Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Adam
I’ve barely spoken to Emmet today, but I know he’s busy. He’s been busy all weekend, which is why I haven’t seen him. I miss him, and it sucks, but that’s life.
The kids went with Leslie earlier, so they could go to the parade. They’d asked if they could go with her, and of course I didn’t mind, especially not if I could be with Emmet.
Though, there is a small part of me that feels guilty over my choice. I could be at the parade. We could be there together, both of us with the kids, so they could see us getting along, but I chose to let them go with Leslie alone. But how much does it really matter?
They’re having fun regardless of where I am. I’m there for all the important things, and that’s what counts. I’m allowed to have time for myself too. I’m allowed to have fun. If only I could stop feeling so damn guilty over it.
The bar is packed when I get there around four, the shamrock shot challenge in full swing. There is a long table set up between the bar and the booths on the left, five guys on each side, each with a clear cup in front of them with a shot-sized amount of green liquid inside. Emmet is on the end.
“Okay, this is round two! On one. Three, two, one!”
The guys closest to me take their shot, then put the cup down and flip it. So it’s flip-cup, I guess. I watch them as I make my way to the bar, a lot of people cheering them on.
“Hey, Adam,” Pete says. “Care to try our St. Paddy’s Day special?”
“Uh, sure.”
He grins and I wonder if I’m stepping into trouble. He comes back a moment later with a drink that’s, and I should have known, green.
“What is this?” I pick up the cup to inspect it.
“Just a green tea shot with green soda water.”
“Green soda water?”
He shrugs. “Food coloring.”
There isn’t an open seat at the bar, so I walk over to watch the challenge.
The final guy on the right side is working on flipping his cup, while the second to last guy on the other side is struggling with his.
None of them look overly intoxicated, and I know Emmet put strict rules in place for this.
Like if they’re participating, they can’t have any other shots served to them for the night, and they can only do one challenge round.
I’m also pretty sure there isn’t a lot of alcohol in those “shots.” It’s more about fun and competition.
“We have a winner!” Emmet shouts over the cheering of the team on the right, who won. “Congrats, guys. Okay, we’re going to take a break from this. Next challenge is in an hour.”
The guys who won walk over to the bar, patting each other on the back and grinning, to receive their prize. It looks like a gift card, probably for the bar. The losing players disperse, but they don’t leave the bar, which is great.
“Hey,” I say, bumping Emmet with my shoulder.
His eyes light up when he sees me. “Hey.”
He looks as if he wants to lean in and kiss me, but thinks better of it, so I do it for him. I kiss him, lingering for just a moment too long.
“I missed you,” I whisper against his lips.
“I missed you too.”
“Can I help?”
“Sure.”
We grab the empty cups and toss them in the trash, and I get a towel to wipe up the table. We move it against the wall, but will bring it back out for the next challenge.
“Looks like a good turn out.”
“This whole weekend has been amazing,” Emmet says excitedly.
“Hey, Emmet! We got some food orders coming in,” Pete calls out.
“Be right back.”
“Can I help?” I ask.
He takes a few backwards steps, looking from me to Pete. “Yeah, help him get drinks.”
I look behind the bar, never having served a person in my life. I don’t know how to make drinks, but I can get beers and pop caps off. The place is busy and I know Emmet hasn’t been able to hire anyone yet, and I do want to help. So, I head behind the bar. I’ll figure it out.
“Who is getting just beer?” I ask loudly.
A few people raise their hands, so I start one end and ask what kind, get them their beers, and take their money.
Thankfully, everyone I manage has cash, and I don’t have to worry about using the machine.
Pete can put this all in when there is a free moment to do so.
When it dies down, I say, “If you want to show me how to use this thing, I can add the money in.”
Pete chuckles. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. Do you know how many beers you sold?”
“Uh…” I look down at the cash and think back to all the people I’d served. “Fourteen.”
Pete puts it into the register, then puts the cash in, taking out what’s left over for tips. He hands it to me. “No, I don’t want that. It’s yours.”
“You served them.”
I step back. “Nope, I was just helping. It’s yours.”
He shrugs and puts it into the tip jar.
I hang around and watch Pete make drinks, helping when the line gets too long.
If Emmet and I are doing this, I should figure it out.
Maybe even get my bartending license so I can help when needed, since it’ll be part of my life too.
It all seems simple enough, but it’s a lot to remember.
Tonight is easy enough because most people are ordering that special drink he gave me, beers, and simple things like rum and Coke or vodka and cranberry.
I could be wrong, but it seems when you make those drinks, you’re putting in only a shot of alcohol, a scoop of ice, and then filling it the rest of the way with whatever they want to mix it with. That’s easy.
Maybe I can consider it when I’m finished with my broker classes.
At first, the idea was daunting, but the more I think about it, the more I realize how smart of a decision this is.
The freedom to do what I want, and the ability to let people work under my license, which will give me income too.
It would take barely any work on my end.
The most important thing is ensuring they’re following the laws.
I’d love nothing more than to sit down with Emmet and figure out what will work best for us and our future together.
The bar is busy until close. Emmet goes back and forth from the kitchen to the floor, making food and running some of the games. I help Pete at the bar the best I can, but I don’t attempt drinks other than beer and the special drink, because the alcohol mix is premade.
I’m exhausted when we close, so I can only imagine how Pete and Emmet feel—they’ve been here all weekend doing this.
“I’d planned on asking you to come to mine, but I’m too tired to drive,” Emmet says as we reach the sidewalk.
“I don’t know how you do it. I wasn’t even there that long and I’m asleep on my feet.”
He chuckles, sliding his hands into his pockets as we walk down the street to my apartment. I let us up, we get down to our boxer briefs, fall into bed, and we’re both asleep within seconds.