1. Lisa #2
I hear the concern in her voice and attempt not to roll my eyes.
I bartended for a year in college when I first turned twenty-one, but despite being the one to hire me, that seems to slip Julia’s mind every time someone orders something more complex than a K?lsch or a Pilsner.
I’m still new-ish, so my guess is she’ll hover until she finally decides I’m competent.
“An old fashioned topped with hot water? Solid choice in this weather.” I pick up a towel and throw it over my shoulder, shooting Julia a smile. “Not a problem.”
She grins at me. “Good deal. And, Lisa?”
“Yeah?”
“You look hot tonight. I hope you get a ton of tips.”
I flush. “It’s a Thursday night.”
“Yeah, and? Plenty of people get drunk on a Thursday night.” She flicks her apron string at me. “Like me, when I’m not working. You’re always welcome to join.”
I snort, but shoot her a smile. Getting close to people in this new life feels like opening a door to the past I haven’t yet allowed myself to face.
I worry they’ll see those scars it left.
But…I do want to make friends, so desperately it aches.
I appreciate her nudging that door open when I’m too scared to do it myself.
I shift to lift four whiskey glasses from beneath the bartop, lining them up for muddling and pouring.
Despite Julia’s conviction that Thursday night is prime drinking time, it’s still early, so the bar is relatively slow.
There are only a few people seated at the bar, while most opt for actual bench seating to eat dinner.
I locate the group Julia motioned toward, seated at a bench across the bar, and freeze as recognition floods me. It’s the group from the elevator earlier.
As I wait for the water to heat up, I take a moment to really study them.
They’re still wearing their hoodies from earlier, and their hats, too – a mixture of the same leopard logo, and some hockey brand I’m only vaguely aware of.
Mustache Man is gesturing wildly, which draws a whoop from the rest of the group.
The one who mocked him earlier – a shorter, red-haired guy with freckles splattered across his cheeks – punches his shoulder in response, and the two across the bench tilt their heads back to laugh.
The booming sound of their laughter reaches me even over the noise of the TVs and other chatter from the bar.
When it dies down, Mustache Man and the red-haired guy lean their heads in, clearly deep in discussion.
Across the table, the blond one turns to his side, saying something to the tall man Winston took a liking to.
The man swivels to face his fair-haired friend as he replies, giving me a clear view of his face.
He tilts his head as he listens to whatever his friend has to say, his dark hair toppling over his forehead.
His full lips twist into an amused smile, white teeth gleaming stark against the dark shadow of a beard beginning, as if he hasn’t shaved for a few days.
His intense, amused dark eyes gleam as he glances up, his gaze landing –
Directly on me.
Oh, crap.
For some bizarre reason, I’m tempted to duck behind the bar, as if I wouldn't have to resurface seconds later. I catch myself just in time and force a shaky smile before spinning around, eyes squeezed shut. It’s been years since I’ve had a reaction like that to a man.
Was I really just gawking at him, a complete stranger, like that? The thought leaves me unsettled.
Focus. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
I take a deep breath and move to get the hot water, forcibly turning my gaze so that the only person I stare at is Julia as I silently encourage her to come get the old fashioneds.
When she reaches me, she grins. “Aren’t they cute? If I were single, I’d be all over that.”
I follow her gaze to the bench where the four men are sitting, then look away quickly as I see the tall man still looking curiously at us. The air leaves my lungs under the weight of his gaze. First my bizarre behavior in the elevator, and now this? I can only imagine what he must think of me.
“What’s that team on their hoodies?” I ask.
“Shit, girl. You really did just move here.” Julia tsks. “That’s the Lakewood Leopards. They’re the local AHL team.”
“AHL?”
“American Hockey League. Basically, the professional developmental league. A lot of these guys will end up playing in the show someday.”
“The show?”
“The major leagues. As in, the NHL?” She blinks, clearly surprised by my lack of knowledge.
I can’t blame her; what I do know about Minnesota is that it’s the State of Hockey.
As a native Minnesotan, I’m sure hockey is in her blood.
Hell, it’s probably taught in the school curriculum. “The AHL is the step right under that.”
I raise my brows. “Oh, wow. So they must be like… really good.”
“Really good?” Julia laughs. “Try, some of the best there are.” She shifts the old fashioneds so that she can carry all four in her grasp.
“I don’t know why they choose to come here; we usually just get grumpy old men.
But they seem to like the food and the drinks, because they’re here pretty regularly.
I’m not mad about it – they tip well, and they’re certainly not bad to look at. ”
She walks away with a wink, and I’m left with nothing in my hands and no one to talk to, opening my mind up to a flurry of thoughts.
I’ve seen them twice in one day, now. Does that mean all of them live in my apartment building? If they’re in line to play in the NHL, does that mean they’re important enough to be famous? My stomach plummets at the thought that they could bring media attention near me.
I moved here to escape notice. I want to become a nobody, not be surrounded by somebodies.
I don’t care what Julia says about their tips and their looks. I just hope I’ll never run into them again.