by Auryn Hadley
Leaving the coffee shop, I turned for home. At some point, the campus had become crowded with students. Most of them were in groups of two, half of those being adorable couples that enjoyed spending time together. It never seemed to work that way for me. My boyfriend was a little too typical. It was like guys always thought dating a redhead would be fun and exciting, but none of them wanted to do anything more than get a piece of ass and blow me off until they were ready for more. I wasn't a prude or anything, but sometimes it felt like dating was nothing more than a series of one night stands with the same guy.
My shoes clicked on the sidewalk as I made my way home. Living two blocks from campus meant I didn't have to pay for parking. The downside was that I got a one bedroom shack for the same price I could've gotten a much larger apartment. I didn't care. The only thing I did was go to school, go to work, and paint. Usually, I painted Death.
It was silly, but he was the reason I was never satisfied with the men I dated. I mean, swearing to protect me for the rest of my life was right up there in the swoon department. Maybe it was odd that I had a crush on a figment of my imagination, but it had felt so real. I could still remember the exact color of his skin, like a full moon on the ocean, pale blue but not the baby kind, as if my eyes couldn't quite see the full extent of the shade.
The doctors said false memories were common after the type of head trauma I'd received, but how bad could it have been if it didn't even leave a scar? Not that I'd told them exactly what I'd seen, just that I remembered some weird stuff. They said it was the brain's way of compensating for the error in memory storage and, likely, the drugs I'd been given for the pain had contributed. It wasn't abnormal to have hallucinations on opiates.
The only problem was that I wished it was real. I wished I'd been that brave, met a man that perfect, and could really take the credit for saving Jamal's life, but they assured me it was just the body's way of trying to cope with an extremely stressful event. It seemed my coping mechanism was making up a hero to save me and sweep me off my feet. Kinda embarrassing, in all honesty.
And thinking of Jamal, I needed to send him an e-mail. His daughter's thirteenth birthday was coming up. That was the strangest part of my little memory problem. I saw Jamal get shot at nearly point blank range. I'd seen the wound in his chest, and I didn't know how it could be anything but fatal, yet he was fine. He'd been in surgery for a few hours and had the scars to prove it, but he had no lasting effects from the robbery. Not even the pellet lodged in his heart had caused any lasting issues.
Just like Death promised.
I groaned. Death. It always came back to Death. I was completely obsessed with him and it wasn't healthy. At least as an art student, it was expected. That and using a whole lot of drugs. I could handle the first, but I wasn't brave enough to try the second. Drugs weren't an option for me. I needed a degree, a plan for my life, and to get a job that would give me a path for my future, because there wasn't anyone else to do it for me. I mean, opiates had already given me one obsession, I didn't exactly need another.
I turned the corner, almost home, but paused. Down the street, a shock of magenta hair caught my eye. It was on a guy walking to one of the massive historic homes that were almost my neighbors. Shifting my backpack on my shoulder, I tried to see if that was Sam. It wasn't like a whole lot of guys would dye their hair that color. It wasn't red, it wasn't pink, but more like the color of a very expensive neon wine. He climbed the steps to the porch, but the door opened before he got there. Another guy walked out. Even from here, I could tell he looked like some kind of underwear model, complete with the pretty blonde hair.
They exchanged a few words and, the longer I watched, the more I was sure it really was Sam. Huh, imagine that. Someone I thought I could get along with hanging out just around the corner. I smiled and started to look away when a third man joined them. This one had long dark hair. He stopped and lifted his head, looking up the street – right at me. I sucked in a breath.
It was Nick.
I lifted my hand in greeting, not sure if he'd notice from so far away. The fancy Victorian was halfway down the next block. When Nick waved back, my eyebrows nearly shot into my hair. Yep, I was smiling as I turned the corner and headed home to get ready for work. Maybe my guy problems were looking up. Now, if I could just convince Aaron that spending time with me at a bar only counted when I wasn't working.
