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“Well, if you need someone to show you around town, I’m your guy. You just let me know.” He gives me a wink.
Before I become too uncomfortable with the conversation, Mia steps in and saves the day. “Stop harassing the wait staff, Mac. She doesn’t need or want your help.”
“Hey, I was just being friendly to the new girl in town. No harm in that.” He gives a wounded look, but his eyes give away his amusement.
Mia narrows her eyes at Mac. “There most definitely will be harm if you run her off, you asshat. But the harm won’t be on her part, it’ll be on yours. You get me?”
“Yeah, yeah, I got you, Mia. Cool your feathers, would ya? And get me another beer, woman!” He says this after downing the last of his beer. My eyes become bigger and bigger and dart between the two while they bicker.
Mia’s eyes become even smaller slits. I can tell that Mac really enjoys riling her up and is doing it on purpose. Mia props her hands on her tiny waist and cocks a hip.
“Listen here, dick-face, I may be small, but believe me, I can come up with numerous ways to hurt you. Now, be a good little boy and ask nicely for your beer or get the hell out of my bar. And leave the waitresses alone.”
They glare at each other for several minutes. If looks could kill, they would both be six feet under by now. Without a doubt, there’s animosity between them. I briefly wonder what happened between the two, but I quickly squash the thought. It’s hypocritical of me to be curious about their past when I’m not willing to share any of my own.
Eventually, it’s Mac who breaks the stare down. He takes his beer bottle, gently pushes it across the bar toward Mia, and says, “I would be ever so grateful if you could get me another beer, Miss Walker.”
Mia drops her hands and rolls her eyes. Huffing and mumbling, she extracts a bottle of beer from one of the mini fridges, pops the top, and not so gently places it in front of Mac. Foam starts to bubble over the top of the bottle. She picks up a rag and tosses it to Mac. “Clean it up yourself.” She then grabs my arm and drags me down to the other end of the bar.
“Sorry about that. Mac can be a jerk sometimes and it really pushes my buttons. Just ignore him from now on. If he needs anything, I’ll take care of it,” she finishes, while placing some bottles from a box on the floor onto the counter in front of the mirror.
To help, I bend down to pick up several bottles by their neck from the box, muttering, “That’s okay, I know all about men being jerks.”
I look at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s looking at me with sad eyes, and says quietly, “Yeah, I think you do.” Much to my relief, she doesn’t say anything more.
We continue unloading the few boxes in silence. It’s a comfortable silence. I really like Mia. She seems like a strong woman. A woman who would not take abuse from anyone. She looks like the type who would fight back and say “fuck you” in the face of evil. I wish for all I’m worth that I had her backbone. She’s got attitude, but I can also see she has a sweet side as well. It’s a combination that makes a perfect woman. I envy her. I’m weak and broken. What would it be like to be whole and courageous?
“Hey, ladies. Can I get three shots of Jack and three bottles of Yuengling, please?” We both turn to see a guy leaning on the bar. It’s one of the guys who was playing pool when I first walked in.
Mia looks at me and says, “You’re up.”
Although it’s been years since my waitressing stint and working a bar, it comes back to me quickly. It’s like riding a bicycle for the first time in years. I’m wobbly at first, but find my bearings pretty quickly.
Several more people come up and place their orders. In no time, I’m whipping up their drinks and handing them off. There’re a couple times I have to ask Mia for the recipe for a particular drink. Whoever heard of a drink called Freddy Fudpucker or Bend Over Shirley? I actually cringe a little at the last.
More and more people come in, and I start to relax. So much so, that Mia and I actually share a few jokes. The customers are friendly for the most part. A couple of guys try to hit on me, but Mia’s beside me and stops it before it can even start. She gives them the evil eye, and they back off immediately. It’s almost like she knows it could be my undoing.
The more relaxed I become, the more open and talkative she becomes. Yesterday consisted of her telling me what to do and me doing it. Very little talking needed or offered. Tonight, however, we both feel more comfortable with each other.
Just then, Jaxon comes out of the hallway and walks over to the counter. His spectacular eyes rake me from head to toe, and I shrink a little. He must have noticed my withdrawal, because his eyes snap to mine and they carry a hint of displeasure. Still embarrassed at my breakdown from yesterday, I look down at the glass I’m drying.
“My office now, Bailey.” He turns and walks back toward the hallway, not looking to see if I’m following him.
I look over at Mia, who gives me encouraging eyes. It doesn’t help. What does he want? And can I handle being in his office alone with him? The last time I was alone with him it didn’t go so well. A small tremor runs through me. He’s my boss. I can’t openly disobey him. I have no choice but to see what he wants.
I slowly put down my rag and the glass. Lifting the partition, I step through it, and lower it back down gently. My palms are sweaty, and my heart is racing a mile a minute.
I walk down the hallway, heading for his office, feeling like I’m about to meet my doom. I know that I’m being ridiculously dramatic, but I can’t seem to help it. This man affects me in ways that both scare me senseless and excite me to no end. The excitement is what worries me the most. I’m used to being afraid of men and what they can do to a defenseless woman. What I’m not used to is the feeling of safety. That’s what Jaxon makes me feel: safe. My gut tells me that he would never hurt me. I don’t trust it though. How can I feel that way when I don’t really know him? He’s still a complete stranger to me. Capable of anything.
His door is closed when I reach the end of the hall. I tentatively knock on the hardwood.
“Come in, Bailey.” I hear his reply through the thick wood.
I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, open the door, and step through.
The room is of average size and consists of the ordinary items that an office would have. There are two filing cabinets, a bookshelf that houses a few books and knickknacks, and a small couch off to the right. In the middle of the room is an old, wood captain’s desk, complete with a desktop computer and lamp. Across from it are two navy-blue chairs.
Jaxon is sitting on the edge of the desk, arms crossed, watching me.
