I throw open the door to the bar and cringe when I see Kristy tapping her foot with her arms crossed.

“You’re late,” Kristy says with a raised eyebrow, appraising me in question.

“I know. Sorry.” I’m never late. In fact, I’m always the first person to arrive, which is why Kristy is looking at me like I’m dying. “Everything’s fine. I’m here now.”

Everything with my mom is as good as it can get, but me, I’m not fine. It’s been a rough couple of days, and I need to recharge, but that won’t happen because the time I spent on Hudson’s porch is the most time I’ve had to do whatever I wanted in months. And I decided to use my time sulking, not the best choice.

I maneuver around Kristy, going around the bar where I’ll be the majority of the night.

She eyes me over, contemplating if she can believe my clipped answer. “I’ve already gotten everything ready for opening.” She pulls her phone out of her apron pocket, lighting the screen. “Five minutes before we open the gates to Hell.”

“Someone’s chipper today,” I say, tying my black apron around my waist, knotting it in the front. The bottom of the apron hits the edge of my shorts, making it look like the only thing I’m wearing is a skimpy apron with my magenta tank top.

She grimaces. “It’s just you and me again, doll.”

“Seriously?” I groan, throwing my long brown hair in a messy bun on top of my head.

“Yep. It seems we are the only two who work around here.” She wipes off the martini glass in her hand before placing it on the rack hanging from the ceiling behind her.

I shrug. “More tips for us.

“Damn straight,” she agrees, laughing.

“How’s Jason? I haven’t seen him here in a while.”

Jason is Kristy’s long-term boyfriend. They’ve been together for four years, and he worships the ground she walks on. His hair is dark blue and styled in a Mohawk. He has more tattoos than I have ever seen on one person–on his neck, knuckles, and feet. He’s a walking work of art.

I’ll admit when I met Jason for the first time I was a little intimidated. He has that look like he’s been through hell and back. The one that says, ‘back the fuck off,’ but when he’s around Kristy, he’s putty in her hands.

She leans her hip against the bar, facing me with her arms crossed. “I think he’s going to propose,” she scowls.

Only Kristy would grimace at that, and I try not to laugh, but I can’t help it. It bursts out of me, and I slap my hand over my mouth to contain the sound.

“Why are you laughing?” She puckers her lips in annoyance.

“Most women would swoon if they found out they were getting engaged,” I explain.

“Yeah, well, I’m not most women.” She shrugs. “I don’t see the point in tying yourself to one human for the rest of your life. I’m content with the way things are. Why can’t they stay the same?”

“Change is a bitch,” I say, knowing all too well how change can alter the course of your life. “Why don’t you just tell him you don’t want to get married?”

“You know Jason. He’s all mushy and soft. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.” She parts her blonde hair to the side, exposing the shaved side of her head. “I’m inappropriate and a hard ass. How we’ve lasted this long, I’ll never know.”

“Oh, come on. Have you seen Jason? He’s not all mushy. Don’t you think being a drummer in a rock band means he can be as hardcore as you?” I want to laugh, but I stop myself this time. I think she’s being a little silly because they’re perfect for each other–two halves of a broken glass.

“I guess.” She walks around the bar to the front door and unlocks it before heading back toward me. “The gates to Hell are open.”

“So dramatic.” I don’t push her on the topic of marriage because it’s not my place–not when I hide so much.

Kristy is the closest thing I have to a friend. When I graduated high school, everyone went off to college and left me alone. It’s fine, really, I like the solitude…most of the time that is, but times like today I yearn for a friend. Someone to lean on when it’s all too much.

Kristy and I have hung out a few times after work, but she doesn’t know anything about my family, and I hardly know anything about her. I only know who Jason is because he hangs out at the bar a lot, not to keep an eye on her, but because he loves being near her. I don’t think he would know how to function without her.

I grab a clean rag from under the counter and place it on the bar top, one of the many I’ll use to clean up spilled alcohol tonight.

Kristy and I aren’t close, but she’s all I’ve got, and some days, I cling to it more than I should because when people get involved in my life, I tend to push them out as hard as I can.

Not one single person outside of my mom and dad knows what’s going on. They don’t know why I didn’t go to college. They don’t know why I work two jobs. They don’t know why we sold our house and moved to a trailer. I avoid everyone and make it a point not to get to know anyone because then I would have to explain. I would have to tell them the sordid details of my life because apparently, that’s what friends do.

But today, today I need someone.

