Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
IVY
It’s well into the evening, and I’m still cringing internally as I bustle behind the bar, filling drink orders. Why do I freak out around new people? If I’m behind this bar or at work, I’m fine. I’m confident, and I can bullshit my way through any conversation.
But in real life? I’m a complete mess. I’ve always been a wallflower. I’m in the background, observing. I don’t want to be the center of attention, and I don’t want to be picked out of a crowd.
Xander didn’t do that today. He didn’t put a spotlight on me, he simply introduced me to his teammate. To his friends.
And I’m so socially awkward that I made a fool of myself. I will replay every horrifying moment for the rest of my life.
I will also likely punish myself for it.
It’s cold in the bar tonight. Mother Nature is only flirting with fall at this point, but I can feel the change in the air. And we have the windows open to the sidewalk so customers can enjoy the fresh breeze.
Not to mention, I don’t know if I can pay the fucking electric bill, so I’m avoiding the AC. If I can keep it cool in here with open windows, so be it.
Taking a breath, I turn to skim my eyes over the bar. It’s old. Nothing in here has been updated since before I was born. The tables wobble, the floor is scratched from sliding chairs. The few booths we have are torn. We keep the pool tables nice because they bring in business.
And I love this bar top. It’s at least a hundred years old, but we take care of it because it’s beautiful and a part of history.
Ben and I make sure the entire place is clean, and we have newer TVs to show the various sports games.
But there’s no hiding the fact that Lucky’s needs an overhaul.
Badly.
Given that we’re the only watering hole in Silver Springs, we don’t do too bad, and we have our share of regulars, but we could do so much more if this place were completely remodeled and we added a full kitchen.
A shiver runs through me, and I rub my arms as I turn to wipe down the bar, but the door opens, catching my attention.
And in walks Xander, Easton, Cooper, and Britney.
Ugh, really?
I was hoping to nurse my mortification without them being privy to it tonight, but I lift my chin and put my big-girl panties on, determined to act like a normal human being.
Xander’s already staring right at me and leading them all this way.
“Hey there,” I say, forcing a smile. “Do you boys want your usual?”
Easton grins. “Yes, please.”
I glance at Xander, and his lips twitch. “I hate being predictable.”
“Whatever,” Cooper says and smiles at me. “I’d like a beer. Local, if you have it.”
“Light or dark?”
“Dark.”
I nod, already reaching for a glass. “Got it. And you, Britney?”
“An espresso martini,” she says with a wink. “God, I love your hair. You had it braided earlier, and now it’s loose and curly, and that color!”
I feel the heat filling my cheeks and press my lips together as I pour the beer. I like my hair. When it’s down like this, it falls almost to my ass, and it’s thick and has curl from the braid earlier.
But I’ve never learned how to take a compliment.
“Thanks.”
“Seriously, so pretty,” Britney insists.
To my surprise, the group of them don’t go to the pool table.
They choose seats at the end of the bar where it forms an L shape, so they can talk to each other, and I serve their drinks and make sure they don’t need anything else before I make my way down the counter, clearing away empties and serving refills.
I take a tray around the rest of the room to do the same, since I’m down a person tonight. One of our bartenders called out with food poisoning, and of course my mom didn’t bother to come in at all.
That’s why I’m here.
Another shiver hits me as I walk past the open windows, and I just know my nipples are hard, which would normally be okay.
Because tips.
But I don’t really need to be showing them off in front of Xander and his crew. Not that there’s anything I can do about it.
I walk by Xander, and he wraps his hand around my wrist, stopping me.
“You okay, Red?”
“Sure. Do you need something?”
He frowns, looking me in the eyes, and I can’t help but shiver again.
“You’re cold.”
I shrug. “It’s no big deal. The customers like the windows open.” I smile at Britney, who has already drained her drink. “Would you like another?”
“One more,” she confirms. “That’s the best espresso martini I’ve ever had.”
Feeling more confident than earlier, I move behind the bar again and get the espresso ready to pull from the machine.
That’s the key. Fresh coffee.
And I grind the beans every day.
I’ve just served Britney her drink when suddenly Xander’s in front of me, holding out a Denver Flurry hoodie.
“You’ll swim in this, but here. Wear it.”
