Chapter Eight #2
“I think, going forward, it would be best for everyone if I kept my distance.”
Cleo gasped and sheer panic flashed over her features. It was clear, she misunderstood.
“Not from you. From the club.” She squeezed Cleo’s hand. “I don’t want to leave yet but I also don’t want to upset them with my presence. I’ll make a conscious effort to steer clear of them and out of their way.”
“But we’ll still hang out?”
Addison smiled. “Absolutely!”
She’d do her part and keep her distance while she was in town. It would be best for all of them.
Cleo excused herself and went to the bathroom as the owner, Barry, walked out from the back door. He was looking around when his eyes locked on her. She smiled, which wasn’t returned. He rounded the bar, stopping directly in front of her with a less than welcoming stare.
“Cross know you’re here?”
Cross? Jesus Christ, I can’t get away from this man.
She blinked and slightly flinched. It was an odd question. Had she somehow been blackballed from all the establishments in and around Killcreek? It was a far-fetched idea but not unbelievable.
“What do you mean?”
“Does he fucking know you’re here or do I have to call him?”
Call him?
“Why would you have to call him?”
Barry slapped his good hand on the counter and let out an exasperated sigh.
“’Cause the last time you came in and left, he said to call him if you show up again.”
Really? Her last time was her first time at the bar. Before he knew who Addison was and willingly flirted with her. Her stomach flipped, and her blood heated. It seemed Cross had been interested in knowing her identity and possibly seeing her again. Why can’t we go back to that?
“Well?” The vein in his forehead protruded, and his face turned red. “Do I?”
Barry needed to work on, not only his customer service skills, but his patience.
“I saw Cross the other day, so no need to call him. He knows I’m here.” And he hates it. She kept the last part to herself and smiled.
Barry narrowed his gaze, nodding. “Alright, good. The last call I want to make is to that moody fucker.”
Addison snickered. It was a good description and quite ballsy of Barry to verbalize. I’m going to have a little fun with that.
“Does Cross know that’s your pet name for him?”
Barry froze and side-eyed her. I’ll take that as a no.
“Your secret is safe with me.” She winked.
Barry narrowed his gaze and watched her as he walked to the other end of the bar. The stool next to her shifted as Cleo sat down.
“You guys want another round?” Mandee asked.
Addison shared a look with Cleo who eagerly nodded. When she turned back to Mandee, she parted her lips to respond but was quickly interrupted.
“How about me? I’ve been waiting for the last ten minutes!” the older man across the bar shouted.
Mandee sighed. “What was it that you wanted?”
“Jesus.” He stretched his speech for a dramatic effect and evoked snickers from both her and Cleo.
“An old-fashioned,” he said.
Mandee snapped her fingers and walked over to the wall of liquor. “Right.”
It was always interesting watching others in her field do the job.
However, it quickly became obvious, this wasn’t Mandee’s profession.
She wasn’t a seasoned bartender. In fact, this might be her first day.
It was almost painful to watch, and Addison had to clamp her lips several times to keep from offering some assistance.
It’s not my place. Mandee had the bottles of alcohol pulled down with a key ingredient missing.
As she mixed the drink, Addison internally cringed at the incorrect measurements of alcohol.
I hope you like it strong, buddy. It was hard not to pass judgement.
The girl wiped the glass as if she was about to serve it. Addison couldn’t hold back any longer.
“You forgot the simple syrup.”
She knitted her brows, glancing down at the glass. “The what?”
“The simple syrup. It’s an intricate part of an old fashioned. It gives it a rich sweetness, and balances out the whiskey.”
“Oh, okay.” Mandee scanned the shelf, passing over the bottle. Twice. At this rate, the man would be waiting another hour for his drink.
“The red topped plastic squeeze bottle on your right.”
The girl laughed. “I’m not a bartender.”
No shit.
“Barry’s making me work up front since he broke his hand. Shaking my ass and flashing my tits is way easier than this. How am I supposed to remember everything?”
Cleo leaned closer. “She’s a dancer.”
Yeah, I got that, Cleo.
Addison widened her eyes watching her squirt a generous amount of the syrup into the glass. Mandee didn’t even bother mixing it before presenting it to the customer.
This should be interesting.
The man lifted the glass, sipping and immediately twisted his lips. For a brief second, she thought he might spit it out. He sent a seething glare at the woman. Mandee was completely clueless.
“What do you think? Good?”
“Barry!” the man shouted. “This tastes like shit.”
The owner walked over, shifting his scowl between the customer and Mandee.