“You want to hang out after work?” I ask tentatively as I shift on my feet.

“At two in the morning?” She stares at me like I suggested we rob a jewelry store in broad daylight. “Sure, why not. I could use a drink,” she says, trotting away to the two guys who just walked in the bar.

That wasn’t so bad. I can do this.

Yeah, I can definitely do this.

Gripping the lever of the megaphone, I yell, “Last call!”

Moans and grumbles sound through the room as I move back to the bar ready for the influx of orders to come through. It doesn’t matter what day of the week it is, the bar is always packed. I guess people don’t realize they could drink at home instead of going out.

Kristy flies behind the bar grabbing four bottles of beer. She opens each bottle, using the bottle opener mounted on the back wall. She does it with ease, having all four caps off in less than ten seconds. She pours three glasses of scotch before placing everything on her tray and zooming back out on the floor.

Guys from the other side of the bar yell their orders at me over each other, making it hard to decipher who orders which drink. I jot down every order as fast as I can before my paper fills up.

I turn around and fill their orders, sloshing drinks on the counter and floor. I nearly knock over a full bottle of top shelf tequila, but I catch it in the nick of time. I breathe a sigh of relief as I set it carefully on the counter, far away from me. There’s no way I can pay for a whole bottle of liquor.

“Three draft beers, a shot of tequila, screwdriver, and whiskey,” I call out the orders I have, and money lands in front of me as each drink disappears.

They all mumble keep the change, and I happily shove what’s left from their bill in my back pocket.

I fill five more orders before the bar clears out as everyone files back to their seats, downing the last of the alcohol they’ll get here for the night.

I lean back against the bar, taking a breather for the first time in the last five hours. I wiggle my toes in my shoes, stretching them as much as I can. I’ve never wanted to put my feet up more than I do right now.

Kristy starts clearing the empty tables, and I’m about to help her when I see Anthony walk out of the restroom. He heads straight to his office, without lifting his eyes from the floor. Asshole.

Anthony does the scheduling, inventory, and all the money crap, but nothing else. He doesn’t help us when we’re so busy I can’t even pee or bother to hire someone to sanitize the place when we’re closed. That’s left to the four of us–Kristy, Amanda, Jessica, and myself.

Oh, I forgot we’re down to three now because Jessica quit last week, tired of putting up with the chaos.

I push off the bar and grab the empty tray on the counter.

“Can I get a water?” I stop before I can move my feet in Kristy’s direction, my eyes meeting Hudson who’s sitting on the barstool across from me.

This is the second time he’s been here, and the second time he’s ordered water. Does the guy not drink? If he doesn’t, why would he come to a bar?

“Of course, Sir. That’ll be $5,” Anthony says as he places a cold bottle of water in front of Hudson.

I glare at Anthony as I see Hudson pull out his wallet from his back pocket. I bite my lip wanting to feel his cool skin touch mine as his strong arms hold me tightly, making me feel safe.

“Here you go.” Hudson throws his money on the bar, snapping me out of my trance.

I slide his money back across the bar to him, and his shoulders straighten as he sits up taller. “No, it’s free,” I say.

“Jade, water is not free,” Anthony challenges, reaching for the money trapped under my hand.

From the corner of my eye, I see Hudson’s body tense as he clenches his jaw, his gaze fixed on Anthony’s hand.

I snatch the money away from Anthony. “Until you get us more help, it’s free.”

He stares me down, waiting to see if I’ll give in under the weight of stare. “You’re lucky I don’t fire you.”

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “There’s no way you’d let me go.” I put the bottle of water back in the mini-fridge under the bar. “What made you crawl out of your office anyway?” I put a hand on my hip. “Would have been nice if you showed your face three hours ago when we were drowning.”

He doesn’t say anything as he turns away and storms off to his office where he slams the door behind him.

Good. If he’s not going to help us when we need it then he can die in his office for all I care.

“Remind me not to cross you,” Hudson says, and the scowl immediately drops from my face.

Grabbing a plastic cup, I fill it with tap water and place it in front of him. “So, twice in one day.” I play with the rag sitting on the bar. “Can’t get enough of me?”

He smirks, and it makes me want to drag him across the bar and plant my lips on his. Whoa, where did that come from?

“Something like that,” he answers, tossing his money across the bar. “I can pay for the water. It’s no problem.”

“I don’t make anyone pay for water. I’m not doing you any favors,” I assure him.