Chapter 3
Evidently, Jack and Coke was a college favorite. Either that, or it was the only thing most guys knew to order at this bar. I made another and slid it across the counter to a glassy-eyed man, taking a crumpled wad of bills in exchange. As sweetly as I could, I smiled at him. The smile was important. That's how I got tips.
Women liked to order fruity drinks; men went with either beer, shots, or Jack and Coke. I'd been working at Mac's for two weeks, and I had this figured out. Bartending in a college town wasn't quite like back home. There, my clients had been older and the atmosphere a bit more relaxed. Here, I was lucky if I could hear the order over the crowd. Having a good idea of what was coming helped me read their lips, and I didn't need to pretend like I cared what happened in their lives.
Granted, I could play the part of the shoulder to lean on, too. I'd done that ever since I'd started bartending. It made the tips flow, but a low cut top worked just as well here.
I turned to the next guy, shocked to see one of Aaron's friends. I'd know the guy's bland tawny color anywhere, even if I didn't know his name. He ordered a whiskey on the rocks, tossed a dollar in the jar, and retreated into the crowd as soon as he got it, never recognizing my face. I watched him go, a bit shocked to not even get a greeting – until I saw his destination.
Aaron and five of his buddies hovered around a table one row over. Four young college girls giggled between them. One leaned all over my boyfriend! The idiot hadn't even come by to tell me he was here. Nope, I was pretty sure he was either trying to ignore me or give me one hell of a hint. Maybe both.
I slapped the friendly smile back on my face and turned to the next guy in line, making his drink on autopilot while I tried to ignore the frustration. Too busy to see me after class and he'd try to stop by work? I should've known better! He should've known better! And if he thought I'd just ignore what he was doing? Oh, that boy was about to get a big wakeup call.
Aaron had picked me up on my third day of work. He'd flirted all night, convincing me he was serious, then taken me out to an early breakfast when my shift ended. Two days later, we were officially a couple, things moving a lot faster than I expected. That was just over a week ago, ten days to be exact and, evidently, I was last week's news. I slammed the order onto the counter, sloshing half of it over the side.
"Shit, I'm sorry!"
"It's ok, dove." The voice was oddly familiar.
I finally looked at my customer and gasped. Nick smiled and offered me a twenty, grabbing a napkin for the sloshed alcohol with his other hand. I took the money and handed back his change.
"Let me make you another. I just wasted half of that on the counter."
He shook his head and dropped the change – over fifteen dollars – into the tip jar. "No biggie. Just means I'll come back faster."
His smile was honest as he stepped away, leaving me facing a tall blonde. "What do you recommend?" the new guy asked, leaning onto the bar.
The way this guy looked at me made me want to throw a drink in his face, but I resisted the urge. Even creepy customers could tip well. "What are you in the mood for?" I asked as nicely as I could.
"Something respectable."
I nodded, pasting on my best big tip smile. "Traditional martini?"
"Perfect. With the olive."
"Coming right up."
I turned to make the drink but saw Aaron again. The girl was damned near in his lap. Her hands were definitely outside the friend zone. Yanking my attention away, I put my concentration on the order instead of the soon to be ex-boyfriend. When I went to spear an olive, I caugh
t two and decided to just go with it, careful not to spill the drink this time.
The blonde paid me off and, like Nick, shoved a rather nice tip into the jar. What shocked me the most was that he headed off in the same direction. Taking advantage of a lull in the orders, I wiped down the counter, looking for my classmate in the crowd so I wouldn't have to see Aaron enjoying his near-hand-job right in front of my face. Of course, Mr. Martini led me right to what I wanted.
Sam and Nick sat at a table in the back, greeting the creepy blonde like a long-lost friend. Well, not everyone was perfect. It seemed even Nick hung out with at least one lowlife, but I wouldn't hold it against him. I wondered for a moment if it would be rude to mention my single status at the start of class tomorrow. Even if it was, the idea had me smiling honestly when I turned to the next customer.
They always knew when the smile was fake or real. "Two Jack and Cokes," the man said, "and whatever you want, beautiful."
"Drinking when working is a bad idea, but that's sweet of you."