“I followed the recipe,” she shrugged. “I think.”
Barry’s jaw squared and his gaze narrowed. This man really needed to work on his patience. She sensed a berating coming and wouldn’t allow it.
“It’s not an easy drink to make,” Addison said, gaining everyone’s attention. “Portion control is key and you added a little too much simple syrup.”
Barry whipped his head and tossed the rag on the counter. “You think you can do better?”
“I know I can.”
“She’s a bartender. A really good one,” Cleo said with so much pride, as if she performed brain surgery daily. Cleo was not only good for the soul but her ego.
Barry scoffed. “Then let’s fucking see it.”
Challenge accepted.
She got up, walked around the bar, and gathered everything she needed.
It had been a long time since she’d worked in a dive bar.
Surprisingly, she kind of enjoyed it. Once the drink was complete, she added the cherry, gave it a quick stir, and placed the glass in front of the man.
It barely hit the counter before he was sipping it.
His face said it all, but she appreciated the verbal praise.
“Now, that’s how you make an old-fashioned.” He winked at Addison and continued to take another sip.
She rounded the bar and took a seat. All the while, Barry stared at her as if he didn’t know what to make of her.
“You got a lot of experience behind the bar?”
“She’s been a bartender for years,” Cleo blurted, earning a scowl from Barry.
“I wasn’t asking you,” he snapped.
Back the fuck up, Barry.
“Well, you might as well have, because she knows. I have been a bartender for years and worked at several bars. It’s not a job for me, it’s a career, and I’m damn good at it.
” She arched her brow. “And for future reference, Cleo can answer for me without getting attitude. Does that answer your question, Barry?”
He straightened. If she had to guess, he wasn’t accustomed to women talking back to him. And he certainly doesn’t like it. Addison grinned.
“You’re hired.”
What? She didn’t get the chance to verbalize her shock. Cleo did it for her.
“What?”
Barry lifted his cast. “Can’t work the bar without both hands. Need someone to fill in for me, and apparently” —the sarcasm was hard to miss as he pointed to Mandee— “I ain’t got anyone capable.” He looked back at Addison. “So you’re hired.”
What the hell is happening?
“She doesn’t live here, Barry. She’s just visiting,” Cleo said.
“How long?”
This was one question Cleo couldn’t answer. She’d been vague with her timeline. Until now.
“I’m in town for the next three and a half weeks.”
Cleo gasped and grabbed her arm. “You are?” Her voice hitched, and her excitement was evident.
“Yes.” Addison smiled, and Cleo tightened her grip.
“That’s so great!”
“Well, that’s fucking perfect because I only need your ass for three weeks until” —he lifted his casted arm— “this thing comes off.”
This had to be one of the most bizarre experiences of her life.
“You don’t even know me.”
“You can make an old-fashioned. That’s all I need to fucking know. A hundred a shift.”
“But…” Cleo piped up. “Not too many shifts because she’s here on vacation.”
It was surreal watching this conversation unfold centered around her, and she’d barely spoken a word. They were negotiating her employment. So bizarre. Cleo was taking her spokesperson role very seriously.
Barry rolled his eyes. “Four shifts a week. I’ll pay her under the table.”
Cleo rested her arms on the bar. “How long is the shift?”
Addison muffled her chuckle and glanced up at Barry.
“Eight to closing.”
Six hours. Not bad. She’d saved up before the trip to Killcreek, but this would allow her to make some extra cash.
It wasn’t a bad gig. Cleo had her own life with things to do.
Their earlier conversation proved that Cleo was making her a priority.
This would alleviate the pressure if Addison wasn’t always available.
Why shouldn’t she take it? It was a win-win for everyone. Except for…
“One fifty,” Addison countered.
Barry’s face shaded to red, and his nostrils flared. He leaned over the bar. It was an intimidation tactic that may’ve worked on some people. Not me. She’d been a bartender too long and dealt with unhappy, overgrown-man children more times than she could count.
“That’s highway fucking robbery. How the hell do I even know if you’re any good?”
The man at the bar finishing his drink lifted his glass. “She’s good.”
Addison smiled and winked at the old man before turning her attention back to Barry.
“You can take his word for it. Or don’t.
Not going to affect me much, but I’m thinking it will affect your customers, and in turn, your income.
Said it yourself. You don’t have anyone to fill in for you.
” She popped an onion ring in her mouth and stared back at Barry as his glare hardened.
“It’s only highway robbery if you can find someone to do it for cheaper. Can you?”