I watch as he takes the cup in his hand and lifts it to his mouth, holding it to his lips. He gulps down the water, his throat working in time with each gulp. I watch, mesmerized by the motion of his Adam’s apple moving up and down and his fingers grasping the cup, holding it in a vice like he needs it to survive. And then he places it on the bar, empty.

I study the hard edge of his jaw and the way his lips rest in a straight line. The black shirt he’s wearing hugs his shoulders and chest, showing off his physical strength, and I wonder if his legs are just as strong.

“Can you grab me a shot glass?” I jump at the sound of Kristy’s voice as she forcibly drags me out of Hudson’s world and back to reality.

“Yeah, uh,”–I stumble around taken off guard, but my hand eventually lands on a shot glass under the bar–“here.”

She nods her head in my direction. “You, okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say in a daze, still wrapped up in a guy I hardly know.

“You’ve been saying that a lot tonight.” She studies me, unsure of what’s going on with me. I don’t blame her. I’m usually much more put together. “I think you might be lying.”

I shrug, not able to think of a response to give her.

“Fifteen more minutes until closing.”

I nod my head as she struts away with a tray of drinks. We’re not supposed to serve anything twenty minutes before closing, but neither of us have ever been one to follow the rules.

I turn back to where Hudson was sitting before Kristy showed up to notice his seat vacant. He’s gone–vanished. I sigh my shoulders sagging, wishing he was still here.

He has a habit of leaving when all I want to do is dive into him, so maybe it’s for the best. He knows when to walk away. He knows when tension is too high, but does that mean he feels the same weird pull that I do, or is he running from a chick who has a staring problem?

I huff out a breath. It’s better this way. I don’t need him infiltrating my life, so why do I feel like he took my serenity with him?

I clear off the bar, throwing all the dirty glasses in a bucket to take to the back, and chuck all the empty beer bottles in the trash.

I flit around from table to table, collecting all the trash left behind as people begin to file out the door. We don’t serve food, so we don’t have to worry about cleaning that up.

When the last person shuffles out the door, Kristy locks it and flips off the neon open sign.

We spend an hour and a half cleaning everything up before we both collapse into chairs at the same table, each of us with a beer in hand.

“What’s up with you today?” Kristy asks as she takes a long pull of her beer.

I play dumb. “I worked my ass off, as did you, and now, I’m tired as hell.”

“What’s with all the ‘I’m fine’ shit you’ve been throwing at me all day?” she questions, leaning back in her chair.

“Life just sucks sometimes.” Vague, I know. It’s what I do. Even though I wanted to hang out with Kristy tonight, I knew I wouldn’t tell her much. I just needed someone to be here–to fill the silence just for a little while.

“Hmm, tell me about it.” She learns forward, bracing her elbows on the table. “Who was the guy?” She wags her eyebrows, wanting all the dirty details.

“Guy?” Dumb, again. “I’m pretty sure I talked to at least a hundred different guys tonight.”

“The one who had you fumbling for a shot glass.”

“Just some guy I met here who showed up at my other job, where I live, and here again.” I peel the label off my bottle, needing something to keep my hands busy. “I don’t really know him.”

“That’s a lot of run-ins for someone you don’t really know. The sexual tension between you two was off the charts, like someone find me a vibrator so I can get off kind of tension.” She fans her face in exaggeration.

“Oh my God, Kristy.” I laugh.

“What? It’s true.” She shrugs. “His eyes were skating across your body like you were his last meal, and he was ready to pounce. He even licked his lips when he was lusting after your mouth.”

“Shut up.” I slap her arm. “Okay, maybe a little tension,” I admit, “but I don’t know much about him except his name.” And that he has a kid, but I don’t tell her that.

She snaps her fingers. “Isn’t he the one who broke up the fight the other night?” I nod my head. “Ha! I knew he looked familiar.” She props her head on her hand. “What’s his name?”

“Hudson.”

“Jade and Hudson.” She rolls it around in her mouth before she smirks at me. “I like the sound of that. You should make a go of it,” she says as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to tell me to go have sex with a guy.

“Fat chance,” I scoff.

“Oh, come on; why not?” I take a long drink of my beer, wanting to avoid answering her for as long as I can. “You know, dirty, hot sex makes life suck less,” she says, pointing her beer at me before pushing away from the table and discarding her empty bottle in the trash.

Jade and Hudson. I like the sound of that, too.

I hate how much I like the sound of that.