Chapter 2 #2
I smile as I move onto the floor, leaving Candice, a student bartender, to tend the bar.
A voice breaks through the music, warm and familiar. Ms. Genene Halloway, always a ray of sunshine, snappy at times too. She’s sitting by the window like she always does, her silver and gold jewelry glinting in the low light.
“Hello, dear! How are you today?” she shouts over the music, thinking I can’t hear just fine
“Hey, Ms. Genene Halloway.” I greet her using her full name as she prefers it. She says it makes her sound more like a lady, which always makes me laugh.
“Everything’s good, just…getting by, you know?”
She gives me a knowing look. “Good, good. You deserve a little peace, sweetheart.” She taps my hand as it rests on the table.
She sips her Baileys coffee, leaning back with a thoughtful look on her face. Her gaze softens as she meets my eyes.
“You’re doing well, Vivian. Really well.” Then with a playful gleam in her eyes, she tilts her head toward the bar. “You know who else seems like he’s doing well?”
I follow her gaze toward Greg, who’s busy chatting up the same blonde from before, his usual cocky charm on full display. Genene’s bright pink nail points at him and she smirks.
“That handsome manager of yours.”
I hold back a laugh, shaking my head, trying to keep it together.
“Oh, Greg?” I scoff, waving the comment off. “We’re just really just good friends. Besides, you know how he feels about relationships.”
“Well, it’s a damn shame.” She sighs, shaking her head. “Think you two would make a great pair.” She smiles. She mentions this at least twice a week, poor lady just forgets the conversations she has with us in the bar.
I can’t help but laugh now.
“You’re one of a kind, Genene,” I say, shaking my head as I move to the next customer.
“Ah-ah, missy!” she shouts at me in a sassy tone, waving her finger side to side.
I turn around, tilting my head to the side and smirking at her. “Right. Ms. Genene Halloway.”
She nods and waves me off.
I reach the bar and decide to have a go at Greg.
I put on a straight face. “Chop, chop, there are customers to attend to, boss.” I grab a wet glass and drying rag.
“You’re on one tonight, aren’t ya?” His lips quiver as if he’s holding back a laugh.
“And so are you.” I raise an eyebrow and turn to the blonde.
She blushes, and he shakes his head.
“I’ll see you later then?” she asks, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear as she waits for Greg’s answer.
Come on, say yes.
He contemplates about his answer, rubbing his neck.
Oh my god, this guy.
“He’ll be there,” I spit out, then bite my lip, realizing what I’ve just done.
She smiles and walks back to her table with her redhead friend.
“Vivian, what the fuck?” he scolds me.
I bite my finger…maybe I crossed the line a little. He walks away and heads toward the other side of the bar.
I follow him. “Okay, that was wrong…but come on, Greg.” I’m trying to get his attention as he grabs glasses and places them into the dishwasher.
“I’m sorry. but you always reject them and—”
“Yeah. because I don’t have time.” he cuts me off, looking down at me before switching on the dishwasher.
“It’s just one night.”
He leans on the bar. I don’t understand why he’s like this. Surely, it’s more than just the fact he doesn’t have enough time for anything, even if it’s not serious.
He slicks his hair back and stands straight, looking down at me.
“Sorry. You’re right, Viv.”
I smile softly at him before he ruffles my hair like I’m some little kid.
I swat his hand away and fix my hair.
Sometimes it feels like we have a brother and sister relationship. Being the only child, he and Mindy are the closest thing I have to siblings.
“I’m going back out on the floor,” he says as he grabs two beers from the fridge and pops them open.
* * *
Greg finishes earlier than me tonight. He walked out with the blonde wrapped around his arm as her redhead friend got a cab.
It’s now after midnight, with just under one hour before closing.
I message Dad, my fingers tapping out the words on the screen. The reply comes within seconds.
There, on the screen, is a photo of Riley, peacefully asleep in her cozy bed, lying on her back with her stuffed bunny on her chest.
I send my dad a thank you message and let him know what time I’ll be home.
As I take a look around the bar, tucking my phone back in my pocket, I spot the sixty-year-old regulars—Tim and Ricky on the karaoke stage, belting out “You’re the One That I Want” from the classic movie Grease.
Their off-key singing has the whole bar cracking up, yet singing and cheering them on, and I can’t help but laugh along as they hilariously try to copy the iconic dance moves.
Despite the occasional fights and arguments that Greg’s had to break up, I genuinely do enjoy working here. Sure, the hours are horrible, but it keeps me distracted for a while, and the company isn’t bad at all.
Putting away cups on the shelf, I turn around to find a man walking toward the bar, his presence immediately draws my attention.
He’s wearing a brown cowboy hat pulled low over his face, the brim casting a shadow over his sharp features.
The plaid shirt he wears fits snugly over his broad shoulders, the white vest underneath stretching across his chest, outlining muscles honed by hard, relentless work.
I can tell by the way the shirt hugs his arms that he’s someone who spends more time with his hands gripping ropes and holding onto bucking bulls than anything else.
His athletic build is hard to ignore—big, strong, yet somehow graceful, like he’s always in control of his body.
But it’s that dangerous kind of handsome, the kind that says trouble follows him wherever he goes.
His brown hair, slightly tousled from his hat, gives him a rough edge, and the faint stubble on his jaw only adds to his roguish appeal.
“Hey, what can I get you?” I ask.
When he finally lifts his eyes to meet mine, my breath catches. His hazel eyes are sharp, intense. There’s a glint there that I recognize all too well, the cocky, self-assured gleam that makes every woman in the room take notice.
It’s Miles Sanchez.
The town’s famous bull rider. The one who’s made a career of breaking hearts as much as he breaks records.
And of course, Ms. Halloway, who’s sitting at the bar, catches sight of him, her eyes lighting up as she fans herself with her drink menu. Her attention already stolen by him, even though he’s about twenty-five years younger than her.
I’ve heard and seen enough to know that he’s nothing but trouble, though.
He sits on the bar stool directly in front of me as he removes his hat and places it on the stool next to him.
He’s even better looking in person but that doesn’t affect me, knowing his reputation.
“Tequila on the rocks, please, darlin’,” he says with a smooth drawl, leaning in just a bit too comfortably, slicking back his dark hair.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
Great, just what I need.