11. Dee
Chapter eleven
Dee
I’m wiping down the bar, maybe ten minutes from finishing closing duties, when Dylan approaches, leaning his elbows on the still sticky countertop.
“How did things go tonight?” he asks. It’s my third shift this week and no one is more shocked than me to admit it’s going well. Well, better than my last job at least.
“I made better tips tonight than in a week at the last bar. Next package of cookies is on me.”
“Yeah,” he agrees with a laugh. “I saw Sandy and her friends in here earlier. They always tip heavily.”
I start capping the liquor bottles. “I fucking love a woman who knows how to tip.”
“She was a bartender at the Bridge when it opened. She’s retired now but always comes to the first show of the month, so you can expect to see her again.”
“What if she hates the band?” I ask.
“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugs. “She says she needs to keep up on the music trends.”
“So…the EDM concert next month?”
He smirks. “She’ll be here. Ask her to show you her outfit the next time you see her. It’s lime green and neon orange.”
My jaw hangs open before a smile explodes on my face. “I want to be her when I grow up.”
“Great pick for a role model,” he says sincerely. Then shudders. “The two of you could take over the country, I’m sure of it.”
“And the world would be better for it.” We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes while Dylan sits on one of the bar stools, boots up his computer, and starts working while I finish washing the remaining glasses in the three-bin washing station.
We’ve been carpooling to work since it would make zero sense to drive separately.
“I can’t believe the wedding is next month,” he says almost absently, scrolling through his phone.
“I know. Feels like just yesterday I was yelling at Bec about how Aiden didn’t deserve her.”
“You did not.”
“I sure as fuck did.” I wave my hand around, dismissing the thought. “But it turns out Bec was just being insecure and Aiden was already obsessed with her. So, it’s a good thing I didn’t key his car like Carissa and I were planning.”
“Remind me not to piss you off,” he mutters, returning his attention to his laptop.
“I wouldn’t key your car.” He breathes a sigh of relief, but it’s short-lived because I can’t help myself. I lean over the bar, waiting for his eyes to find mine. “We’re roommates now. I could do much worse things to you.”
“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to threaten your coworkers.”
“Pretty sure you know better than to provoke me.”
“You’re impossible.” He shakes his head. “So, who are you bringing to the wedding?”
“Ha!” He looks up, forehead wrinkled with confusion while he waits for me to go on.
“I don’t do wedding dates. Especially not at my best babe’s wedding.
Plus, I’m in the wedding. Do you know how out of place a date would feel attending the wedding with someone who’s in the wedding when they’ve never met the bride and groom? No. Significant others only.”
“Suit yourself,” he mutters, closing his laptop.
“Why? Who are you bringing?”
“Not sure yet,” he admits. “But I’d rather not be the only groomsman without a date.”
“Aw, feeling left out,” I tease.
He shrugs again, avoiding eye contact as he stuffs his computer into his bag.
“Oh my god, you really are feeling left out.” The shock hits me like a brick. When Dylan mentioned being in a dry spell, I assumed it didn’t bother him. He seemed perfectly fine focusing on his career. I didn’t realize this wasn’t by choice.
“It’s not a big deal. I just didn’t picture all of my friends getting married before me and me being the pity invite for the rest of my thirties.”
“Didn’t you just turn thirty this summer? The rest of your thirties is ten years. Feels a little early to be resigning ourselves to the single forever crowd. Besides, I hear our 40s should be even better.”
He slides his palm over his face. “I should just admit defeat. Go solo.”
“What happened on your last date? Maybe reach out to them,” I suggest. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“That was four months ago, and like I said before, it was fine. Just fine. Now I’m stuck in dating app hell. Haven’t had a single conversation develop into a date since then.”
“But you work here.” I spread my arms wide and glance around the expansive, empty concert space. “You’re telling me you don’t meet women at the events here?”
“I’m focused on working when I’m here.”
“Okay, Mr. Employee of the Month, understood. Zero flirting on the clock. But just so you know, if you followed that rule behind the bar, you’d make diddly squat in tips.
” I’m not sure he appreciates the lecture, but with his bummed-out expression, I figure he needs a push.
Unfortunately for him, my version of a push includes a heavy dose of mocking, sarcasm, and potentially too-honest opinions.
“Is that what you do?” he asks. “Because I swear I heard you bullying those newly twenty-one-year-olds I saw in here earlier.” He doesn’t sound mad like I figured he would. He leans back in the bar stool, crossing his arms over his chest, amused.
“That was flirting! They wanted me to be mean.” He rolls his eyes, and I lean over the bar, pointing my finger in his face, wet from washing dishes, splashing his cheek with the movement.
“Men might act like they want a nice bartender, but they tip better when I’m a bitch.
Don’t ask me to explain the science there.