I blink at him. “Is this yours?”
“Yeah, I grabbed it from the car. You’re cold, wildcat. Put it on.”
I shake my head and lick my lips. Leaning in, I whisper so only Xander can hear me. “I can’t wear that. I need the tips, and that means I have to wear, well . . . less.”
His eyes narrow and dip to my cleavage and then back to my eyes. “Fuck that. I’ll give you two thousand dollars to wear the goddamn hoodie.”
I take a step back and frown right back at him.
“That’s not how it works, Xander.”
“You’re dead wrong, Ivy.”
His voice is hard, and why do I love hearing my name on his lips so much?
“I don’t want your money.”
“You’re cold,” he insists. “Please wear it until you warm up, and then you can take it off. It’s a compromise. And I’ll reimburse you for all of the missed tips.”
I nibble my lip, eyeing the hoodie. It looks cozy. And I bet it smells like him.
Okay, creepy girl.
“Thank you,” I finally murmur and take the sweatshirt from him, slip it over my head and pull my hair through, and yep.
Smells like Xander.
Woodsy and earthy and like all the pheromones in the world.
I might swim in it, but it feels good, so I offer him a smile as I roll the sleeves so my hands poke through.
“Thanks. I feel better already.”
“Good.”
He grins, reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and then returns to his friends.
And now I’m a puddle in the middle of this bar.
The door opens again, and this time it’s my mom who walks in, but she’s not drunk, and she’s walking with purpose. Her hair is up in a fierce bun, the grays springing free around her face. Her black eyeliner is too heavy, and she’s wearing red lipstick.
Her black shirt is almost nonexistent.
Which is typical for her when she works behind the bar.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” I say cautiously as she ties an apron around her waist. She’s too thin. My mom would rather drink her calories than eat them.
“It’s my fucking shift,” she mutters, not looking me in the face.
“Sure, which started three hours ago.”
She stops and glares at me, taking me in, and shakes her head.
“I taught you better than to dress like that when you’re working. You ain’t gonna make any money unless your tits are out. Your tits are the only thing worth looking at on you. You’re ugly as fuck. And put that hair away. No one wants to fuck the little mermaid.”
I swallow hard. Every single word makes me feel smaller and smaller, just the way she intended. I know I’m not much to look at, but she’s my mom. Rumor has it she’s supposed to be nice to me.
Not that I’ve ever had that experience with this woman.
Ignoring her, I take a tray and work the tables and booths. After taking a few orders, I return to the bar, drop off some empties, and tell Mom what I need made.
“Do it your fucking self,” she barks, shaking her head, and then she approaches Xander. “What can I getcha, hot stuff?”
“You can give her an apology,” Xander replies with a calm smile. “That’s what you can get me.”
Mom doesn’t even look my way. “Kids, am I right?”
“She’s not a kid,” Xander counters, and I just want the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
“It’s fine,” I interject, already making the drinks I need.
Mom moves in next to me, grips my arm just above the elbow so tight that she grinds the muscle against bone, but I refuse to flinch.
“Quit making me look bad in front of the goddamn customers,” she grits out between her teeth.
“You do that all by yourself.” I yank my arm free, load up my tray, and have just lifted it when Mom pushes me from behind, and the tray—and every drink on it—goes flying.
“You’re so damn clumsy. Maybe lose some weight and you won’t be a bull in a china shop.”
I’ve had it with her. I can’t even look at her, and I can’t risk anyone else seeing the tears that want to come, so I walk through the bar to the restroom, and when the door is closed behind me, I lean on the vanity and drop my head down, trying to make the tears go away.
What in the world did I do in a previous life to deserve that woman as my mother?
The door opens, and I turn away, wiping my cheeks, embarrassed that someone walked in on me.
“Moms can be hard.”
I turn at the sound of Britney’s voice. She passes me a glass of water and sets her purse on the vanity, pulls out her powder, and starts to fix her nose.
Not that it needed fixing.
“Mine’s moved about six times in the past five years,” she continues. “I never went to the same school two years in a row growing up. Sometimes I had to go live with Mama June, that was my grandma, because Mom was too consumed by the latest boyfriend to remember that I existed.”
I sip my water, listening as Britney brushes on some mascara.
