Chapter 6
Zara
Irritation swims in my gut as I once again glare at my reflection in the rearview mirror of my car.
I press my fingers into the lines at the outer corners. I'm not a vain person. I'm not one who goes looking for the latest serums, lotions, and creams to keep from aging. The most effort I put into my health is making sure I eat at least two vegetables a day and try to drink as much water as I can. But even that isn't really about not growing older.
"This isn't on you," I tell my reflection.
Owen drove off earlier as if I had some type of illness he could catch, as if I repulsed him just by asking him to lunch.
I shouldn't take it personally. Clearly, the guy is an asshole, but no matter how long I keep telling myself that, I still feel like shit about it. I feel like I did something wrong, that there's something wrong with me.
I take several calming breaths, trying to get my shit under control before I have to go into my shift at the bar. The problem with such a small, out-of-the-way place as The Lost Kitten, it doesn't attract many strangers. That would normally be a good thing, only the regulars here don't see the need to tip very well. My grand plans of saving money and moving to the other side of the country will take me forever with the way folks inside tip.
I fix my rearview mirror, having made the mistake of not moving it back before, and nearly wrecking, trying to do it while driving home one night. Lesson learned on that one for sure. These roads around here are no joke. Even if the twists and turns aren't bad enough, you never know when a damn deer or bear is going to decide that right when you're driving by is the best time to jump out into the street.
Before I can open my driver's side door, the roar of a motorcycle draws all my attention. But instead of it driving down the road, it grows closer and closer until the bastard has the damn nerve to park right beside my car.
Anger swims inside of me, but instead of popping out of my car and clawing at his face, I smile. This kill them with kindness isn't working, and it makes me smile wider to think that I may need to try poison next.
I open my door and climb out of my car as if he isn't even standing there.
But when I glance over at him, he's busy pulling off his helmet, acting as if I don't exist. Who the hell does this man think he is?
Maybe I am the problem.
Maybe he's just a man who wants to drink a beer in complete silence and be left the hell alone. I can't fault him for that. I can't insert myself into his life just because he exists in the periphery of mine.
Coming to that conclusion does nothing to tamp down my anger. Common courtesy is a thing, and even the surliest asshole in the world should at least adhere to social norms and acknowledge people.
His lack of attention chaps my ass like a pair of leather pants until I'm to the point of simmering and standing right in front of him, my finger jabbing him in the chest like I have any right to touch him. But he broke that rule first earlier today, didn't he?
"I'm just trying to be nice," I snap, each word one more jab to his rock-solid chest. "You have no reason to be a dick. "
"I'm not a man you need to be tangled up with."
I pull back my hand, cradling it to my chest, taken aback that he actually responded verbally instead of jacking me up with his hands clamped on my upper arms and demanding that I never touch him again.
I scoff. "Tangled?"
I shake my head, my smile widening when he looks confused by my response.
"I just want a quick fuck. Tangled is the last damn thing I want."
I know he sees the way my eyes widen with my words. I've had some not-so-clean thoughts about this man. He's gorgeous. I imagine every woman he encounters, who is missing an ounce of self-preservation, has had such thoughts about him. What I didn't expect is for those words to come bubbling out of my damn mouth.
My body thrums with possibilities when that dimple in his cheek deepens just the slightest bit. I imagine it's the closest thing I'll ever get to a smile from him.
I clap a hand over my mouth and shove past him, my cheeks flaming with heat by the time I make it to the front door of the bar.
Thick, recycled air hits me in the face, a drastic difference from the clean, cool air outside, but it's not like I could exactly breathe any easier around the man I left standing in the parking lot.
"If all you want is to get fucked, Zara, then that's something I can easily give you."
I freeze with his warmth at my back. My heart pounds in my chest as if he'd fulfill that promise right now with the ten or so people inside staring at us.
Edith smiles from behind the bar.
Jersey, one of the regulars and a man who flirts with me constantly despite having a wife and three kids at home, narrows his eyes at the sight of us, making me realize how it looks .
