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A twenty between his middle finger and pointer finger, he drags the note down my forearm as I pour. “Come on, babe, you look like you’re the kinda girl who—”
“The kind of girl who will kick your ass if you don’t move it along, champ.” Jo appears to the side of him and slides another tray of empties onto the bar, rolling her dark eyes at me.
The guy turns his head to Jo and sways slightly. “Ah, the brains to her blond.” He snorts at his lame attempt at a joke and nearly falls off his stool when he returns his attention to me. “Don’t worry, baby, brains aint what I’m looking for tonight.”
I roll my eyes back at her. It’s not exactly new, the whole tall, blond, and female equals easy airhead assumption, but still—it irks. I place the two freshly made cocktails onto an empty tray, ignore the urge to slap the guy upside the head, and smile wider instead. “I think somebody’s had too much to drink.”
He grabs my wrist when I go to put the straws into the glasses. Tight. I twist and grab and yank, just like the self-defense instructor taught us when Laia’s psycho ex was on the island last year. His cheek splats against the bar top. An unexpected bonus. I release his wrist and hop back a step just in case he hasn’t gotten the hint.
Thankfully he just pushes off the bar and snorts, his gaze dropping once more to my chest.
I fold my arms. Seriously, they’re not big enough to be interesting. The guy’s loaded.
“You… just lost your tip.” He rocks back on his heels, then weaves off back to his buddies.
And there you have it—one of the many reasons I’ve been on a man-ban for the best part of a year.
“Everything okay, Zi?” Dale nudges my elbow with his when he appears beside me, popping the tops of a couple of bottles, watching the guy now wolf-whistling a couple of girls as they pass.
“Fine. I handled it.” I pick up the tray of empty glasses to take them to the dishwasher. He’s not the first slimeball to drunkenly proposition me and he probably won’t be the last—one of the few downsides of working here.
The night goes quickly, the bar packed right up until we call last orders, people still hanging around in the parking lot, finishing their drinks in to-go cups or waiting on cabs as we lock up.
I pull at one side of the shutter that secures the swinging doors as Dale gets the other. The Beach Hut is officially closed. And, for the record, I’m still holding on to my streak. All in all, a good night. Made better by the fact that I’m off tomorrow. A whole day off. My first in forever. My feet ache along with the rest of my body. Tonight was busy, even for a Saturday. Fee is gonna need to take on extra staff if it keeps on going like this—especially when I leave. I slam the bolts shut and slide the padlock into place. I haven’t told him, oranyoneabout my plans for the restaurant or my impending resignation from here and the hotel—but I will—soon—just as soon as I get all my ducks in a row. I shove my keys into my bag as I stand, the rushing of waves and steady buzz of crickets soothing to my ears after the constant noise of the bar.
Dale smirks, angled eyes widening, brows up at his cell’s screen before he shoves it into the back pocket of his board shorts. “The redhead and her friends have invited us back to their villa. You up for an after-party?”
“Jessica. Her name is Jessica.” I barely manage to smother my yawn with the back of my hand before it takes over my face. “But no. Hard pass. My pajamas are calling.”
“You on Florence tonight?” He picks up his shiny, black motorbike helmet.
“Nope. Just my feet tonight.” Florence is my Vespa. She’s red and shiny and probably older than me. My dad renovated her and gave me her for my birthday last month. She’s my pride and joy.
Dale holds his helmet out to me. “I’ll drop you home then.”
“Thanks, but I’m good.” I push it back towards him. “It’ll take me less time to walk beach-side than it will to drive road-side.”
He shakes his head like he’s about to argue with me.
“I’ll call you as soon as I get home.” I hold my cell up and shake it in front of his face. “Besides, it’s not even dark tonight, have you seen that moon?”
We both turn towards the beach and the massive full moon hanging over the glittering ocean. It’s impressive—just as impressive as the sunsets. I’ve lived here my entire life, and they never get old.
I take a deep breath of tangy night air and roll my shoulders before I wave him off and turn to head down to the cobble-stone path that borders the white sand beach. It may be the middle of the night, but there are still a few people milling around. A couple moon-watching on a blanket. A group of people I’m pretty sure were in the bar earlier, stripping down to have a midnight swim. Seeing the beaches I grew up on invaded by tourists is bittersweet if I’m honest. The end of an era. The end of Clua being a simple, unheard of little island.
I skiff the toe of my sneaker over a ripple of sand that’s blown over the path and head along the walkway. I round a bend, my apartment block coming into view just as the sound of drunk-guy singing floats up from the water line. Great. The Hawaiian shirt guys. I keep walking. Please don’t see me. Please don’t—
“Hey. Is that you, blondie?” A slurred yell slices through the warm night air, stealing all of my calm.
I ignore him and pick up my pace. He jeers again. Closer this time, and way less polite. My heartbeat thumps in my throat.
Seconds pass with no more yelling. I check over my shoulder. And instantly wish I hadn’t. Alcohol breath—check. Blurry eyes—check. The man is barely sober enough to stay upright. That doesn’t stop him from attempting to throw an arm around me to guide me back to his friends. “Come on, babe. Come party with us. You look like you know your way around a—”
“I don’t think so.” I side-step from beneath his arm.
He grabs my wrist.Again.I twist, yank and shove.Again.
He stumbles back and very nearly falls flat on his ass to roars of laughter from his buddies further up the beach. When his glazed-out stare finds mine, it’s one-hundred percent full of sleaze even as he rubs his wrist. I prepare for a jeer or an insult or whatever his drunk mind comes up with next. It doesn’t come.
