sports.”

  “Boring?!” He looked horrified. You’d have thought I’d just personally insulted him or blasphemed against the lord himself.

  “Boring?!” I repeated Ward’s previous words, complete with a rude exaggeration of his slight southern accent.

  My impression only made him laugh. When he spoke, he was still grinning, “Woman, you are in a bar. My bar. TVs in bars play sports. What the hell is going on here?” he asked the air around him rhetorically. “Is this the twilight zone?” Clearly, he was not used to being challenged.

  Willie pulled his newspaper up higher around his face, insulating himself from the conversation despite being only two feet away. I thought I could hear him sniggering behind it. Coward.

  “Is it really so surreal for you that someone might stand up to you? You’re a walking stereotype.” I shook my head at him.

  He smirked. “Says you. I bet you live entirely off a diet of quinoa, kale smoothies, and smug superiority.”

  I happen to like quinoa and kale smoothies.

  “While I suppose you like to spend your time drooling in front of the latest Sharknado sequel when you aren’t reliving your glory days on tape. I’ve seen your silly truck, too. Are you compensating for anything?” A couple of his buddies laughed.

  He leaned in close to whisper in my ear, “You know there’s absolutely nothing I need to compensate for, now don’t you, Emma?” When I felt my blush burning my cheeks, his smile was knowing. His voice was soft and amused when he added, “You have no idea what’s going on here right now, do you?” His utter confidence was sexy as hell. It was also obnoxious as hell. Being turned on and angry wasn’t something that I was used to.

  “Clearly, we need Kate to come and talk some sense into you. I’m going to go get her.”

  He nodded and sunk down on a barstool. A frustrating smile was still on his face. “Yeah, you do that, Tinkerbell.”

  Tinkerbell?! I stormed off toward the office, practically quivering with anger, attraction, confusion, and embarrassment. I was so stuffed full of emotion I worried I was going to spontaneously combust, and I definitely didn’t want Ward to see it.

  * * *

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  Taylor

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