The words Listen here, Pencil Dick race through my mind. If I were at Jay’s I wouldn’t hesitate to rip into this guy, but I’m a guest at Torque. The last thing I need is for Pete to get in trouble for bringing his foul-mouthed sister to work, regardless if I’m right and the customer is wrong.
Before I can say anything, a girl standing by the bar defends me. “You’re a real asshole,” she says and then meets my eyes. “Do you want me to get someone?”
“No. I’ve got this.” Stepping forward, I rest my hands on the bar and lean toward the Douche with cool confidence. “You think I don’t know my job?”
He snaps, “Did I stutter?”
“Hmm. Right.” I play like I’m unaffected and tap my chin. “How about this. Since you’re so thirsty, I’ll make your drink right now.” I gesture toward my defenders. “If these people think I can’t do my job, the drink is free.”
“And if they can?”
“You pay double.”
“I’m not falling for that shit. They’re already on your side.”
“Then I guess you’d better find witnesses of your own. The faster you come up with some, the faster you’ll get served.” I step back and move to take other orders again. “Or, you could just wait for Gwen to help you over there.” I jerk my thumb toward the opposite side of the bar. “It’s your call.”
Jerk Face Douche, as I’m now calling him, curses under his breath. He obviously felt I was inferior and would cave to his belligerent attitude. Not so. I can tell he doesn’t like being challenged by me, especially since my new group of friends is staring at him with satisfied smiles. He turns around and quickly grabs a couple of random strangers. He tells them about the bet, leaving out the intricate details.
“Good then,” I say and wipe my hands on a towel. “What’ll it be?”
“Dirty martini,” he says with a smug look.
Really? I think to myself. Number one, he in no way, shape, or form looks like a martini drinker. He resembles a rugby player. Number two, his choice makes it obvious he’s never made a martini. It may sound like a complicated drink, but it’s not.
Before I start, I meet the eyes of my support team to my left. Entertained, they give me encouraging nods. I grab a metal shaker and toss it in the air. It flips around twice before I catch it with one hand and set it on the bar. I fill it with a few ice cubes, then grab a bottle of dry vermouth from the cooler. I look at Jerk Face Douche. “Shaken or stirred?”
His eyes narrow. “Shaken.”
He doesn’t know the difference, I think. I move my hand to the neck of the vermouth bottle and toss it behind my back, catching it over my shoulder with the opposite hand. This earns me a few “ooos” from my audience. After I add a splash of vermouth to the shaker, I pick up a bottle of gin and repeat my theatrics, this time tossing the bottle higher and in front of me. I add some olive juice to the mix, then shake everything together. I find a cocktail glass and strain the martini into it, raising the shaker high above the bar so the liquid pours out in a precarious stream. I don’t spill a drop. For my final act, I pluck two olives out of their container and then step back a few feet. I toss them into the drink one at a time.
Plunk. Plunk.
My skills earn applause from both sides. Little do these people know I only learned to flip bottles to fend off boredom. If some of my past jobs weren’t so slow, I’d never have practiced with coworkers.
Stepping forward, I lift the glass and hand it to my customer in complete smart-ass mode. “Your dirty martini. As requested.”
Jerk Face Douche turns to his witnesses, sees their nods of approval, and knows he lost. He slams thirty dollars on the bar and yanks the glass from my hand, spilling half of it, and stalks away.
I grin. Go me.
As I pocket the cash and step forward to continue working, Gwen sidles up to my side. “Slow down there, Coyote Ugly,” she teases.
She has no idea I was trying to prove a point. “I was putting an asshole in his place.”
“Oh. I thought you were trying to impress the boss.”
“Who?”
“The boss.” She nods over my shoulder. “You know. Latson.”
What? I turn around and, sure as shit, from the far side of the bar, Latson is leaning against the wall with his eyes fixed on me. For some unexplained reason my pulse starts to race. I mean, he looks like sex on a stick, but I feel like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. I was showboating a little. At least I was good at it and didn’t embarrass myself in front of him for once.
I offer him a small wave before I get back to work. Instead of waving back, or even smiling, he pushes himself off the wall and makes his way toward me. Now my heart wants to beat out of my chest. I can’t tell if he looks angry or determined. Am I not supposed to be here? Is this why Felix wanted to know if Pete told him I was filling in?
I busy my hands until he reaches me. When he does, I look up and force a smile. “Hey.”
His eyes bounce from my eyes to my lips and back again. “Come with me. We need to talk.”
Chapter Seven
Nervous, I glance around the bar. “Now? We’re really busy. I can’t leave Gwen.” And I’d rather avoid you if you’re mad.
Latson looks past me to see my coworker with her hands full. He nods. “Fine. But you’re not leaving tonight until we talk.”
I’ve never seen him this serious before. Hoping to break the tension, I salute. “Yes, sir.”
He almost cracks a smile before walking away.
The rest of the night flies by. Riptide plays until the bar closes, and I’m running the entire time. When the last of the patrons are ushered out the front door, Gwen and I start cleaning up the bar while the band breaks down their equipment.
As I return from taking a trash bag to the kitchen, Gwen surprises me by shouting, “Round up!” to no one in particular. Seconds later Carter appears, followed by Felix. They take seats at the bar as my brother wanders over, along with most of the other staff. Pete sits down in front of me, and eventually Latson appears and joins a group opposite us. He glances at me before one of the band members taps him on the shoulder to ask a question. I give my brother a curious look. “What’s going on?”
“End of the night tradition,” he says. “Time to unwind before heading home.”
I walk over to Gwen. “What do I do?”
She hands me a stack of plastic cups. “Fill these with ice water. Most people just want something wet while they talk.”
I do as I’m told and place the cups on the bar top. Carter takes one. “We didn’t get our shift drink.” He fake pouts.
“We were too busy,” I say. “I don’t think anyone got a break.”
“Did you see this girl?” Gwen drapes her arm over my shoulders. “She knows her stuff. I’d like to learn a few of her fancy tricks.”
“Tricks?” Felix gives me a sly smile. “What kind of tricks? Queridos sexy?”
My brother elbows him. I laugh and clarify, “No, no dirty tricks.”
“Lemme guess,” my brother says. “You went all Tom Cruise in Cocktail.”
“Had to.” I grab a cup of water for myself. “I needed to prove I knew my job.”
“And that’s why I recruited you.” Pete smiles. “How’d you do?”
“You mean money-wise?” I think of the stack of bills in my back pocket. “I’m impressed.” I know I made close to three hundred dollars.
“Good. Now you can’t be mad at me for asking you to work during your vacation.”
“True. But I can be mad at you for telling Carter my nickname.” I stick my tongue out at him. “I’d be careful while you sleep.”
“Your nickname is cute,” Carter chimes in. Then, he looks at Pete. “Frances though…” He makes a face.
Pete rolls his eyes, then asks for a draft. Gwen gets it for him. As I sip my water, I look around the room. Everyone looks so comfortable; no one is rushing to go home. People joke with each another; the valets talk with the waitstaff who hangs out with the kitchen crew. No one appears excluded. I always wondered why my brother never considered another line of work. Now I know. Even though I’m an outsider, it feels like a big family here at Torque.
Half an hour later, when Pete finishes his beer, he asks, “You ready to go?”