Chapter Eight

Julia

IT'S RARE I WORK A truly busy night at Callistro's Bar and Grill. I'm still technically the new bartender and the two existing ones have established their own schedules. But every once in a while, like tonight, I score a Friday closing shift for one reason or another. The restaurant is abuzz with activity. Finals week is officially over and it seems that everyone is in a celebratory mood. The dining room full, patrons opt to sit in the bar area, which includes half a dozen, circular tables skirting the bar.

"If one more person asks me where the C in my name went...," Derik says from beside me, his threat hanging in the way he trails off.

I'm focused on punching in an order on the screen. His nametag isn't what gets him attention; it's his faint, but still discernible, German accent, prompting customers to ask where he's from. Inevitably, what follows is an array of questions that derail his mission to serve the other intoxicated people demanding more alcohol as though it's time sensitive medication.

"I don't understand why I get all the chatterboxes and you don't."

"It's your eyebrows," I offer. "You've got friendly eyebrows." 

They do have that upward tilt, as if he's about to ask a question. Derik's tall and lanky, his kind face inviting of conversation with strangers.

He shoots me a sideways look and grabs a pair of glasses from under the bar. I get busy making a few drinks, Derik and I work around each other like synchronized swimmers despite the area behind the bar being relatively small.

"Jules?"

I freeze at the sound of the nickname that no one here calls me. Three guys settle in at the bar, only one of them I recognize.

"Steven." His name comes out in choked surprised. And while he's smiling widely, I can't pretend I'm even remotely happy to see him.

I don't like Steven Franklin. Never have. He's Andrew's best friend, but I've always seen him as a snake. And now this snake slithered all the way from Newport Beach in Orange County to my restaurant, in University Village, San Diego. What are the fucking odds?

"Well, well. What a surprise. I heard you moved down here." His slimy gaze drags down my body, a faint smile still on his lips. 

The other two guys are standing near him, no room for them to sit. They are caught up in their own conversation, but Steven slaps one of their arms and nods to me. The guy turns distractedly, thick eyebrows raised in question, until he focuses on me with a sense of recognition. I've never seen this guy before. Ever. But he's seen me. My stomach tightens because I know the most likely way that could be the case.

"Remember her?" Steven asks.

The guy looks a hair embarrassed by the question, scratching his nose before nodding.

"Can we get three beers, dark ale, whatever you have on tap?" the third guy asks, obviously oblivious.

I turn and grab the glasses, dreading the fact that the beer taps are on their side of the bar. From my peripheral, I watch as Steven leans into the third guy and says something in his ear. 

"Get the fuck out of here," the guy says. "Show me."

My fingers grow numb and I nearly drop the first glass of beer as I set it on the counter in front of them. I rush to fill the other two glasses, wanting desperately to abandon this side of the bar for a few seconds so that I can gather myself again. But when I set the rest of their drinks down, not one of them looks at me. Steven has pulled out his phone and they are huddled around it. Even through the clinking of glasses and silverware, the hum of chatter and laughter, the sound coming from his phone speakers reaches me. 

Moaning. Me moaning. 

The sounds trail from Steven's phone speakers and wrap around my neck, squeezing hard until I can't breathe. I should snatch the phone from him. I should slam it straight into his face and crush his nose underneath it. But what floods me isn't the anger I need to do just that. It's mortification so potent it plants me to the spot. Like the tiled floors have sprouted roots that bind me all the way up to my knees. All the while the room seems to swell, then churn, fixing my focus to the three guys in front of me, watching, with wide-eyed fascination as I lose my virginity to a camera I had no idea was sitting on a bookshelf.

My lips part as I try to speak and my eyes burn furiously as I hear my ex-boyfriend, calling me sweetheart and urging me along.

"Julia?" Lex's voice pulls me back, bringing with it all the noises around me.

Concern etched on her face, she follows the spot my gaze just left, and the male groans must reach her too, because her reaction is immediate, snatching the phone from Steven's grip. 

"Are you watching por--" She cuts off when she catches sight of the screen. Jaw suddenly lax, she glares at the three guys. Then without breaking eye contact with Steven, she says to me, "Julia, we need you in the back. Go."

My legs move again, on their own, as I make a beeline for the kitchen doors and rush past Derik, furious with myself for the hot tears now rolling down my cheeks.