CHAPTER TWO
Liam
I threw the beer-soaked shirt on my bedroom floor. Beer was easy to wash out, but that wasn’t the point. It had been a while since someone spilled a drink on me, and I’d always kicked them out of the club for their mistake. Tonight should have been the same.
I took the shirt to the laundry room and watched the washing machine spin a few times before I went upstairs to take a shower.
I was hoping the shower would wash away the night like it washed away the beer.
It didn’t. By the time I finished drying my hair, I was thinking about the waitress again.
That made me mad. Why was I still thinking about her?
She made a mistake. She said sorry. I should’ve forgotten about her before I left the club.
I found myself walking into the kitchen, opening the fridge, and staring at the food inside.
My mind kept going to the same moment, over and over.
I could still see the pitcher tipping over, the beer soaking my shirt, and the look on the waitress’s face.
I’d thought she might pass out. It shouldn’t have mattered, but I couldn’t get it out of my head.
I closed the fridge a bit harder than I’d meant to, grabbed a bottle of water, and leaned on the counter.
What was wrong with me? I’d dealt with guys carrying knives into the club, customers looking for fights, and idiots who threatened my family.
Compared to that, a nervous waitress spilling a drink was nothing. But my mind wouldn’t let it go.
The waitress had reached out to touch my jacket with some napkins.
Then she’d stopped herself and pulled her hand back so fast she almost dropped the napkins.
Then she’d said sorry over and over, without giving me a chance to say anything.
The waitress didn’t try to explain what happened or blame the crowd.
She just stood there saying sorry, waiting for me to decide what to do.
I pushed myself away from the counter and wandered into the living room. The house was quiet, the way I liked it after a long night, but tonight the silence wasn’t helping. Every time I stopped moving, my thoughts went back to the waitress’s eyes.
“Forget it,” I muttered, although the empty room didn’t respond.
I picked up tomorrow’s security schedule from the coffee table and forced myself to read through it.
There were two events, one delivery, and three new part-time staff members starting work.
When I reached the bottom, I realised I hadn’t taken in a single word.
I dropped the papers back onto the table, annoyed that I couldn’t keep my attention where it belonged.
Losing focus wasn’t something I did, whether I was working or sitting alone in my house.
It irritated me that a woman I didn’t even know had managed to distract me without trying.
My phone buzzed, pulling me back to the present.
The message was from Sean, my older brother.
Any trouble at the club today?
I replied with one word: Nothing.
It was the truth. There hadn’t been any fights. Nothing had happened that couldn’t be cleaned up before tomorrow. The club had run the way it was supposed to. That only made it harder to understand why one small accident had stayed with me long after everything else had faded.
I walked over to the window and looked out across the empty street.
The neighborhood had settled down hours ago.
The only movement came from a car disappearing around the corner.
My attention barely stayed on it because another detail pushed its way to the front of my mind.
When the waitress apologized, she didn’t look at my face first. She looked at my hands.
Most people watched a man’s face when they were trying to figure out what he was thinking, but the waitress’s eyes dropped to my hands before lifting to meet mine.
It wasn’t a normal reaction, and the more I replayed it in my mind, the less sense it made.
I rubbed the back of my neck, irritated that I was still thinking about the waitress whose name I didn’t even know, the waitress who’d only worked one shift, spilled a pitcher of beer on me, apologized enough for three people, and somehow managed to follow me without leaving the club.
I told myself that tomorrow night she would simply be another waitress carrying drinks across the floor, and this whole thing would finally disappear from my head.
Even as I turned off the lights and headed upstairs, I already knew those frightened brown eyes would find their way back into my thoughts before morning.
***
The club looked the same as the night before.
There was a line outside the entrance. People could hear the music every time the front doors opened.
Friday was over, and Saturday brought a different crowd with the same hopes.
When I walked inside, the staff were already moving fast, like they always did when it got busy.
I nodded at the two security guards at the entrance.
Then I walked the floor, checking each section like I always did.
The exits were clear. The emergency lights were working.
The bar staff were already struggling to keep up with the wave of drink orders.
Nothing seemed out of place, which was how I liked it.
Organized nights meant easy work, and easy work meant everyone went home safely.
I’d almost finished my walkthrough when I saw her.
She was carrying a tray of glasses to the bar.
She moved slowly, which stood out from everyone else.
The other servers rushed between tables whenever they could, but she moved carefully.
She waited for people to pass. She changed her path when someone stepped into her way.
She avoided brushing against customers even when the floor was crowded.
She hadn’t seen me yet. Her attention stayed on the tray until she reached the bar.
There was something different about seeing her from a distance.
Up close, I’d been too distracted by the spilled beer to notice much.
From here, I could see how her brown hair was pulled back loosely.
She had a soft, natural look, contrasting the polished appearance of most of the women in the club.
She put each glass down one at a time, then gave another order to the bartender.
I found myself watching her a little longer than I should have.
A loud laugh came from near the pool tables.
Two men were arguing over a game, and one of them had already had too much to drink.
I walked over before things got worse and reminded them that they could either calm down or leave.
They chose to calm down without complaint, but I stayed nearby for a while to make sure they meant it before I kept doing my rounds.
By the time I reached the other side of the room, the waitress had moved on.
She was taking an order from a couple near the windows. She wrote everything down, even though their requests were simple, and smiled politely before heading to the bar. It was efficient, but nothing she did seemed rushed even when everyone around her was moving fast.
I leaned against a pillar near the dancefloor, watching the room like I always did. My eyes found her again before I realized it.
She looked different when she wasn’t frightened. The tension on her face was gone, replaced by quiet concentration. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before turning toward the tables.
She changed direction a split second before a customer stumbled backward. She slipped past him without touching him. A minute later another server rushed through a narrow gap between tables. She stepped aside and waited until the path was clear before continuing.
Most people would call it politeness, but I wasn’t so sure.
It looked like someone who’d spent a lot of time learning how to stay out of other people’s way.
The thought settled in my mind as another burst of laughter rolled across the room.
A man near the bar raised his voice, complaining about the brand of whiskey.
The bartender handled him easily. I caught something I doubted anyone else did: the waitress paused.
It lasted less than a second. She waited a while before she kept walking like nothing had happened.
If I hadn’t been looking at her, I probably would have missed it.
Once I’d seen it, I couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened.
She’d never looked at the man, but she’d heard the change in his voice, measured it, and decided it wasn’t her problem before returning to work.
“You’ve been standing here longer than usual.”
I glanced sideways to find Paddy folding his arms. My attention drifted back across the room before I caught myself and looked away. “Table nine’s getting loud. Deal with it.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Are you avoiding the question?”
Before I could answer, one of the bartenders raised a hand from across the room, signaling that another customer had become argumentative.
I pushed myself away from the pillar and headed in that direction without another word, grateful for the interruption because it gave me something useful to focus on.
The rest of the night kept me so busy that I didn’t have much time to think.
Every now and then, my eyes found their way back to the waitress.
She never asked for attention, never tried to stand out, and never seemed aware that anyone was watching her. She simply did her job, blending into the movement of the club so naturally that most people probably forgot she was there the moment she walked away.
I should have done the same. Instead, I caught myself noticing her over and over before I turned my attention back to the crowd. The fact that I couldn’t seem to stop looking at her bothered me far more than it should have.
***