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“Evenin’, Jane,” Ricky drawls, leaning over the counter as if he owns the place—or thinks he should. “You lookin’ fine tonight in that little apron.” His eyes trace the outline of my form, lingering too long on the curves I wish I could hide from his gaze.
“Whiskey, Ricky?” I deflect, plucking a glass from the shelf with more force than necessary.
“Only if you’re pourin’ it,” he says, his smirk widening.
Snake chuckles beside him, the sound like gravel crunching underfoot.
“Keep dreaming,” I retort, pouring the whiskey with precision, avoiding his hungry stare. “And keep your hands to yourself.”
“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that,” Snake chimes in, his voice slick as oil. “We’re all friends here, ain’t we?”
“Friends respect each other’s space,” I reply, sliding the drink toward Ricky with practiced ease.
Brushing off Ricky’s advances with a dismissive wave of my hand hasbecome tedious and annoying. My body language spelling out boundaries he’s all too eager to ignore.
“Since when did you get so touchy?” Ricky quips, snatching the glass and taking a swig, eyes never leaving mine.
“Since always,” I fire back, feeling the weight of their stares like hands trying to pin me down.
But I won’t let them see that they get to me, I can’t. I’m like a fortress weathered, perhaps, but never breached.
“Guess you’re just no fun,” Snake leers, prodding further.
“Fun is subjective,” I snap, turning away to tend to another order.
My heart hammers against my ribs, not in fear, but in fury. They think they can wear me down; break through the walls I’ve built brick by brick with every unwelcome advance and jeer.
They’re dead wrong.
I lose myself in the rhythm of my work, the clink of bottles, the hiss of a beer tap. It’s a dance I know by heart, a dance that keeps me grounded when their words try to clip my wings.
“Keep it up, boys, and you’ll be enjoying your drinks outside,” I threaten without looking at them, the edge in my voice sharp enough to cut.
Glancing in the mirror above the bar, I see Ricky shrug, feigning indifference, while Snake merely smirks, that knowing, predatory look still playing about his lips.
They retreat to a table, their laughter spiking the air like shards of glass, but I’m already moving on, my focus unyielding. I have no room for their foolishness, not when there are orders to fill, customers to please. This bar is my kingdom, and I rule it with an iron shaker.
“Another round, Jane!” someone calls, and I nod, throwing myself back into the fray.
My father’s voice echoes in my mind, reminding me that strength isn’t just muscle—it’s resolve, it’s grit, it’s staring down the snakes and refusing to flinch. I straighten my shoulders, a glint of defiance in my pale green eyes, ready for whatever comes next.
“Rough crowd tonight, huh?” A voice, soft yet edged with steel, slices through the din of clinking glasses and low hums of conversation. It’s Mandy, her warm brown eyes scanning the room with an alertness that belies her cheerful exterior. “Don’t let ‘em get to you, Jane.”
I manage a tight-lipped smile, appreciating the camaraderie despite my resolve to keep my distance. Mandy, with her halo of curly blonde hair bouncing as she moves from table to table, is like a ray of sunshine in this dimly lit purgatory. She’s the sister I never had, the family I’ve chosen or perhaps, the one that’s chosen me.
“Thanks,” I murmur, my gaze locked on the amber liquid I’m pouring. It fills the glass with a promise of oblivion, something many here seek night after night. “They’re just gnats, buzzing for attention.”
“More like vultures,” she counters, her lips quirking up in a playful grin. Her hands flit across the counter, placing down a tray with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the roughness around us. “But we don’t let scavengers pick at us, do we?”
“Never have, never will,” I reply, feeling a spark of gratitude ignite within me.
It’s fleeting, chased away by the undercurrent of tension threading through the smoky air. The bar feels like a powder keg, one careless spark away from chaos. My fingers tighten around the bottle, the glass cool and slick.
“Hey, beautiful,” a slurred voice calls from the corner, shoving me back into reality. I turn to face the leering grin of a patron, his intentions as clear as the shot glasses lined up before him.
“Easy with the sweet talk, cowboy,” I say, my words clipped like the ice that rattles into his empty glass. “It’ll cost you more than a drink to win me over.”
Mandy chuckles, her laugh mingling with the cacophony of sounds around us. She leans in close, her voice dropping to a whisper, “You handle them with such grace, Jane. It’s like watching a dance the way you evade their clumsy steps.”
