Page 15

Listening to people whine and complain about minor inconveniences when my life was literally breaking into pieces had me ready to knock more than a few people across the head with their drinking glasses instead of serving them.

It would be the last time I picked up a day shift for a while. Especially on a Saturday. Night drinkers only wanted someone to ensure that they were having a good time. Day drinkers needed a therapist. And as I might have been soon on the market to find one of my own, I wasn’t in any position to play the role for anyone else. I had enough on my plate.

The bell on the door jingled, signaling another customer was walking in, and I could have cried. All I wanted was five minutes of peace to recover from the last batch of clowns who’d just left.

Reminding myself that I needed my job almost more than I needed air, I plastered on a fake smile and turned around. I nearly laughed upon seeing Jamie.

“Are you stalking me?” I joked, placing my hands on my hips.

“Let me get a shot of Jameson,” he instructed, placing his card on the bar's top. “You can start a tab.”

“Well, hello to you too,” I frowned.

Punching the information in the POS system, I did as he requested and opened a tab before pouring his shot. My eyes widened as he downed it almost immediately after I placed it in front of him.

“Damn, you need me to leave the bottle?”

“Is Xi working today?”

It was the third time he’d flat-out ignored me, and I was growing increasingly annoyed. Something was bothering him, and the rigidity of his neck and shoulders made that obvious. His face was stone, and his thick fingers were coiled so tightly around the glass that I questioned whether or not it might break.

“Ximena?” I asked for clarification. When he nodded, I continued. “No. She had an emergency. I’m covering for her.”

“Figures,” he replied nastily, with a shake of his head.

And that was strike three.

Smacking my hand against the solid wood, I said, “Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I didn’t do shit to you. Take your attitude out on who pissed you off and leave me out of it.”

I took enough time to pour another shot into the empty glass, before returning the bottle to its designated spot. Leaving him where he was, I took a trip to the breakroom to try to calm myself down.

Though I had every right to tell him off, he was still a customer. Panic shot through me at the idea of him making a complaint against me. Groaning, I gently banged my head against the wall, hating the idea of going back to apologize.

I wrestled with maintaining my pride versus potentially getting fired for so long that I didn’t realize how much time passed. By the time I shot back out to the bar, Jamie had been alone for nearly fifteen minutes.

Sucking in a deep breath, I rolled my eyes while slowly traipsing over.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out at nearly the exact same time he said, “My bad.”

Confused, I titled my head. “Wait, what?”

“I said, my bad,” he repeated, tapping his knuckles against the glass. “I’m having a bad fucking day and let that shit spill over to you. You ain’t deserve that.”

I opened my mouth, only to snap it closed just as quickly. Seeing as how I’d been preparing for a battle, his apology zapped all of the fight out of me.

Twisting my lips, I released a huff. “Well, shit. Here I was coming to apologize but still make sure you knew that you were wrong, and you yanked the rug from beneath me.”

His lips curved into a genuine smile, “You weren’t expecting that, huh?”

“Not at all,” I admitted, reaching for the bottle to pour him another shot. “That one’s on me.”

He knocked it back quickly. “Real men take accountability for their actions.”

“Amen to that.” Chewing on my bottom lip, I fought the urge to be nosey and ask what was bothering him.

Not thirty minutes ago I was annoyed by people spilling all of their problems to me, and there I was, dying to know his. Shifting my weight, I was nearly on the verge of jumping off the cliff and asking, when he spoke first.

“What?”