Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Lewis doesn’t follow me and I don’t expect him to.
Not after what he saw and what he must think of me.
I stop in the basement and splash water on my face, waiting for my body to cease shaking.
I’ve been touched in ways that made me uncomfortable by my mom’s exes—or whatever you want to call them—and have fought off my share of handsy guys. This was different.
I want to pretend like it never happened, but a small voice in the back of my mind whispers like I did with Cali’s ex, Eric. And look how great that turned out.
Despite taking too long to return to my station, I grab my phone from my locker and make a detour on my way to the lounge.
Mason is chatting with another bartender at the East Bar, his back turned.
“Mason,” I say, my voice sharp. He jerks around.
“You have a minute?” The other bartender immediately busies himself at the opposite end of the counter.
Screw the awkward tension between us. I refuse to take more money from my mother, and if I’m not quitting and running from Drake or any other man who thinks he can touch me without permission, I need to know what I’m up against before I go to management.
What happened with Drake can’t happen again. It can’t.
My chest rises on a calming inhale. “What’s going on with Drake Peterson?”
Mason’s brows pinch for a moment. I don’t know if it’s my expression or the question that has him confused. He grabs a rag, wiping the counter between us that feels like an ocean. “No idea. Why?”
“You were glaring at him earlier. What’s up with that?”
He shrugs noncommittally. “Don’t like the guy.”
I close my eyes for a second. I’m about to lose it. There’s only so much a girl can take in one day, and Mason’s uncooperativeness is about to tip me over the edge. “He was aggressive with me and I want to know if the reason you don’t like him has anything to do with that sort of thing.”
Mason’s hand stills. “What did he do?” His words come out clipped.
“I don’t want to talk about it. I want to hear what you know about him.”
I glance around. Yes, my coworkers act like catty fourteen-year-olds and are greedy as hell, but after Cali got fired, and now this…
There’s something going on. Drake’s buddies didn’t flinch at his actions toward me, until he got caught.
And the way Mason was looking at Drake earlier—I think Drake’s done this before. And I think Mason knows it.
Mason loosens his grip on the rag. He lets out a strained breath. “There’s nothing specific. I’ve just seen him flirt with waitresses.”
I give him a mocking look. Mason is a huge flirt with pretty waitresses and just about any attractive female who passes his bar.
He rolls his eyes. “I’ve seen him in conversations that looked too intimate. Intense. He seems like you said, aggressive.”
I breathe in through my nose, holding back my anger and frustration. “You could have warned me.” My voice cracks and I leave before Mason can respond.
I’d like to run far and wide, but that’s what I always do. There will always be some asshole who treats women terrible. I’ve run from plenty of them; I can’t run from them all.
Even if I decided to quit my job, I’ve heard finding casino work mid-season is nearly impossible, and that would put me right back to depending on my mother’s dirty money.
Considering what Mason said, I’m not the first person Drake has done this to.
If the casino is letting him get away with it, what are the chances they will listen to anything I say?
Cali lost her dealer position after much less than claiming sexual harassment from a senior executive.
Speaking of jobs—the drinks.
I glance at the time. It’s been too long. Drake and his buddies probably expected their drinks fifteen minutes ago. Why the hell did I take those jerks’ orders?
There’s a chance Drake won’t complain after what he pulled, but I’m not willing to take the chance. If I’m not running from my job because of Drake, I won’t lose it over something stupid like failing to perform my duties.
I must have made Mason feel bad, because he sends Jaeger over to check on me right after I turn in the drink orders.
“You okay?” Jaeger asks.
I nod, but I’m not doing a great job of hiding my distress. Jaeger enfolds me in a massive bear hug, tucking my head close. “Just give me the word, Gen, and I’ll beat the crap out of whoever hurt you.”
Despite my grief, I chuckle. “It’s okay, Jaeger. I’m handling it.”
Jaeger doesn’t seem completely satisfied with my response, but he nods and returns to Mason’s bar.
Jaeger’s a good guy, but I don’t want other people fighting my battles. I just need to figure out the right way to handle this.
“Whatchadoin’?”
My heart leaps in my throat at Maryanne’s voice, and I spin around. Her eyes slide to my shaking hands. Did she see Jaeger hug me? This woman is like a hound on a scent. I have to say something. “I’m waiting on an order for Drake’s party. They’re in a suite upstairs.”
“Drake Peterson?” I nod, and her mouth twists, eyes narrowing. “Everything go okay up there?”
A muscle below my eye flutters like a butterfly’s wing. I casually press my finger to it. “Yep, all good.”
Her sharp gaze tracks my finger. “Don’t let those bad boys take advantage of you.” She glances at the lounge, fuller than before. “You’re busy in here. I’ll handle Drake’s drinks.”
My mouth compresses. She’s like a psychic or a mind reader, but I don’t question it.
The bartender finishes the order and I mumble something unintelligible to Maryanne that I hope resembles a thank-you, and thrust the cocktails onto her tray. I might be brave enough to stay at my job (or stupid, depending on how you look at it), but I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
As soon as Maryanne leaves with the drinks, though, second thoughts hammer me. Maryanne’s tough, but is she tough enough for Drake and the drunken perverts? What if they do something to her?
I pace the lounge, wearing a track in the carpet in front of the bar, worried about her. I’ve checked on my customers so often they’re giving me dirty looks, and I’ve sorted condiment picks by color. Nothing reduces the anxiety in my gut.
I scan the room, searching for Jaeger, a security guard—someone strong enough to help me rescue Maryanne, because I’m convinced something’s happened—when she strolls to the East Bar.
Before I think better of it and the fact that my anxiety supports her earlier suspicions, I walk over. “Everything go okay?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Your friend Drake Peterson was surprised to see me.”
My gaze shoots to Mason. He doesn’t even try to hide the fact he’s eavesdropping.
“Oh—well, thanks. For helping.”
“No sweat.” She turns and unloads empty glasses from her tray.
I frown. Maryanne just saved my ass—after Lewis saved it. And before that it was Jaeger with the A-hole, then Cali any number of times. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I fight my own battles?
Lewis is a large, intimidating male. I see how he’d make Drake think twice, but Maryanne? She’s four inches shorter than me.
I hate that people like Drake believe I’m weak and take advantage. Why didn’t I poke him in the eye when he shoved his fingers up my crotch?
Goddamn, that memory.
I take a steadying breath and swallow the bitter taste in my mouth.
I’m not defenseless, but I choked. My brain froze and I didn’t react.
I’m tall, athletic, and strong for a woman, but mentally I shut down when things get heavy.
It served me in the past to keep quiet. I would have been a pariah in junior high and high school if people had known what my mother did to make ends meet.
But clamming up isn’t working for me anymore—it makes me vulnerable.
I pull out my ordering pad and stare at the web address for the Alpine Mudder.
Nessa was right about stepping out of my self-imposed box. I’m so bottled up I don’t know how to react when I need to. I was put in a bad position upstairs, and sure, I squirmed around a bit, but I should have done more, said more. Anything would have been better than mentally locking up.
The mudder looks dangerous and filthy, and there will be tons of macho guys participating. My comfort zone will be so far away I won’t be able to see it, but if I don’t learn how to fight, I’ll always be pushed around.
I unlock the iPhone I grabbed from my locker and punch in the web address, registering for the race.