” I finish washing the last glass and dry my hands off on a dish towel.
“Why don’t I help you find a date? Give me your phone.
Let me swipe.” I hold out my palm expectantly.
His grip tightens on the device, and he stares at me. “No.”
“You scared?” I lift my brows. God, baiting him is my favorite hobby.
“Of giving you control over my online dating profile? Uh, yeah, Dee. I think scared would be putting it mildly.”
“You said you need help, yet here I am offering my talents, and here you are acting like I’m going to sabotage you.”
He sighs deeply before unlocking his phone. He opens the same dating app I typically use, then hands it to me. I scan his profile and, without moving my head, lift my gaze to his.
“What the fuck is this, Dylan?”
“Is that a trick question?” he asks, seemingly bewildered.
“You have next to no information here. You don’t even have a picture uploaded. Are you sure you even want to date? This is worse than I thought. If you want my help, I’m going to need compensation for my time.”
He’s quiet for a second before he counters. “Okay, I’m in.”
“What do you mean you’re in?”
“I’ll help you find a date to the wedding, and you’ll help me do the same. Consider that your compensation.”
“Nope. No way. I’m out. I’m so far out.” I try to hand his phone back to him, but he doesn’t move an inch.
“I told you, I don’t need a date to the wedding.
” I place his phone on the countertop and gently slide it toward him.
If I’m not careful, it might detonate and turn into an awful date with halitosis and a need to mansplain.
“Then how would you like me to repay you?”
I purse my lips. “Apartment dish duty. For forever.”
“I already do that, even though I seem to remember a deal being made between us…someone cooks, the other one cleans?”
“Hm…must have slipped my mind. Oh well.” He rolls his eyes.
“Fine, I’ll play along,” I say, giving in.
“You can try to find me a date, but bear in mind that I have incredibly high standards, and even if I like him or her, I most likely won’t invite them to the wedding.
They’d have to be super fucking cool for me to even consider it, and they can’t be in any group pictures.
That’s the kiss of death for any new relationship. ”
He ponders that for a moment before agreeing. “Deal.”
We shake hands, but before he can pull away, I grip his hand tighter and tug hard, bringing us closer together. I lock eyes with him. “Bet I’ll find someone better than you do.”
“Why does it have to be a competition?”
“Why be boring when we could be enemies?
“You’re on. What’s your type?”
I start ticking them off on my fingers. “Blond.”
“So…me,” he says confidently.
I tick off another finger. “Doesn’t annoy me…”
He shrugs. “Okay, so, not me.” He leans forward, whispering, “You know…it might be a bit premature to rule out everyone who annoys you. From my experience, that’s most of the population.”
“Just because you’re included in the group doesn’t mean it’s the bigger group.”
“Ouch.” He slaps a hand over his heart. As if I could ever wound him. I roll my eyes. “Okay, if all you’ll give me is hair color and the impossible feat of not annoying you, we’re moving on. What’s the dream date?”
“April twenty-fifth,” I reply with zero hesitation, pulling the plugs from the drains of the washing bins.
He doesn’t move an inch except for the lift of a brow.
“Oh come on,” I groan. “Not a Miss Congeniality fan?”
“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Your loss,” I say. “Let’s cut the theatrics, Dylan. I’m dating in my late twenties. If the person shows up and can hold up their end of the conversation without being a creep, then it’s a dream come true.”
“Yikes. It’s been that bad for you too?”
“Like I said, it’s been a long year and a half.
” I begin placing the clean glasses into the freezer to chill for tomorrow.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex.
Even longer since my last relationship. Christina and I broke up four years ago, and nothing’s extended beyond a third date ever since.
“But hey, with Daddy Dylan behind the wheel of my dating life, I can rest easy, right?”
He scoffs. “You don’t seem worried at all about finding me a date.”
“Uh…because I’m not. I have impeccable taste when it comes to other people. It’s my own dating life that’s a shit show.”
“You just told me you tried to convince Bec to break up with Aiden.”
“Nah-ah-ah.” I hold up my hand to stop him. “I simply offered the very reasonable solution of keying his expensive-ass car if he hurt her.”
The look he gives me doesn’t exactly scream surprised. I guess not much I do can surprise him anymore.
“What?” I ask defensively. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll offer the same to you. But your date will be so phenomenal, all you’ll be able to do is sing my praises and worship at my feet for ending your dry spell so magnificently. There’ll be no need for vandalism.”
He bites his lips and I can tell he’s fighting it. He doesn’t want to give me the satisfaction of a smile.
“Sounds like we have a better chance of ending up in jail than getting dates for this wedding.”
I’ve finished all of my closing duties, so I grab my jacket and purse, circling around the bar as he stands. I slap a hand on his shoulder and lean in to whisper, “Because we do.”