~ Emma
Nick stares at me as I try to decide what to do. Try and decipher what his words mean.
You can talk to me.
What would we even talk about? I’m not much of a talker and besides, he’s busy running the bar and serving customers. Why would he possibly want the distraction of a lonely, exhausted girl that he feels compelled to talk to?
Just as I’m about to thank him and go, he turns so he’s fully facing me. I watch as he puts his hands on the bar, leans forward and looks me square in the eye.
“Will sitting at home alone make this any better?” he asks, his words so quiet, I barely hear them.
I swallow, knowing he’s both right and wrong. I wouldn’t be alone, not entirely. Owen’s there and even though I’m sure his boyfriend Will was coming over, I know they’d let me hang out with them if that’s what I wanted. But at the same time, I would still be alone, because it would be them and me. Always the third wheel, always alone. And for some reason, tonight I don’t want that. Not after everything that’s happened.
So I nod, trying not to think about what this means as I remove my coat and sit back down, finally lifting my eyes as I reach for the new beer he’s put in front of me. When I do, I catch Nick staring at me, staring at my bare shoulder, captivated by whatever it is he thinks he sees there. It’s unnerving; the way he’s looking at me, and it’s only the sound of smashing glass that brings him out of his trance. Turning, he glances down the bar to the group of guys at the end, the broken glass that now litters the top of the bar.
“I’ll be back,” he says, glancing quickly back at me before he walks away.
I want to tell him it’s fine, take his time; he doesn’t need to stay and babysit me. But he’s gone before I even get a chance.
I watch him though. Watch the way he interacts with the customers, waving off the apologies from the guys as he cleans up the mess. He’s just the right mix of friendly and laid back and exactly what a bartender should be. Not that I’d know of course, but watching him, it’s clear he’s good at his job. It’s clear he has the respect of the people he works with too. There’s only the two of them behind the bar, Nick and the guy he talked with when he offered to get me something to eat. From what I can tell, Nick seems like he’s in charge. There’s a couple of others, wandering around the room; taking orders, delivering drinks and clearing up empty glasses. The bar is busy, but not too crowded, the kind of business that would make any owner happy.
“Hey, can I buy you another drink?”
I turn, just as the stranger offering to buy me another drink slides into the stool next to mine. He’s smiling at me, his arm already resting on the back of my chair as he leans in close. I can smell his cologne, overpowering and almost masking the alcohol that’s on his breath.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m fine.”
“You sure are,” he says, leaning closer. “You here alone?”
I shake my head, leaning away as I hope this guy gets the message and leaves. I’m not in the mood for this shit but I’m so out of practice with getting hit on at a bar that I have no idea what to do to let him know that.
“You look like you’re alone,” he says, wedging his knee against my leg, crowding me in.
A feeling of claustrophobia washes over me. I feel trapped in my corner of the bar, pinned against wood and stone with the heavy presence of this half drunk guy leaning over me. I want to scream at him to get away from me, push him off me and run out into the street.
“Come on,” he says, his breath hot on my skin. “Let me buy you a drink.”
“Hey,” comes the voice. “She said she wasn’t interested.”
I look up, surprised. Nick is standing beside us now, a look on his face that suggests he might rip this guy’s arms off if he doesn’t do as he says.
“Mind your own business,” the guy says, his eyes still on me.
I see the hand as it grabs the back of this guy’s collar, hear the gruff voice that says, “This is my business, mate. So you can just fuck off and get out of here.”
“Hey, what the fuck?” this guy says as he’s yanked from his chair.
“You’re out,” Nick says, anger on his face as looks right at this guy. He squirms in his grip, trying to get free, but he can’t. I can see the white knuckles of Nick’s hand as he holds him by the collar. He’s probably an inch or two taller than this guy, broader too and I can see the cords of muscle in his arm, the contractions beneath his skin as he maintains his grip on this customer.
“What the fuck did I do?” the guy asks and he’s either too drunk or too stupid to understand.
Nick shoots me a quick look that’s half apologetic, half concerned before he turns this guy around and marches him towards the door. I don’t hear what he says to him, just watch as Nick opens the door and pushes him out onto the street. A couple of guys by the door laugh, pointing at this guy through the front windows. I see what must be his friends, run out to find out what happened. Watch as the customer who’s been kicked out spits at the glass, giving Nick the bird before storming off down the street.
Nick returns to the bar, grabs a cloth from the sink and heads outside, wiping down the glass until the evidence of this guy’s anger is gone. When he comes back in, he throws the cloth in the sink and looks at me. The other bartender shoves a shot of something in front of Nick, but he shakes his head, his eyes still on mine. He doesn’t move and for a second, neither of us looks away. Eventually Nick mouths a question.
Are you okay?
I nod, lifting my drink to my mouth, only to discover it’s empty.
He nods once, running a hand through his hair before turning back to the other guy and saying something to him. I watch as the other bartender moves towards me, smiling carefully as he says, “Sorry about that. Can I get you another drink?”
I glance behind him, trying to catch Nick’s eye. It strikes me that he’s more pissed off about this whole thing than I am. Which is not to say that I enjoyed any part of that guy hitting on me, but with Nick, it seemed different, almost personal.
“Is he okay?” I ask, still watching him. He’s avoiding me now, focusing instead on the customers standing on the other side of the bar.
“Yeah,” the other bartender says. “He’s fine. He just hates dickheads like that in his place.”
My eyes flick to this new bartender. “This is Nick’s place?” I ask.
The guy grins at me, nodding as he says, “Yep, it is. Which is why I can offer you a drink on the house as an apology.”
I shake my head. “He’s already bought me some drinks,” I say, looking back at Nick.
“Yeah, I noticed,” this other guy murmurs. “But still, what can I get you?”
I glance at my empty beer, trying to remember how many I’ve had. It’s not that I don’t drink; I just don’t do it that often. Mainly because there is no way I can do my job hungover. But I have the next two days off. Two days to somehow adjust my body clock from working days to working nights. It’s never enough time and I know I’ll spend the first few days of night shift trying to stay awake and on a new time zone. By the time I finally do, I’ll be back on days again and my whole system will be so far out of whack I won’t know what time or day it is.
“Something fruity, maybe,” he suggests.
I scrunch up my nose in distaste, shaking my head as I say, “I’ll just have another beer.”
The bartender nods, before reaching down to grab one for me. As he sets it down in front of me, he says, “Just give him a minute, he’ll be okay,” before wandering off and leaving me to wonder why what just happened got Nick so riled up.