I’m smart enough to know I need to be careful. Our time together might be mutually agreeable, but it’s also transactional. He’s paying for my time and my body, which means that’s his only responsibility toward me.
When he gets bored or wants to move on, he can stop paying and that will be that.
I’ve never been a particularly naive or sentimental person. I learned early the only person I could ever trust was my grandfather.
But I’m still excited as Saturday afternoon progresses.
Which is why it’s a major crash when opening time rolls around and Cade isn’t here.
He’s always been one of the first in line.
It doesn’t mean anything. There could be any number of reasons for it. My stomach shouldn’t be clenching into a hard knot the way it always does when I sense unnamed doom approaching.
Forcing myself to focus on the customers who did come early today, I smile my fake smile as I take orders and carry drinks to tables.
Where the hell is Cade?
If he waits too long, he won’t even be able to get through the door this evening. Saturdays are often completely full.
As usual, my section is filled with militia types. They’re as loud and arrogant as always, and one of them is particularly obnoxious. He’s got an overblown muscular body and a mustache with no beard, which I almost never see anymore.
I’ve noticed him before. Two weeks ago he was annoyed that I wouldn’t agree to fuck him. But he seems louder than normal this evening.
He’s going to cause trouble. I can see it coming.
I do my best to smile sweetly at him to neutralize any macho aggression, but it doesn’t work. The third time I’m forced to dodge his hand coming for my ass, I tell myself if he does it again, I’ll get Trevor.
At the bar waiting for another round of drinks, Pete gives me a knowing look. “That mustache guy gonna be a problem?”
“I don’t know. It’s looking like it. I’ll tell Trevor if he grabs for me again.”
He pours out a shot of our cheapest whiskey—the kind we only serve to folks we don’t like—and turns his back to spit in it. Then he hands it to me with a wink. “Here’s his drink.”
I stifle a giggle as I take the shot glass and carry it in my left hand so I don’t get it mixed up with the others.
Mustache man looks pleased when I hand him the glass first, like it’s special, before I serve the others their second drinks. “Your big ole hillbilly isn’t here tonight, babe.” He gives me a grin I’m sure he believes is appealing. “Looks like you’re in for a treat because you’ll be fucking me instead.”
My smile doesn’t falter, although I’m tempted to smash my tray into the side of his head. “I haven’t decided who it’s going to be this evening yet. But don’t get your hopes up.”
He doesn’t like that last comment. I can see it on his face.
I shouldn’t have said it. I’m usually smarter than this. But I’ll be damned before I fuck that guy, and where the hell is Cade?
He said he’d be here this weekend like normal.
Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he’s spent enough of his hard-earned possessions on me.
I turn on my heel and hurry away before mustache man can respond. I need to get bowls of stew to one of the other tables anyway.
When I stop at the bar to set the tray down, Pete glances over as he efficiently fills glass after glass with beer for a large table in Danny’s section. “Where’s your woodsman?”
“I don’t know. He’s usually here by now.” The knot in my gut sinks lower as the sense of impending doom intensifies.
He’s not coming tonight.
He’s done with me.
It’s fine. It’s all fine. I was fine before he started showing up, and I’ll be fine now that he’s gone.
