Snow squeezes me so tight, I yelp. “That was so sexy, I’m mad about it.”
My heart does a half-skip. “Mad?” I think she’s joking, but she’s touched a sensitive nerve.
She shakes my shoulders. “Oh, hell yeah! I’m jealous as all witchtits. I could keep it inside and let it fester and get all passive-aggressive or just call out my shitty response to your awesomeness.” She gives me a gentle nudge. “Jealousy is normal, girl. I’d rather you take the compliment that I’m threatened, and we laugh it off, and then move on.”
My brain can’t wrap around that.
“She came out with the attitude of someone who’s been doing this for years,” Ariel nearly whines, rolling behind the bar. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get comfortable doing this? Weeks.”
“Months,” Snow mouths to me.
Rap doesn’t say anything. She just flicks her eyes up and down me, then nods once. That means more than any applause. Her approval means I get to stay.
“Shot?” Snow offers, already holding up two mini glasses. She passes another to Ariel as Rap leaves, heading to her office.
I slam it. The liquor scorches down my throat with fire and honey. We clink the empty glasses.
“Hell yeah,” Snow yells. “Let’s get these thirsty people some drinks.”
The crush of people at the bar nearly spills over with excitement at her words. I dive in, ready to slay the rest of this night.
This is my moment.
The moment is on fire.Everything is on fire.
Not literally, but it starts with the very first drink order when I reach for the soda gun and press the wrong nozzle. A full stream of club soda hits a man square in the crotch.
He yelps, jumping back from the bar with a curse.
“Oh no...shit—” I fumble, hit another lever, and now I’m spraying something red and fizzy directly onto the bar top. It arcs into the air, raining down in a sticky fountain.
Snow doubles over, howling. Ariel claps once, slow and solemn.
I grab a bar towel and try to mop it up, but now I knock over someone’s beer.
Chaos.
Pure, dripping, humiliating chaos.
“Damn,” Snow wheezes. “Hot Girl can command a room but give her one button and it’s a war crime.”
I groan, already flushed, already laughing. “Why are there so many buttons? Is this thing powered by dark magic?”
“That’s what I said when I started,” Ariel deadpans. “Don’t worry. We all baptized the bar in soda our first week.”
I look down at the disaster I’ve created. A pool of sticky liquid, a grumpy wet patron, and a half-mopped mess.
Okay, this is fine. Apparently, this is normal. Things can only get better from here.
It doesnotget better.
I forget which liquor goes in a vodka soda and pour tequila instead. A guy asks for an old fashioned and I ask him what era that is. I can’t work the tap without the handle jerking sideways and spraying foam all over my shirt.
Every time I try to ring something up, the register beeps at me, judging my whole existence.
Snow keeps yelling “STOP HITTING VOID!” while Ariel wheels by tossing coasters like ninja stars and mouthing, “Don’t panic,” in slow motion.
Someone asks for a French 75, and I black out.
