CHAPTER 15
Hazel
The process should have taken a month, or if we were lucky, a few weeks. There were licenses to get, live tests to pass, a background check, and all of the other bureaucratic bullshit that came with serving alcohol in Clark County, Nevada.
But with Grant’s connections in the government and the service industry, in a few days, I was working at the booty shorts bar and grill, Peaches. It was like any of the other womanizing restaurants popular in Vegas. The spandex shorts barely covered my crotch, and the giant peach on my ass wasn’t the most flattering, but no one cared, because at least you could almost see butt cheeks. Because of that, I had to use layers of special effects makeup cream to blot out the bruises, which were almost faded, but still visible. We were given peach-colored bandeaus to wear underneath loose and flowy white tank tops. The sideboob was real, but at least as a bartender, I could use the bar as a physical barrier. Any man who wanted to catch a glimpse would have to be sitting at the right seat and facing the exact angle.
The restaurant had two bars, one inside of the building, and one facing Fremont Street for any passing tourist. I was at the Fremont facing bar, idly washing highball glasses, staring at the random tourists, too drunk for their own good. The humongous screen covering the space between the buildings flashed images of clouds, as if we needed a reminder that if it weren’t for that screen there, you’d be able to see the sky.
The only part that sucked was Grant’s position. With crossed arms, he stood next to the open double doors, in a black fitted shirt, a tiny peach logo where a pen pocket would be. Two waitresses twirled their hair at him. Their perfect hair and makeup. Fake lashes batting in the wind. The works. Any time they asked a question, Grant answered, but always kept his eyes forward.
Don’t get me wrong. I was glad that he was there. That he insisted he work at the bar too. We could take our breaks together, and if I needed help, it was comforting to know that he was there. But jealousy was new to me. I never got close enough to anyone to let something like pretty women flirting with my crush bother me. And if I ever did, I was quick to dump the man. I didn’t want to waste time on something like that.
But with Grant, it was different. He wasn’t indulging in the flirtation. And it helped that I didn’t want to end things with him.
The two women giggled, then helped escort a trio of middle-aged men inside. Grant turned to me. Locked eyes.
I blushed and turned away. A woman took a seat in front of me, demanding the drink menu as she slurred her words. I handed one to her.
Another security officer joined Grant at the doorway. After they exchanged words, Grant came to the bar. I filled him a glass of ice water.
“Are those your new buddies?” I asked.
“Jim?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Those women, Grant. The ones who clearly want to have a threesome with you.”
He blinked his eyes, as if the thought had never dawned on him. He couldn’t bethatoblivious, could he? “Don’t know what they wanted.”
Right as expected, one of the women, the taller of the two, waltzed through the restaurant towards the bar.
“Hi,” she said, handing me her drink ticket. Her handwriting was worse than a doctor’s.
“I can’t read this,” I said, but she had already flicked her hair in my direction and turned her body completely towards Grant.
“How long have you lived in Vegas?” she asked.
“All my life.”
“And this is seriously your first time at Peaches? How come?”
She smelled like potpourri—the perfume way too strong to be reasonable.Maxinewas written on her name tag.
“Maxine,” I said. “I can’t understand your order.”
She flipped to me. “Look.” She stepped forward, leaning on the bar. “You need to learn the abbreviations. Some of us have been here for years, working hard to get a job behind the bar, and thenyoucome in and take the first available slot like you own the damn place, and here I am, still a waitress,” she hissed. “Learn. Your. Job.”
I sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. I didn’t need to get riled up. Not with her. Not when I had just started. She wasn’t worth it.
I looked down again. Was that a BS, a W, and two Bs? Think, think, think.
“A bourbon smash, a white sangria, and two bellinis?” I asked in a perky, fake voice to match the tone she had used with Grant. I forced a smile too, like hers.
“Sure. Whatever.”
I ignored her obvious flirtation, shoving the scoop into the ice like I was stabbing it with a knife. The sooner I could get the order to her, the sooner she would be gone. Grant left to circulate the restaurant, but Maxine was still there, checking her nail beds.
I didn’t care where the hell they put me, but the manager had given me the bartending job. I hadn’t asked for it. If I were in her position, I would have been pissed too. But I had never been in a job long enough to care. And I was trying, with all of my might, towantthis job. Because Grant had gotten me an apparently coveted position. I should have been grateful.