“When Mark and I got married, Mom saw dollar signs. Because professional player, right?” She rolls her eyes.
Britney is tall, willowy like a ballerina, with big brown eyes and dark hair that hits just below her shoulders.
She’s in jeans and a Flurry T-shirt. “But we got married during his rookie season in Chicago, and they didn’t offer him millions.
It’s only been in the past five years, since he won his first Cup with Tampa Bay and moved to Denver, that we’ve seen a big amount of money.
Not that I’d ever be okay with my man giving a dime to that woman because she’s horrible. ”
I take a breath and another sip, then set the glass down.
“You didn’t have to come in here.”
“I know, but you just looked so devastated, and I needed to let you know that you’re not the only woman with a shit mom.
I know what it’s like to be embarrassed of her.
It sucks. But it’s not about you. You didn’t do anything wrong.
And for the record, I stand behind what I said about your hair earlier.
It’s fucking amazing, and people pay shitloads of money to copy it.
She’s jealous because you’re better than she’ll ever be.
Also, Xander’s just pleased as pie that you’re in his hoodie. ”
I swallow hard and look down at the huge garment. “He is?”
“Girl, yes. I don’t know if it’s the equivalent of a dog marking its territory or what, but he likes it. You look good in Flurry blue.” She winks at me.
“Oh, it’s not like that with Xander and me—”
“Of course. It’s purely professional.” Britney laughs. “Why don’t you come with us? We’re obviously leaving because your mom is a cunt and a half, bless her heart, and we need food. Xander says there’s a great place down the street. Let your mom work the bar and come with us.”
I don’t love the idea of leaving my mother to her own devices. But also, this is her bar. I don’t even technically work here.
So fuck it.
I don’t want to be here tonight. I’d rather hang out with these nice people.
“Please say yes,” Britney says. “I don’t want to be the only girl around all of that testosterone. All they do is talk about hockey and . . . that’s it. Hockey.”
I smirk and then nod. “You know what? I’m in.”
“Oh, thank God. You’ve just saved me. Come on, honey, let’s go paint this microscopic town red.”
She loops her arm through mine, and we walk out of the bathroom. I don’t return behind the bar, and Mom glares at me.
“I’m out,” I tell her. “Have a good night.”
“What the fuck, I’m not working till closing.”
“Then shut it down. I don’t really care.” I toss my apron on the bar, grab my purse, and then Britney smiles at my mother as she wraps an arm around my shoulders.
“Have the day you deserve, ma’am,” Britney says, and I can’t stop the smile that spreads over my face as she leads me to the door.
I just walked out on my mother.
And it feels damn good.
“You good, wildcat?” Xander asks.
“I’m hungry,” I reply honestly. “There was a rumor that I might get food.”
He examines my face for a moment, and then he smiles, nods, and turns to the others.
“The Salsa Bar it is,” Xander says. “It’s just down the block.”
“Best food in town,” Easton agrees, and we all fall into step on the sidewalk with him leading the way. Cooper takes his wife’s hand and brings it up to his lips for a kiss, and Xander and I bring up the rear.
“Sorry you had to see that. Again.” I clear my throat.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” he replies. “I’m glad you came with us.”
“Thanks. Me too. Are you going to hog the chips and salsa?”
He scowls. “I would never.”
“Oh, he will,” Easton yells back. “So we’ll get extra.”
“You’re paying,” Xander yells in return, earning the finger.
I haven’t eaten at The Salsa Bar yet. It’s a new Tex-Mex place, and I’ve heard it’s amazing, but I hardly have time to pet my cat—that’s not an innuendo—so trying new restaurants hasn’t been on my radar.
But I can see that it’s a nice place, with outdoor seating and a rooftop space, which is where they seat us, in the corner, with a view of the mountains.
I’m glad I’m still in Xander’s hoodie so I won’t get cold.
I start to sit, but Xander grabs the hood on the sweatshirt and says, “Whoa, Red, you’re with me.”
And damn, but that makes me feel good.
Xander gestures for me to sit next to him, so I do, and I’m shocked that I don’t even feel nervous. This afternoon, I almost had a panic attack at the thought of being around these new people, but here I am, hours later, socializing.
It’s weird.
I’ll probably freak out later.