WREN

“Can I get three Creature Comforts beers and one Red Brick Hoplanta?” a guy in a polo shirt and khaki shorts asks me over the rock playlist.

In the midst of hastily making two previous drink orders I nod, “You got it!” and push myself to move faster. I love Friday night shifts, because there’s nothing else I think about except this when I’m working. It’s like meditation. My mind is two steps ahead and doesn’t have time to wallow, wondering why the movie I saw with Peter yesterday wasn’t followed by dinner and sex. We just went home separately. Too fucking weird.

While I slam empty mugs on the drip tray I’m planning ahead how I’ll scoop ice into two bucket glasses, reach behind me to the bottom shelf for the rum. As soon as I’m done, I’m already grabbing the simple syrup, pouring the perfect amount so the cocktail is balanced, then flashing to flip the colorful faucet handles the craft beer companies provided to advertise what we have on tap, so that the mugs don’t overflow. Handing them off, I garnish the cocktails and flip around to the fridge where I grab bottles, fish the opener from the chain in my pocket, and pop their tops off, caps flying to be picked out of the holes in the rubber floor-mats later.

All of this happens in mere seconds. Most patrons are impressed, but some will never be. I don’t do it for them. I do it for me. If I’m going to be a bartender for a living, I’m going to be the best damn bartender you have ever seen.

Mike is the same way.

That’s why we’re a good team.

Glancing over when I hear my name I see him jerking his chin up. “Toss me the blue curaçao!”

Flashing to grab it off the bottom shelf behind me, I hook my index finger around the top of the bottle and fling it to him. He snatches it from the air and I tell the guys who order the beer. “Need a card to keep the tab open.” To the girls who wanted a second round of mojitos I confirm, “And you I’ve got under Bennett, right?”

The sultry brunette nods, “Wow you’re so quick!”

On a proud grin I say, “Thanks! Enjoy your drinks,” snatching up their empty glasses to give the new ones room.

But she doesn’t budge. “Aren’t you the girl who had sex with Eric Cocker in the bathroom?”

The glasses go crashing to the floor. Every time you break something, heads turn. Our bar-back comes running and Mike locks eyes with me because we don’t have time to clean up shards right now.

“It get in the ice?” he shouts over the noise.

“No, I just picked them up. Hadn’t gotten there yet.”

“Thank God.”

To Bitch Bennett I grumble, “Wow, you really said that out loud didn’t you? That takes some balls.” There’s a snotty challenge in her eyes, so I retrieve their drinks. “Get the hell out of here.”

Furious and entitled she barks, “You can’t kick me out!”

“Hell I can’t!” Pointing to the sign I read it aloud. “We reserve the right to not serve idiots.” I tilt my head. “See that?” I slam her credit card on the counter. “That’s you. Now leave.”

Her eyes flash and she announces to her two girlfriends and anyone else who’s listening, “She’s kicking us out because she had sex here with Eric Cocker in a public restroom, and I called her on it!”

Oh.

My.

Fuck.

No.

Way.

In.

Hell.

Am.

I.

Letting.

This.

Bitch.

Ruin.

My.

Reputation.

Scooping a fistful of ice in my hand I climb up and over the bar, grab her shirt, pull it open and drop every cube down in there. She yelps, long fingernails snapping to attention before she claws the tucked part out, dropping the ice to the gooey floor.

But I’m not done yet.

I stand on the bar, clapping my hands as loud and slow as I can, demanding attention. “EVERYONE LISTEN UP.” Mike turns off the music. The place goes quiet. “Alright, who here thinks I had sex with Eric Cocker in the woman’s bathroom?”

Almost everyone raises their hands

I should be surprised but I’m not.

Atlanta is the biggest small town around.

I’m pissed. “Just so we’re clear I never touched the man. I have a boyfriend. It may have looked like something went down and I’m sure ya’ll would love to believe it did since he’s got one hell of a reputation! But mine is solid. We clear? No, don’t start mumbling. I’m telling the truth. You know what, he’s not even that attractive!”

Oof.

Didn’t mean to say that.

I was reaching for straws.

