Fake ID #2
But tourists usually don’t stick around long enough to get out of the totally casual sex zone, and I can’t leave town until after graduation.
Even then, I’ll have to get a job that will make a move financially sustainable. It’s either that, or I’ll have to die a virgin.
I squeeze a couple of limes with the same violence I used with the mint and then add soda water and ice to the glass.
Hopefully enough time has passed that Beavis has forgotten that I just offered him my V-card on a silver platter.
Becker
Did I say something wrong?
The cute bartender isn’t looking at me anymore. First she turned to make me that mocktail, but even as she turned around to push the glass toward me, her blue eyes were firmly focused on the mahogany of the bar.
She’s pretty in that way you can’t forget.
Petite and graceful, with blonde hair that frames the perfect oval of her face and blue eyes I could stare into for hours.
But what makes her even more stunning is the way she moves.
I observed her as she made my mocktail, and it was like watching a ballerina; every move fluid and elegant, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
I need to get her name and make sure I can see her again. I mean, I guess I can come back here, but I would like to see her in a different setting, where I don’t have to share her attention with dozens of thirsty customers.
Case in point, someone flags her down at the opposite end of the bar.
She smiles, taking the man’s order, and I think about my next move as I sip on the surprisingly delicious mocktail.
It doesn’t help that she saw that stupid ID. Why did I even try to use it? She called me Beavis twice. There’s no way she’ll ever consider going out with me now that she associates me with a loser with no game at all. Or I’ll have to work extra hard for it.
As I keep watching her serve a few more people, I decide that it’s worth trying. I’m gonna wait for the right time. If it doesn’t happen tonight, there’s no reason why I can’t come back. Knowing where she works means that I can see her again.
The bar gets busier, and when my favorite bartender comes to see if I want another drink; she doesn’t have time to talk to me.
It’s fine, I can wait. It’s not like I have anywhere else to be tonight. I’m new in town and I don’t know anyone aside from one of my Bridgeport teammates who transferred here too. Or more truthfully, I should say that I don’t know anyone I want to see just yet.
Fuck knows once I report to the athletic department for my medical and officially join the Cove Knights, I’ll see my brother every day.
The other person I know in town is Genevieve, and things are… complicated. She texted me to welcome me to Star Cove, and I left her message on “read.” I have no idea how to respond.
I’ve known Gen my entire life. First as my dad’s best friend’s daughter and then as my brother’s girlfriend. I’ve heard from Dad that she and Mack are no longer together; it’s been over six months now.
Dad didn’t elaborate on why the long-term relationship between Gen and Mack ended, and I don’t want to say the wrong thing. God knows the last thing I need is to make things with my older brother even more difficult than they already are.
So after I dropped my stuff in the off-campus apartment Dad rented for me, I decided to venture out and explore my new environment.
Coming to Star Cove wasn’t my first choice, but it was the most sensible choice after my college went bankrupt.
I would have rather gone anywhere else in the country, or even to Canada or Europe.
But Dad was right that after a terrible first year in Bridgeport, where my team’s days were numbered, I needed to play somewhere where I would get noticed.
Whether I want to enter the draft or try to get signed by an NHL team, I need a spotlight that Bridgeport no longer provided after the school went into financial difficulties.
The situation was totally different when I chose Bridgeport over Star Cove, but no one could have predicted what happened, and now here I am. This is my shot at getting noticed, and it’ll be harder now that I’ll be in my older brother’s shadow.
Mack doesn’t just have more talent than any normal human being deserves. He has the home advantage here. He knows this town, and coming here, on his turf, as the outsider was the last thing I wanted.
“Can I get you another one? It’s last call.”
I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I didn’t notice that the bar is now emptying and some of the staff has already left. The pretty bartender is standing right in front of me.
Fuck. That smile makes it hard to think.
I shake my head. “Maybe just some soda water? I shouldn’t overdo it with the sugary stuff; it’ll make me hyper.”
Her lips twitch into a smile, her blue eyes full of amusement. “We don’t want that.”