He shrugged. "Was worth a try, right? Haven't seen you here before."
"Just started a couple of weeks ago. You were probably still enjoying the summer break." I slid the drinks across the counter.
He grinned. "Oh, fuck yeah, babe. You know it. Hey, if you get off work, me and some guys are hanging out over at the pool tables."
"Not gonna happen. I'm closing tonight. Maybe next time?"
He laid a five in the jar. "Oh, yeah. I'll be here all week." With a wink, he grabbed a drink in each hand, carefully making his way through the throng of people toward the back of the building.
No way would I take him up on it, but that was almost fifty bucks worth of tips in an hour. Pretty good wages for a struggling college girl, in my opinion. Things had certainly picked up with classes back in session. I was starting to feel a lot better about the night, right up until the fist slammed down on the counter behind me.
"Stop flirting with every dick that walks by, Sienna," Aaron growled. "And I need an apple sour."
"For your new girlfriend?" I tilted my head toward his table while I pulled down a glass. "Seriously, Aaron, if you're going to be a douche, at least find a table that isn't right in front of the bar?"
"What? She's with the frat guys, and we're thinking about rushing. It's like hazing, or something. Don't get all paranoid. She's just a friend."
I shook the ingredients quickly, then poured it over ice. "Yeah. I buy that. No, really." Shoving the drink across to him, I didn't even try to smile. "Hope she likes her drink. Oh. Yeah. And friends don't shove their hands down your pants. That's kinda above and beyond, but you can let her know you're single."
I turned and walked away, heading to the other side of the bar where my partner in crime, Chris, was handling the orders. With a tap on the shoulder, I claimed a place at his side, helping him catch up on the overflow.
"Thanks for the assist," he said, glancing at my end of the bar.
"Ex-boyfriend problems," I explained. "Needed the excuse."
"Gotcha. Just lemme know if he gets to be a dick. We'll have Tom kick his ass out." He meant the bouncer. "Guess something happened?"
I nodded. "Hand job in booth five."
Chris sighed. "I'm sorry, Sienna. Hate to say it, but thought you could do better from the start."
While we talked, Aaron drifted away, taking the blatant hint. As soon as he was gone, I patted Chris again and reclaimed my space on the other end. It was starting to get late enough that orders were slowing down. That wasn't to say they were slow, but I had time to breathe between each drink instead of a constant line that went nearly out the door.
I let myself fall into the rhythm of work: smile, mix, smile, get tip. It was an easy job if you could remember how to make a drink, and I could. Oddly, while I disliked most people, I'd always enjoyed bartending. There was a certain disconnect over the counter that made the customers seem a little less real and a lot more like specimens in a zoo.
"Can I get an apple sour?"
I turned around, clenching my jaw. "Look, you can take your damned order a few steps down and..." I paused in the middle of my rant. "Oh shit, sorry, Nick."
"Right. Trouble in liquor land?" The smile on his lips was as devious as it was distracting.
I waved it away. "Apple sour you said? Suddenly a very popular drink."
He chuckled, his dark eyes watching me a bit too knowingly. "Yeah. Haven't had it in a while and wondered if the pretty girl behind the bar could make a decent one."
"Still trying to get laid?" I teased.
He shook his head. "Nope. Still trying to ace something I'm probably going to fail."
"You never said what you're studying anyway." I mixed the drink, putting a little extra effort into it.
"Yeah, I'm a dork. Physics major." He shrugged. "Not exactly the best pickup line ever, I'm afraid."
"I dunno. I have a thing for smart guys."
He looked at me for a long moment, then glanced over his shoulder, right in the direction of Aaron's table. "Really?"
"Yes, really. I never said I could tell them apart from the dumb ones, though." I poured the drink and this time managed to hand it to him without spilling half of it. "This one's on me since I wasted your last one."
"Nope, not unless you're sharing." He pushed the glass back with one finger. "You take a sip and I'll let you buy. Otherwise, I'm paying."
I lifted the glass and took a swallow, just a bit larger than a polite sip, and handed it back. I did make a good apple sour. "Sorry, hun. Guess this means I'm buying."
