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For a time, Brad watched Simone. He looked at Trudy too. She had just come on and would work until closing. He liked her too—she was a nice girl. She didn’t seem as smart as Simone, but she had a nice body, and she didn’t put on airs the way Simone did, trying to act as if she’d get in trouble if she spent some time exchanging nice remarks with him. Odds were she’d go for him, but she had a boyfriend who brought her to work and picked her up at the end of her shift. He never came in the bar, which Brad thought odd.
But Trudy would talk to him and Simone wouldn’t, which was stupid. He just wanted to talk a little so she could learn about him. How could she come to like him if she wouldn’t get to know him? If they talked, he could hint about some of the cool things he did during the day—things most people didn’t know were even possible, like when that one guy had paid him a stupid pile of money just to put a little bug in the control program for a credit card company. Not that it would do much by itself, but they wanted to pay him to see if he could do it. Later, they’d want something useful there, and they’d come back to him. Not everyone could get past the firewalls without setting off alarms.
He had managed to hint at some of it, but she wouldn’t talk and didn’t seem interested at all. How the hell was he supposed to get her to go out with him? That’s what he wanted. If she’d talk, he could impress her, then he’d take her out and when she found out all the cool things he did, she’d want him to screw her. That much he was sure of.
Watching her, letting his eyes roam her body as she moved through the room serving drinks, taking orders, he saw guys sometimes touch her, casual like, and it made his head hurt. Of course, when a hand reached out and brushed her arm, she moved away, being casual. She didn’t let them touch her where it mattered, but it bothered him that she didn’t slap those guys. Brad was certain she’d slap him if he put his hand on her bare thigh just below the hem of that short skirt.
He was getting mad now. That happened sometimes. Frustration built up inside him. Part of it was sexual—he wanted the bitch—but part was just hating that she made him feel practically invisible. He spent all day being invisible.
The whores were sometimes a solution, a way to make him feel better for a little bit, but always there was the knowledge they were just being nice, pretending to listen, because they got paid for it. And they screwed for the same reason. That didn’t make it bad, just not what he was wanting. At forty, he expected to have a regular girlfriend, maybe more than one. As it was, he spent most nights alone.
Simone was laughing as she took more orders from the table where those fucking bikers sat with guys who were regulars. They had betrayed him too, hanging out with the asshole bikers like they were worth knowing.
As Simone swept past him to fill the order she’d just taken, he called to her. “Hey, Simone,” he said, loud and clear. Not being fresh or anything, just asking for attention like any customer would when he wanted another drink. She went right past him, though, not hearing him, or pretending not to anyway. Bitch.
He stewed about her attitude. It was getting worse. The harder he tried… He thought about getting in her face when she came back and asking why she was pretending he wasn’t there. After all, he wasn’t trying to start a conversation, just order a damn drink.
The room seemed darker as he stared around it. He saw people talking, drinking, and laughing. The jukebox was playing a song from the sixties. Brad knew it from the oldies station he streamed while he worked. It was “Ninety-Six Tears.” He liked that one, but the sound of the organ always made him feel lonely, and he hadn’t come to this damn bar to feel lonely.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Simone coming back with a tray of drinks. Naturally, there wasn’t one for him on it. The bitch had ignored him. All he’d wanted was a drink and for her to acknowledge he was there—a thirsty customer. Was that too much to ask?
His brain churned and his stomach ached. He couldn’t just take that shit. As she came by him, he jumped into action. He grabbed his laptop and pulled it into his lap as his foot seemed to jump out in front of her. She didn’t see it. The stupid bitch wasn’t paying any attention to him.
She fell forward and Brad saw the tray flying toward the bikers’ table. As Simone sprawled forward, she managed to grab the edge of his table, tipping it over as she fell to the ground. “Clumsy bitch!” he roared. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Rafe saw it coming.While listening to a guy talking about the new safety rules for NASCAR’s next season, feigning interest, he’d seen another guy at the table hold up a hand and smile. He’d nodded in the direction of the bar. “Here come our drinks.”
He’d turned to look. As Simone came alongside Brad’s table, the man looked up. A vicious scowl wrinkled his face, and he yanked his computer off the table. Rafe knew what was coming, as if he’d seen it in a dream, but there was no way to stop things. Max tensing beside him had him thinking his friend had seen it going down too.
Brad’s foot shot out in front of Simone, sending her sprawling. She never saw it coming. The tray flew out of her hands and crashed into the table, sending the drinks flying, splashing liquor on all four of the men sitting at the table.
He shot out of his chair and went to Simone, but she was already getting up on her hands and knees, then to her feet. “Are you okay?”
Max was right beside him, reaching out for a second to lightly touch her arm before withdrawing.
“I think so, but what a fucking mess.” She glanced around. “Sam will be pissed.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” said Max.
She didn’t even look at Brad. “Well, around here, it’s never a customer’s fault.”
Rafe gave her a smile. “Well, it must be mine then.”
She locked eyes with him, and he saw a flicker of understanding.
They heard laughing and looked to see the two men that had been sitting with Rafe and Max were joking with each other and wiping the booze up with napkins they were piling on the wet mess. They’d set the tray and a broken glass on the next table. Still in his chair, Brad was scowling and waiting, probably for someone to accuse him of tripping her.
Rafe saw Simone glare at him. “Don’t give him the satisfaction of getting angry,” Rafe whispered. “Clumsy accidents happen.”
Max snorted. “Some accident,” he said quietly enough that Rafe doubted Simone heard.
With Brad sitting stiffly, Rafe grabbed Brad’s table and set it back on its feet. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Good thing you managed to grab your computer.” He turned back to Simone. “Tell you what, why don’t you put these on my tab and get us another round. Get Brad one as well.”
She gave him an appreciative smile. “Sam will still be pissed.”
“Well, I’ll tell him that everyone appreciated the floor show.”
She gave him a look. “Curtain rises.” She chuckled, then she looked at Brad. “Sorry for the mess, Brad. This gentleman wants to buy you a drink.”
