Chapter 5
I never thoughta text with the word ‘clone’ in it would give me butterflies, but here I am, practically swoony over my conversation with Ralphie. Since his flight earlier this week, he has made sure to text me every day. He hasn’t been outwardly flirty, which is confusing. But he has been constant. I may be reading too much into it because I low key want him to flirt with me.
Usually, I’d spend a week or two eating chocolate in bed after a breakup, but I am more glad to be rid of Chet than sad. If anything, I’m disappointed I let someone manipulate me and hurt my already fragile self-esteem.
Not wanting to kill the buzz I got from Ralphie’s text, I down the rest of my cocktail. One of the things I love about Two-One-Oh is the pre-shift drinks the bartenders serve. The club doesn’t have a uniform per se, but the dress code is strict. They prefer that we wear neutral color dresses, but the material is up to us, which is why I’m wearing a glittery silver number. Combined with my teased hair and bright red lips, I am projecting confidence. Fake it till you make it.
It turns out that I need every ounce of confidence my outfit gives me tonight. Not only are the hockey hunks late, but Chet and his friends somehow managed to get a table. Unlike Greg, Martina isn’t lenient with freebies. This night is going to cost them a couple of grand.
I don’t know what he’s planning, but I don’t have a good feeling about it, considering he has never wanted to drop money here before. The hate comments I’ve been getting on social media and texts from burner numbers tell me whatever he as planned isn’t a joyful reconciliation.
Steeling myself to face him, I saunter over to his booth and plaster on my brightest, fakest smile. “Hey guys, are you all taken care of over here?”
All eyes shoot to me and then Chet. I guess he’s taking the lead on this exchange. “No, actually. Service here is shit. And the help leaves a lot to be desired.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I reply. They sat down two minutes ago, but he speaks as if they’ve been waiting an hour. “What can we do to fix that for you?”
“If you could get us a server that isn’t a gold-digging slut, that would be preferable. But if not, we’ll take a bottle of Maker’s, six glasses, and a round of Heinekens. Think you can handle that?”
“Of course.” I nod, facade in place.
As I turn to leave, I hear him snicker at his friends. “She was always good at serving. Better when she’s on—” I walk away to prevent hearing how the sentence ends. I’m not going to let him get to me tonight. That’s what he wants.
Grabbing a tray, I walk up to the bar to get the items they requested. By the time I return, their section is swarming with women. Chet sits on the back couch with a girl on his lap. She’s whispering in his ear, but his gaze is locked on mine. If he thought this show was going to make me jealous, he is going to be disappointed. I don’t envy that girl at all.
Instead of being disappointed, Chet is mad. My lack of response to his taunting has enraged him, and he is taking it out on me. I’ve done more for their table than all my others combined. And I know there will be no tip at the end of it. The tips from my other tables will likely be crap, too, since I have hardly had any time for them.
The more I smile and pretend his barbs don’t bother me, the redder his face gets. He wants to break me. Maybe see me cry? But it is going to take a lot more than his pompous ass hurling insults at me. He isn’t saying anything I haven’t heard in my head.
I can’t say it doesn’t hurt,to have someone I trusted treat me this way, though. A few weeks ago, I was sitting up, waiting on his texts and validation. Now, he’s outwardly insulting me in front of a crowd. Half of the group has the decency to appear uncomfortable while the rest live for the drama.
Chet must finally reach his breaking point at my unaffected attitude because as I clear bottles off the table, he grabs my wrist. The same one whose faint bruises I covered in concealer. I bite my lip to hold in my hiss of pain.
“It doesn’t seem you’re having the best night, Morgan,” he sneers. “I thought you liked serving big shots?”
I fight the urge to laugh at deeming himself a big shot. “What do you want? I’m trying to do my job.”
“What I wanted was for you to realize your low-class skank ass was dating above your league, but for some reason, you think you’re hot shit. A girl like you was lucky for everything I did to help you climb the social ladder. And you had the nerve to end things with me?! All the bleach in your fake-ass blonde hair must have finally given you brain damage. Maybe it’s time for someone to do something about that.”
Before I can ask what he means, cold liquid falls over my head, soaking my hair and chest. I stare down as the whiskey seeps into my dress, frozen in shock. Chet’s cruel laugh being cut short finally draws my attention back to the world around me.
I’m surprised by the sight that greets me. Ralphie has Chet gripped by the neck as the smaller man claws at him. Three large men I recognize from the bachelor party, stand sentry, glaring at Chet’s friends as if daring them to intervene. There may be more of them, but I don’t like their chances, and clearly, neither do they. The girls from earlier scatter as the club’s bouncers make their way over.
Realizing the optics, I step toward the entangled pair. I don’t know the protocol for stopping someone from choking out someone else, but I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to make any sudden movements. Unfortunately, time is of the essence.
“Ralphie! Let him go!”
The man in question glances at me over his shoulder. His navy eyes look black in the club lighting, but I don’t miss their fury. His posture tells me he has no plans to let Chet go, but if he doesn’t want to get kicked out, he needs to ASAP.
“He’s not worth it,” I shout over the commotion. “Let him go. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
Still no movement. Alright, it”s time to employ a different tactic. Approaching him slowly, I place a hand lightly on his back and lean in. “Please? I need you.”
I swear the man lets out a growl before he loosens his grip. Chet crashes down to the couch, and his hands automatically go to his neck as he sucks in air. I grab Ralphie’s arm to pull him away, but he leans over instead, putting the two men face to face. I roll my lips to hold in a smirk when Chet flinches. Ralphie is speaking too low for me to hear what he says, but whatever it is has the red-faced Chet paling.
He continues to stare at the man until he nods. Satisfied by whatever Chet agreed to, Ralphie turns his back to him and pushes me out of the booth. Our exit is timed perfectly with the arrival of the bouncers.
“Are you okay, Morgan?” Larson, my favorite asks.
“I’m fine,” I confirm. “It takes more than a few unruly customers to mess with me. Luckily, the big guy here saved the day.”
“He didn’t give you any trouble?” the other bouncer asks dubiously, surveying my now disheveled appearance thanks to Chet’s whiskey shower. Ralphie lets out a grumble of dissent.
“No, he saved me. I think it’s time Mr. Daniels went home, though,” I say, sparing Chet a glance as his friends surround him.
“He’s leaving,” Ralphie booms from beside me. “As are you,” he directs my way.
My two coworkers look between us and at each other before shrugging. “We’ll help him find the door.”
Without waiting to watch them leave, Ralphie pulls me toward the back of the club. “What are you doing? I can’t leave now. I’m only halfway through my shift.”
He doesn’t reply as he gently drags me to the ‘Employees Only’ door. “Put in the code.”
“I’m not putting in the code,” I state with a stomp of my foot. “I can’t leave.”
“Are you planning to work the rest of your shift sticky and smelling like a distillery?”
Sighing, I realize he is right. If I want to stay, I need to clean up. I can’t walk around covered in liquor. After I type in the code, Ralphie ushers me through the back, poking his head through doors as we pass.
“It’s the one at the end of the hall,” I say before he searches every closet. When we get to the dressing room, he walks in behind me and shuts the door. Whipping around, I level him with my harshest glare.
It’s time Mr. Hockey Hunk and I have a chat.