The people watching us in the bar have no idea we've arrived separately. From the smirks on a few faces, I know they think differently. I can only imagine the lies my reddened face is telling right now.
I clear my throat and step further into the bar, ignoring the man who has no business saying such things to me, despite what I mentioned to him out in the parking lot.
"Fuck off," I snap over my shoulder before walking away.
I smile at each of the people in the bar, not letting them off the hook for attempting to get into my business by staring me down and voicing their opinions with their facial expressions.
Edith continues to grin over my shoulder until I'm standing right in front of her, and then the relief that's so familiar washes over her face. I swear the woman acts like she's serving out some kind of prison sentence with each shift she works.
"I'll leave it in your very capable hands," she says as she starts to tug her apron over her head, her gnarled fingers struggling to keep a grip over it as she tugs it away from her body.
I almost open my mouth to ask why she continues to work, but that would put me in the middle of her business. Since I don't want to have a conversation with anyone about why I just happened to show up at work with an angry biker practically on my back, I keep my damned mouth shut.
As I tug on my own apron, I do my best to hold my head high despite the eyes still locked on me. My skin is heated and somehow cold all at the same time, and the stagnant air in the bar doesn't help either sensation.
When I look in the direction of the door and see the doorway empty, I shift my eyes to the seat he has sat at the last two times he was here. It's empty.
He had the nerve to speak those words to me and then leave. That somehow makes everything worse.
I have no illusions that the man left because I told him to fuck off. I was certain he was the type of man who wouldn't be impressed with a woman having the last word, but his absence proves differently .
It's for the best, honestly. He's right about not being the type of man to get tangled up with, but what he doesn't know is that I shouldn't get tangled up with anyone.
I get started on my shift, once again having to prep lemons and limes. Although they're listed on the dayshift checklist, I've fully accepted that this is just one of those things Edith isn't going to do. I'm fine with it, however, because it gives me something to do rather than engaging in conversation with folks who will no doubt have a lot of questions.
"New friend?"
I inwardly groan at the sound of Jersey's voice and then cringe when I hear the barstool screech across the floor as he pulls it out. I lift my eyes to watch him settle into the seat right in front of me, his hands clutching his beer bottle, as if he's afraid someone might attempt to pull it from his dirty hands.
Actually, Jersey isn't a bad guy. He flirts, but he's never tried to corner me near the bathroom. He's never reached across the bar and touched me. As much as he flirts, I've never seen the man leave with another woman, and the two times I've had to call his wife to come get him because he was too drunk to drive, she showed up with less irritation on her face than I would've if I were in her situation.
"He was asking for directions," I lie with an easy smile.
"I've seen him in here before," Jersey says, not willing to let the subject go.
"Can I get you another beer?" I offer rather than feeding into the direction he wants to take the conversation.
He frowns, but the look of disappointment seems more brotherly than anything like he's worried about my safety.
"Just another stranger," I assure him. "I have no doubt he'll be on his way before too long."
Jersey dips his head in acceptance before climbing off the barstool and going back to the table in the corner.
The night drags on, the minutes ticking by so slowly they feel as if each second is twelve. By closing time, the bar has been empty for fifteen minutes. I use the last couple of minutes to do a little prep for Edith for her morning shift, something akin to guilt swimming inside of me. I know I have no control over why that woman seems to have to work so hard, so late in life, but it is within my power to make it a little easier on her.
I give the bar one final look before heading to the door. Tommy really needs to get someone in here for a deep clean. The place isn't absolutely disgusting. We have enough downtime in our shifts to keep most things straight and orderly, but the cracks and crevices could use a little attention. The light fixtures could use a thorough cleaning, and the neon lights and decor lining the walls could use some dusting.
I'm running a list of things I might be capable of doing through my head as I step outside and turn to pull the door closed. My key, like always, struggles in the lock. I snap a curse for forgetting every damn day to mention it to Tommy, blaming the fact that I don't have to use it at the beginning of my shift for my forgetfulness.
I feel the heat on my back before the words come. "Do you have any idea how fucking dangerous it is out here at night?"