When my tongue shot out to lick a drop from my mouth, his eyes followed it. "I think I can handle that. It was worth it for the show." He grinned, pulled a bill from his pocket, and dropped it in the jar, walking away before I could protest.
"Fuck," Chris groaned behind me. "That is the type of guy you should date. Anyone that tips you a fifty for a free drink is definitely better than that other loser."
"What?" I grabbed the glass jar and turned it, looking at the bill on top. A large five and a zero stared back at me from the corner, the same one Nick had so carelessly tossed in.
When I looked over at his table, he was waiting with a devious grin on his face. I pointed at the jar and he shrugged, turning back to his friends to pointedly ignore me. The message was clear. It hadn't been an accident.
Unfortunately, Aaron didn't get the hint. For the next two hours, he kept trying to talk to me, alternating between groping the brunette right in my line of sight, laughing with his friends, and telling me it wasn't what I thought. I wanted to ignore him, but I couldn't help but try to listen in. Unfortunately, the only people I could hear at the bar were a pair of the fraternity boys he was trying so hard to impress.
"Pretty sure it's the same girl," one was saying.
The guy in front of him nodded. "Ok, and why aren't we doing anything about this?"
"Well, the plan is to let her see what kind of idiots they are, then get her to volunteer. No way she'd believe it unless she sees it for herself."
"Uh huh. And how are we going to make that just happen?"
The first guy smiled wickedly. "There's a plan. You know how stupid he gets over his girls. Won't take much for him to show his true colors and she'll run. The moment that bitch sees what horrors he can really do? She'll come begging us to help."
For a moment, I thought about warning the brunette that her fraternity buddies were sick puppies, then decided I didn't care. She was dry humping my boyfriend after all, and I wasn't completely convinced she was the same "bitch" they were talking about, but it was one more reason to stay as far away from Aaron as possible.
By the time last call was over and done with, I was happy to see the bar empty out. Nick, Sam, and their very eerie friend were among the last guys to leave. Sam waved, but Nick was deep in conversation, doing little more than lifting his chin in acknowledgment as they walked out, looking very sober considering the number of drinks they'd ordered – and tipped f
or.
Chris, Tom, and I cleaned up behind the counter. The two girls from the back handled the rest of the room. It didn't take long, no more than thirty minutes, before we were counting out the tips. Chris had managed a rather nice haul, nearly two hundred dollars. When he came over to brag, I was still counting.
"Five seventy-two," I said in awe.
"Holy shit." He grinned. "I won't tell if you don't."
I shrugged. "Sixty bucks for each of the cooks, and I'll split the rest with you down the middle."
"Nah." He patted my shoulder. "Make it seventy per cook to cover my share, and we'll call it good. You busted your ass tonight, even with Mr. Dumber-Than-Dirt playing the jackass."
"Deal, but you pay them." I passed him a wad of bills.
He nodded. "Fair's fair. Get out of here. It's almost three, and I bet you have class in the morning."
I groaned. "Yeah. Nine a.m." I shoved the money deep in my pocket. "See you next week."
"Have a good one."
I slipped out the back door and turned my feet to home. I owned a car but never used it. It was pretty rare for me to go anywhere off campus, except grocery shopping. That was good, since getting my car to start was always a crapshoot.
I was feeling pretty good about my night until I cut across the student lot. In the evening, it was open parking and filled up quickly with people hitting the campus hot spots. Passing the first row of cars, I saw Aaron leaning against the back of his truck, his arms crossed over his chest. It suddenly felt like an extra hundred pounds had been dropped on my shoulders. I really didn't want to stop. Having this conversation ranked right up there on my list of things I least wanted to do.
"What took you so long?" he demanded.
"Closing. Why are you here?"
He pushed himself away from the tailgate and stormed toward me. "I fucking told you I'd be here. I know you got my damned text."
I held up my hand to stop him before he could even start. "You'd better have one hell of a good story to explain why I should care after the shit y'all pulled in there tonight."