The crowd instantly boos and shouts that I’m crazy.

Eric steps onto a bar stool by the heavily used dart board, landing his other foot on a table thick with glasses. “Okay, I would like to defend myself here!”

“Oh no,” I mumble to myself, horrified. I’ve never seen him here at night, and on a Friday when he has a game this weekend.

Everyone stares at him, some glancing to me for my reaction.

Eric holds up his arms and announces, “I am hot as fuck!”

The crowd goes nuts, laughing and applauding.

With an announcer voice like he’s at a circus, he flexes his biceps in a tight, solid navy blue t-shirt. “Are these not the sexiest biceps you have ever seen promoted without any modesty what-so-ever?”

More laughter, the cheers riotous.

“The left one’s better!” some guy calls through cupped hands.

Acting shocked Eric throws his forefinger in the air. “I better get to work on that!”

“You’re gorgeous!” a girl yells at him.

“Thank you, Melanie, you should know. You cut my hair.”

“That’s right, and I do a damn good job!”

I have two choices.

Hide.

Or fight back.

Stamping my foot on the bar I command his attention, and wipe my hands like I’m ready for the battle. Mimicking his circus announcer style I say, “Atlanta, I stand corrected. I had not noticed before but now I can see that his muscles have been carved to perfection, have they not?”

The girls go nuts, all for his benefit.

Eric raises an eyebrow, eyes dancing as he waits to see my angle.

“And admired they have been by as many as half the females in this room, I’d wager to guess. Ladies who here has seen this man’s muscle….naked?”

I left the ’s’ out on purpose and Eric cracks up as about twenty girls hoot, some doing wolf whistles.

He spreads his arms wide. “Lucky ladies all!”

Fighting back a grin of my own I shoot my finger high in the air. “So sayeth the man himself. But let us ask the women how they feel?”

They go so crazy, cheering and hooting, so much so that more than a few boyfriends glance down, eyeballing them with shut-the-fuck-up looks.

Bowing slightly I say, “So I concede, Sir Cocky, that you are indeed as attractive as you think you are.”

A cacophony of appreciation from the males in the crowd for my slamming him with my wit.

Breathing on his knuckles Eric wipes them on his chest in a dramatic fashion. “Thank God that’s settled.” People laugh. He ramps it up a notch, “I mean as long as we’re clear that I’m hot as fuck, I can now sleep at night and take our team to the fucking Super Bowl!”

Oh shit.

The bastard got the men back on his side.

Everyone cheers for him and just him.

He laughs, and motions for quiet. “Seriously though guys, let’s drop the rumors. Wren and I did not fuck. She’s faithful, and she shot me down. That’s the truth, and if I hear any gossip otherwise, you’ll answer to me. I’m not joking around now. It’s done. It’s bullshit. Bury it and move on.”

A bar filled with people hungering for drama, and a good time, don’t know what to do with a raw-honesty moment like this. There’s lots of shuffling and muttering.

Eric cocks an eyebrow, his voice deepening. “We done with the shaming? The bullying? We done?”

That gets them.

Everyone nods.

Taken aback, and feeling vulnerable now, I start to climb down, motioning to Mike to turn the music back on in a hurry.

But Eric calls out with a fresh smile, “And one more thing—if she wanted to fuck, I’d be totally open to it.”

Everyone goes nuts again, relieved with his levity, laughing and releasing all that unwanted tension.

I jump onto the rubber mat and wipe my hands on my jeans, knowing the rumor has been sufficiently slaughtered, and I’m safe. Not only that, but Eric went out of his way to help me, and that feels damn good. Like I’ve been vindicated.

The Bennett girl says, “Wren?”

I look over, stilled by the genuineness shining from guilty eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I was jealous.”

Her friends are dumbfounded, staring at her, eyes flitting to me.

I offer my hand and she shakes it.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to leave. Thank you for apologizing.”

She nods, accepts my cocktails that I retrieve and extend to her. They head away as a group, mood completely altered.

The guy who ordered the Creature Comforts and Red Brick, mutters, “Two most powerful words you can ever say.”

His friend asks, “What’s that?”

“I’m sorry.”