13. Luke
CHAPTER 13
Luke
“Can I get a Moscow mule, please?” a girl from across the counter asks.
How the fuck do I make a Moscow mule?
“One Moscow mule coming right up.” I give her a tight-lipped smile before going to the other end of the bar so I can Google what ingredients I’m going to have to put in her drink. Vodka, lime, ice, ginger beer. Should be easy enough.
What the fuck is ginger beer?
Before I can finish researching the difference between ginger beer and ginger ale on my phone, a text from Gigi comes through.
Gigi
Have fun at work. I miss you already.
A stupid grin forms on my face. God, I wish I could be with her all the time.
Miss you, too, Gi. Don’t wait up for me.
Guilt. That’s what I feel trying to claw out of my chest. But what else can I do? Gigi is twenty-four weeks pregnant. The babies are coming soon and I need to save up as much as I can, at least until we have a buyer for Grandma’s house or I have my degree. So when an opportunity presented itself in the form of a classmate telling me that his boss was looking for a new bartender, I jumped the gun.
Thanks to nepotism, here I am, working the night shift at The Wilted Flower, a college bar, during the Christmas season and wearing a sweatshirt with Santa Claus printed on it, no less.
Gigi is a little upset with my decision. She wants me to be at home more, telling me that I’m burning the candle at both ends, but it’s just this semester. Only for a financial cushion until A and B arrive.
Picture it, Luke. And don’t let anything ruin it.
“Here you go.” I place a napkin on the wooden counter and place my concoction on top of it, waiting patiently for the girl to take a sip so I can gauge her reaction. Call me stupid, but I have always been a teacher’s pet. I want to know whether I did good or bad.
“I’m Bridget,” she says instead of drinking my creation. Her blue eyes stare at my biceps before her gaze travels up to my face. Deciding she likes what she sees, she flashes me a smile.
“I’m Luke,” I introduce myself. “I’m married.”
Bridget tilts her head back a little as if she’s offended by what I said. She recovers quickly, though, and finally, after five long minutes, she drinks her Moscow mule. She didn’t gag; she likes it. Great job, Luke.
Satisfied with her reaction, I move to the group standing next to her—a bunch of guys who want a plate of fries and some beer. A no brainer, no Googling needed for this one.
“But you look so young!” Bridget comments when she sees me come back to bring the four bottles of craft beer. “How old are you?”
I chuckle. Is this what being a bartender is like? People talk to you all the fucking time? I wonder how long I’m going to last doing this job. I only have one spot in my life for a talkative girl, and it’s already filled by Gigi. “I just turned twenty-two.”
Seeing a group of girls on the other end of the bar, I thank myself for divine intervention and make my way there. Hopefully they’ll chat among themselves.
Thirty minutes into my shift, and I’m actually having fun. Some people try to flirt with me or give me googly eyes, but most just want to order their shit and be left alone. Good enough for me. Eighty percent of the customers choose to order shots or beer, something my beginner mind can actually do without breaking into a sweat.
I’m on my way to grab a vodka bottle when Bridget whatshername whines again. “You’re the same age as me! That’s so crazy.”
Jesus Christ. Imagine if I had told her that I married my stepsister. I don’t think I’d hear the end of it. Maybe I should tell her that. Give her creepy vibes so she’d stay away.
“Well, believe it, Bridget,” I deadpan as I turn my back toward her and search for two shot glasses on the shelf.
“Are you a Mormon?”
One of the fries and beer guys snorts while the other three shake their heads, chuckling. They all shoot me a sympathetic smile.
“Nope. Just married.”
“But it’s the twenty-first century! How can you be married?” The shrill of her voice is an indication of how wasted she is. She must have pregamed before she came here.
Sighing, I grab the side of the counter and stand in front of her. “Because I love my wife and we’re having twins. Now, do you need me to call you an Uber or something?”
Her jaw hangs open. Yes, Bridget. Look for someone else to hunt tonight, please. She doesn’t say anything anymore after I mention A and B. The hair swiping and googly eyes also stop. “I’ll text my friend,” she mutters.
Thank the fucking Lord.
Work is more bearable once Bridget shifts her attention to the guy that just came in. Unlike me, he reciprocates. From behind the cash register, I can hear them deep in conversation when another, unfortunately familiar, voice seeps in the room. I wince inwardly at the sound.
“Bridge, you ready?” Well, shit. She’s the friend.
“Hang on,” Bridget answers. “I still have to pay for this.” I feel a cold sweat dripping from my forehead because I know what comes next. “Luke! Luke! Can I get the bill, please?”
“Sure,” I answer Bridget, still standing somewhat far away from them. Tallying up her orders isn’t a hard task. It’s one fucking Moscow mule. I take my time, anyway. Nothing good ever comes out of seeing her. Definitely not here. After I take my sweet-ass time and have no other legitimate excuse to stall, I bring the white piece of paper to their end and slide it in front of Bridget.
“Hey, Autumn.”