Chapter 46
AVA
In the wise words of Emerson, life becomes easier when you just start traumatizing men back.
“I’ll take another round of shots here,” Letterman Jacket says, but I don’t even look up.
After saying hi to Luke and Annie and the rest of the crew hanging out by the end of the bar, I asked Emmett, Lenny’s owner and my former boss, for a little favor.
After quickly filling him in on the situation with Anderson and this dumbass still trying to get my attention, he let me behind the bar for old times’ sake. He’s close by, Luke, too, having remembered the last time I was involved with an altercation here at Lenny’s.
It involved not only my ex getting himself kicked out of the bar, but his brand new truck getting destroyed by Luke’s wife, Annie, with a baseball bat.
It was that night that I realized I needed to leave Jett. That I wasn’t going to keep being that shy, scared girl anymore—the one who let a man dictate my each and every move.
That night was the beginning of the end with Jett, and it feels like a very full-circle moment that I’m back behind the bar, but that version of myself is nowhere to be found.
“Are you deaf or are you just dumb, princess?” A voice booms, causing some heads to turn in my direction. I look up from the shots I’m pouring to find Letterman Jacket staring at me as if waiting for me to get down on my knees and apologize.
When I don’t say anything, he repeats himself. “I’ll take another round of shots here.” He slams his palm against the bar. “Now.”
I give him a smile, but it’s anything but nice. “You must be really thirsty tonight, huh?” I ask him, but his eyes go down to my chest—he doesn’t even try to hide it.
“You going to do something about it?” His smile is slimy, and I have to will my lips not to curl in disgust. It takes a lot to keep the smile on my face, pressing my elbows to the bar and leaning forward. He watches my movement, not even bothering to look anywhere but my boobs.
“Coming right up,” I purr, reaching for the soda gun like it’s second nature.
I aim it right for his face as I turn it on, shooting a stream of soda right into his face.
“What the fuck!” he yells, his hands coming to his face to wipe the liquid from his eyes, his steps faltering as he backs up, knocking into people left and right.
“Oops,” I feign innocence, shrugging my shoulders.
“Sorry, it’s been a while.” I turn to look at Emmett, who gives me a subtle nod—he’s always reminded me a lot of Jack, a man of not so many words.
Luke, on the other hand, comes over to me, raising a hand for a high-five.
I slap my palm against his just as Letterman Jacket comes back up to the bar.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He looks at Luke and Emmett. “Who let this bitch behind the bar?”
“Hey!” a voice booms before either of them can intervene, and the crowd parts, revealing my husband—my very angry husband.
His usual cool demeanor is gone, replaced with fury I haven’t seen from him before. He closes the distance between the front door of the bar and Letterman Jacket, grabbing him by the damp collar of his shirt, pulling him up the few inches that Anderson has on him. “What did you just call my wife?”
The guy tries to step out of Anderson’s hold, but the grip on his T-shirt doesn’t give. “She sprayed me with the soda gun,” the guy whines, sounding like he’s about to get grounded.
“I don’t care if she shoved the damn thing down your throat,” Anderson says, and the whole crowd has quieted, everyone watching the exchange. “You don’t get to call her, or any other woman, a bitch. Ever. You hear me?”
“But—”
“See, I think you’re just dumb, princess,” I say to the man, echoing some of his words to me from before, causing him and Anderson to turn my way. I cross my arms over my chest. “My husband asked if you heard him.”
He looks between me and Anderson, sputtering as if he could say anything that wouldn’t embarrass him even more.
“I heard you,” he mumbles to Anderson, and I roll my lips together to hold in my laugh.
“Apologize to my wife,” Anderson says, his knuckles white from how hard he holds the guy’s collar. “Now.”
I almost feel bad for the guy when he turns my way, covered in soda, his lack of hair even more obvious with how wet the strands are. He mumbles an apology that I guess suffices, but Anderson doesn’t agree.
“Try again. I want the whole bar to hear you, asshole.”
“Fuck, okay. I’m sorry,” he exclaims. “Happy?” This time, when he tries to back out of Anderson’s grip, he lets him, pushing him just enough to have the guy stumbling backwards.
“Good, now get the fuck out of here,” Anderson says, but the guy is already halfway toward the door, the crowd cheering as it slows behind him.
I round the bar as quickly as I can, moving through all the people to get to Anderson, throwing my arms around him and pressing my mouth to his, eliciting more cheers from everyone in the bar.
“Okay, what the hell just happened?” Emerson’s voice has us breaking the kiss as her, Rumi, and Jack join us by the bar.
“Yeah, what the hell was that?” Anderson repeats in my direction, his anger simmering now that it’s directed at me. “My pregnant wife has no business getting into bar fights.”
“I—” I start, but I’m interrupted by a series of screams from Rumi and Emerson.
“You’re pregnant?” Rumi squeals, grabbing me by the shoulders at the same time that Emerson looks at me with her mouth wide open.
“Surprise?” I say, but it comes out more like a question. I didn’t want to make a big deal of the news, and I was having trouble figuring out how to do it.
Somehow, this is perfect.
Untraditional, unconventional.
Us.
“No more surprises,” Emerson finally says, using her hands to fan herself as if she’s seconds away from fainting. “You two have officially hit your surprise limit for the year.”
“For the next ten years," Rumi adds, and I notice my cheeks are aching from how wide I’m smiling.
“How about one more?” I say, holding up a finger, looking at Anderson, who gives me a small nod before wrapping his arms around my waist, holding my back against his front.
“No, I said no more,” Emerson says, shaking her head, lifting her arms like she’s throwing up her defenses.
“You’ll like this one,” Anderson argues over my shoulder.
I grab Rumi’s hand with one hand and Emerson’s with the other. Their gazes pull to mine, and I feel my throat clog with emotion, my nose prickling. “Will you two be the baby’s godmothers?” I ask.
Both of them look at me, their eyes wide and their lips parted. Even though the bar is loud and buzzing with conversation, it feels like it’s just us. Just me and my best friends.
“Yes!” Rumi screams, while Emerson says, “Duh.”
I step out of Anderson’s hold and into my best friends’, pulling each other into a group hug.
“Joke's on you,” Emerson says, and I swear I hear her voice crack. The girl shows the least amount of emotion possible, and I feel the need to pat myself on the back for pulling so much out of her these last few months. “I knew you were going to ask us, so it wasn’t a surprise.”
I roll my eyes, holding her tighter.
Of course, it wasn’t a surprise.
There are no other two people I want in my baby’s life.