Jesus. Way to sound like I’m a kid hyper on sugar. I open my mouth to say something, anything that’ll make me sound like my dad isn’t coming to pick me up, but before I can get one word out, a high pitch whistle pierces the air.
“Yo, sugar tits!”
My head snaps in the direction of the table where the catcall came from.
Three douchebags in polos and shorts call out to my bartender. Their table is littered with a bunch of empty glasses and beer bottles.
The bartender rolls her eyes. “Tourist season is great for this town, but by the end of the summer, I’m ready for them to go back where they came from.” She mutters, grabbing a tray and getting out from behind the bar. “Might as well help with the cleanup.”
I roll around on my barstool, my eyes glued to her as she walks to the table.
Her stride is confident as she addresses the three men.
I can’t help but notice her perfect, round ass and shapely legs in her black denim shorts.
“Last call, guys. What will it be?” She begins collecting the empty glasses, moving around the table as the first two guys tell her their orders.
The third one, however, offers her a sleazy smile. “I’ll take a Long Island Ice Tea.” The man’s smile widens as he pulls a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet and waves it in her face. “And this is for you.”
She accepts the tip, tucking the money into a small pocket on the front of her shorts. “Thanks.”
“It’s our last night in town. There’s another one of these for you if you want to come to our room with us.”
Her shoulders stiffen. “No, thanks.”
“Are you sure?” The man chuckles. “My friends and I are a lot of fun. And you’d help us settle a bet. Randy here says that your ass isn’t as firm as it looks. Jeff and I bet you could bounce a dime off that ass.”
I don’t know what’s louder. If it’s the slap of the man’s hand on the hot bartender’s ass or her horrified gasp as she jumps because of the hit.
My bar stool is empty in the blink of an eye, but it turns out the sweet smile I’ve been looking at all night isn’t the only thing there is to the pretty bartender.
Before I can get there, she drops the tray she was holding and kicks the feet of the chair the douche is occupying.
“Fuck.” The man wails as she steps on the fingers of the hand that slapped her ass a few seconds ago. “Get off me, you stupid bitch.”
She doesn’t relent, pressing her foot down. “Of course. The choice is yours, though, if I let you up before or after the sheriff gets here.”
“No, no. There’s no need to be like that, babe. We just wanted to have some fun, that’s all.” One of the douche’s friends, who have been chuckling as the bastard offered her money, slurs.
“Fine,” she bites out. “Then settle your tab and get the fuck out of here. The bar is closed for you.”
I’m right behind her when she releases the scumbag, who stumbles onto his feet, favoring his hand.
“This is assault.” The asshole whines. “We should call the sheriff ourselves.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, her head held high. “Good luck if you want to spend your last night in town in jail. Sheriff Hartman has known me since I was in diapers.”
“Fine. Have it your way, bitch. This place is a slum, anyway. We’ll go, but you’ll have to walk out of here to go home, eventually.” He says the last part in a low, menacing voice.
It’s impossible to miss the way she tenses up, clearly more shaken than she intends to show.
This time I act faster than her. “You know what, asshole?” I smile, but I know it isn’t reaching my eyes.
“First off, you’re going to apologize for the language you’ve been using in front of this lady.
And then you’re going to settle your tab, give her that tip you offered earlier as an apology for being a pathetic sleaze-bag and disappear before I decide to walk you to your hotel room.
If you don’t, I’ll make sure you don’t leave on your own two feet. How does that sound?”
The third douchebag, who probably isn’t as wasted as his two friends, understands that I mean business.
“Ok, ok. Sheesh. No need to get aggro. We’ll go. If we had known you had a boyfriend,” he says in her direction. “We wouldn’t have even tried to invite you to our room.”
As if being single were a justification for their behavior.
“Get the fuck out before I change my mind and kick your asses, anyway.” I curl my fingers, itching to teach them some fucking manners.
I stand there, next to her, as the most sober of the trio of douches opens his wallet and drops a Benjamin on the table.