Chapter 11
Dean
I glanced up at the stylish sign as I approached the bar. It looked both professional and fun, like it had been designed with a real purpose. It was doing its job, judging by the crowd inside.
It was Saturday night, which was a stupid time to come here. Since I didn’t have Remi’s number and didn’t want to bother Oli at work, I just decided to take my chances. Confidence was like motivation—the act came before the actual feeling. So, I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin.
As I walked in the door, I was struck by how loud it was.
Most of the people seemed like they were college-aged, and I was willing to bet the clientele was almost entirely made up of Harmon students.
This place was only a couple miles from campus, so it was a prime spot for those looking to wind down or get into some shit at the end of the week.
It’d probably be smarter to spend the time studying, but what did I know?
I shouldered my way through the crowd, not interested in waiting in the line.
Most of the seats at the counter were free since everyone was in a group, so I snagged one.
I spotted Remi behind the register, wearing a big, customer-service smile.
Surprisingly, it didn’t look pasted on. While he took orders and slung drinks, he looked genuinely happy, like he did when he talked to Oli.
It took a while, but eventually, the line dwindled. Remi grabbed a rag and hurriedly wiped down the counter. As he passed me, he paused. Our eyes met, his hand frozen in place with the rag, and I forced myself to smile at him, even though I was on the defensive.
“Hey,” I said. “Busy in here.”
He grunted his agreement before he finished swiping the surface. He slung the rag over his shoulder, which almost made me wrinkle my nose.
When my brother was a senior, he’d gotten a job at the movie theater, even though my parents didn’t approve. He’d always come home smelling like popcorn. I imagined it was the same here with the scent of booze. Maybe vomit.
Did I really want this gig?
“Oliver said you have a spot to fill,” I went on when Remi continued to clean up without saying anything.
“Did he?”
“Said it’d be a good job for me.”
“Hm.”
Ah, hell.
With a huff, I got to my feet. This was going nowhere.
“I don’t know if you’re right for it,” he said as I began to turn around.
My hands fisted at my sides. “Oh yeah? Maybe you’ll enlighten me.”
He looked contemplative, but I was sure it was a show. I figured he’d known this was never going to happen as soon as Oli mentioned it.
“Forget it,” I muttered. “I kinda believed it when Oliver defended you, but I guess he’s not a great judge of character.”
“He’s the best judge of character, actually.”
Looking at him again, I found him pouring two shots. He pushed one over with two fingers, then picked up the other.
What was this, a freaking western movie?
Not wanting to back down, I put one hand on the counter and grabbed the glass with the other. After I knocked it back, I set it down cleanly, suppressing the urge to gag, then spun it while I took a second to consider his statement.
“You think so?” I finally asked.
He grabbed the glass from me, setting it behind the counter. “Always has been. Far better than me, that’s for sure.”
“Let me guess. You don’t trust anyone.”
The ghost of a smile graced his lips. “Eh, it’s complicated. But yeah.”
“If you know he’s a good judge of character, why don’t you trust his judgment?”
“There’s a question.” He moved to the side to take an order, then returned to stand across the bar from me. “Yeah, Oli’s great when it comes to taking stock of someone, but he’s also idealistic. Sometimes, he wants it so bad that he’ll blind himself to reality.”
“And what’s reality?”
“People are shit. Absolute dog shit. Even the best of them do bad things, and if there’s no personal stakes involved, what’s to stop them from doing it?”
“Individual morality?” I offered. “Empathy?”
He scoffed. “Empathy crumbles when challenged, or it’s weaponized.”
“You know, you’re a joy to be around.”
To my shock, he chuckled. “I am. But not to people I don’t trust.”
“You can trust me.”
“With my best friend, I don’t trust anyone.”
With that, he marched out from behind the counter and started picking up empty glasses.
I wanted to tell him where he could stick his horrible attitude, but it wouldn’t do any good.
Besides, the last thing I should do was make a real enemy out of my new roommate’s best friend.
They clearly had a bond that was unbreakable, and I didn’t want to get in the middle of things anyway.
“God, I just want a drink,” a girl whined from the other side of the counter. She stood on her toes, trying to peer into the back room.
I glanced toward where Remi was still gathering cups. He was chatting along the way, looking like a completely different person, less reminiscent of a disgruntled dog.
It might get me thrown out, but screw it.
I came around the other side of the counter and grabbed one of the clean rags so I looked official. “What are you up for?” I asked.
The woman eyed me for a second. “Just a tequila.”
“I’ve got you.”
I scanned the drinks, realizing there were a few different tequilas. The girl wasn’t so far gone that she should be cut off, but I thought she wouldn’t really care about the price. Then again, I couldn’t afford to piss off Remi.
“You want bottom shelf or the good stuff?” I asked.
When she hesitated, I swiped the higher-end bottle and displayed it for her.
“It goes down a lot smoother.” I didn’t know the first thing about tequila or how it went down.
“Less likely to trigger a—” I made a gagging gesture, which drew a laugh from her.
“Screw it. Let’s do that one.”
With a grin, I tossed it above me, then caught it with my other hand. If they made one in the shape of a football, I’d probably be able to learn some cool tricks with it.
She giggled, leaning her hip against the bar as she fished her money out of her pocket. “Keep the change, cutie.”
Before she walked away with her drink, she booped me on the nose. I folded the twenty, feeling like I’d taken advantage of her or something.
“Seriously?” Remi looked angry, but he kept his voice controlled.
I held the bill out to him. He snatched it, then eyed the bottle in my hand. When he blinked a few times, I smirked.
“Upselling,” I said. “A good asset to have, right?”
He scoffed. “Upselling. Twenty for a thirty-dollar shot, huh?”
My eyes bugged out of my head. “Thirty dollars? That’s highway robbery.”
“This isn’t top-shelf dive bar liquor. It’s premium, for the tenured crowd. Like I said, you’re not a good fit.”
With my pride squashed, I nodded. I tried to keep my shoulders straight as I rounded the counter, but I could feel the way they sagged.
“You’re good with people.”
I stopped, then turned around slowly. He was still in the same spot, eyeing me like there was something on my face. I fought the urge to check.
“Everyone loves a pretty bartender,” he went on. “But in a place like this, the more girls that come in, the more guys follow. Women come in groups, and they’ll objectify the hell out of you.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I figured you wouldn’t. So, we open at three on weekends.”
“I can be here at two.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Good. Thirty hours a week to train. If I decide you’re a good fit, we can discuss a permanent schedule.”
It was pointless to hold back my smile. “Don’t count me out just yet, Remi.”
He still looked skeptical as I turned away from him.
Well, it looked like Oli wasn’t completely crazy. I was on a winning streak this week, and it was all thanks to him so far.
As I exited into the fresh air, I thought about our interaction this morning. The way he went completely blank. The way he hurried to the balcony as if he needed to escape. The gentle way he put the spider back in its web, even as a strange sort of fear clouded the green in his eyes.
Something about it worried me, despite how little I knew the guy.
Shaking it off, I fished my keys out of my pocket. I felt a little giddy as I got into my now working car to leave the job I’d just landed and drive to the apartment that had only recently become my home.
Things were changing. Hopefully, they’d continue for the better.