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MICAH
Weekends at Roardon’t hold the same level of energy and exhilaration since Peyton switched days.
Yes, the club is packed with bustling bodies. Loud music spills from the speakers and the air reeks of sweat and hops. Flashes of blue and yellow and red lights hit gyrating bodies and casual bystanders. Everything looks the same as it always has.
The missing factor, though, is Peyton. Her heart-stopping smile and infectious laughter. How people hung out at the bar more often because she chatted with them. Funny to say, but I also miss watching her flirt with customers.
Yeah, I have that level of confidence in Peyton and our relationship. Her flirtatious nature exists only between us and with the customers inside these walls. With the customers, it is more about retention and tips. She may not collect tips anymore, but she wants the other staff members to get paid well too.
I finish pouring a round of beers, then tell Caleb I will be back after rounds. He, Adam, and Kaylynn handle the bar while Charity and Jake bus and serve tables. I check in with both of them first. Ask if either need help or if they’ve had any customer issues.
Then I weave my way toward the front to check in with Ted and Julio. Ask about current occupancy and if there is anything I need to know about. Thankfully, we don’t get too many people who cause a ruckus. The occasional belligerent person goes berserk and tries to cause problems. But our team is a solid unit and we don’t put up with shit.
“Let me know if anything comes up,” I tell them and wander the club’s perimeter.
A few weeks back, Sean and Ani invested in wireless communication for the busier nights. Walkies with wired earpieces. Makes me feel like a sleuth or retail security guard. On countless occasions, I respond with “over and out” or “roger that.” At this point, it is a running joke to see how goofy we all act over the walkies.
I spend the next ten minutes against the wall opposite the bar. Mindlessly scrolling through social media, I look up every now and then to check the crowd. Bored with my phone, I pocket it and wind my way toward the office. Saturday is one of two days Roar only has one manager on staff. The other night being Monday, when Peyton manages Charity Bingo night solo.
Feet from the office door, I jolt as my walkie crackles in my ear. “Hey, Micah?” Caleb speaks a little too loudly into the mic. Probably to be heard over the music.
I press the button on the corded earpiece. “What’s up, Caleb?”
“There’s a woman at the bar asking for you.”
The first person I picture is Peyton, but I dismiss the idea as quick as it appears. One, she wouldn’t come here on her night off unless something was going on. Not only that, but Caleb would refer to Peyton by name. And why would she come to the bar for me. Simple; she wouldn’t. Peyton would have texted or come in through the back. She has the means to find me without asking Caleb.
The next person that comes to mind is Janine. Which freaks me the fuck out. There would be no reason for Janine to come into Roar, much less ask for me. Everything with her and the whole pregnancy situation got resolved a week and a half ago. No valid reason would bring Janine here. I expect to never see or hear from her again.
So, who the hell is here? What woman would come here asking for me?
A shiver rolls up my spine at the idea of some other woman claiming some other bullshit.
Nope. Not happening, universe. No more bullshit. You hear me?
“Did she give her name?” I ask, undecided if I want to peer around the end of the hall and look.
“No. When I offered to get you, she paled.”
How fucking weird. A woman comes to the bar and specifically asks for me. But when Caleb says he will get me, she freaks. Why? What purpose does that serve?
“Is she still at the bar?” I walk closer to the open end of the hall and stop a foot short.
“No.” He pauses, but still has the button pressed. “She’s walking toward the door. White dress, brown hair.”
From the end of the hall, I scan the crowd between the bar and door, looking for said woman. When I spy the head of brown hair and white dress, my blood turns to lava.
“What the fuck?” I whisper-growl to myself.
Weaving through the crowd is a brunette with a frame I will never forget. Not because she is drop-dead gorgeous. But because the last time I saw her, she was stark naked, riding another man’s cock. One never forgets a moment like that.
Rochelle fucking Cook.
The simple fact she stepped foot in Roar has me nauseous. More than a year has passed since I caught her cheating—moaning another man’s name in my bed without care—and ended our relationship. Needless to say, I replaced the bed the next day. No way in hell was I touching or sleeping in a bed someone else fucked my supposed girlfriend in.
My entire relationship with Rochelle wasn’t bad. The beginning was absolute fire. We laughed and enjoyed each other’s company. Went places and had fun together. But… each month of the twelve we were together became less fire and more monotonous. I didn’t see it at first; blinded by infatuation and what I thought was love. Once the relationship ended, I saw everything with new perspective.
And through the grapevine, I learned Rochelle had been unfaithful more than once. Each occurrence was a knife to the chest. Hence, my unwillingness to invest myself with anyone else.
Until Peyton.
Peyton is the light I need in life. Sunshine on the darkest, shittiest day. She gives me hope and promise for the life I never knew I wanted until her. Not necessarily picket fences and immaculate gardens and two-point-five kids. But a life filled with laughter and joy, wonder and intimacy. A life of adventure and challenge and thousands of memories.
“Thanks, Caleb. If you need anything else, I’ll be in the office.”
“Everything alright?”
I turn on my heel and stroll down the hall and into the office. Closing the door, I flip the lock into place. “Yep. All good.” Peachy fucking keen.
* * *
