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I waver, unsure of how much she’s aware of the disaster that is currently my life. “We’ve chatted a little bit.”
“Without fighting?”
“Sort of?”
A grin takes over her face as we near the back entrance of the bar located right beside the trash cans. “Good.”
I grow suspicious. “Why’s that good?”
Her grin enlarges as she pulls open the door and steps inside, the smell of barbeque sauce and greasy French fries wafting out. “Because my brothers eat lunch here too.”
I freeze, one foot in the bar and one remaining outside. “Really?”
“Why’s that a problem?” she asks innocently, holding the door open for me. “It sounds like you two are sort of getting along now, right?”
“I guess.” I scratch my injured wrist, a reminder of how I shouldn’t even be here eating lunch with Scarlett.
Her smile evaporates. “Is it really a problem? Because we can go eat somewhere else. We’re running a bit low on time, but there’s a coffee shop a few miles from here that has sandwiches and stuff. It’s nowhere near as good as here, but it’s not awful.”
I consider nodding, but the scent of chicken wings and fries touches my nostrils again and my stomach grumbles. “Here’s cool.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod and step into a hallway lit up by neon signs. “Besides, I’ve got a bone to pick with your brother anyway.” And I need to see if he’s heard back from his old social worker and if he’s found out more about my father. Sure, I know how much trouble he’s in with Mr. Porterson, but I’m not sure about this Axel guy. And what about the drugs and money buried in the backyard?
I could always just text Blaise and ask him—might be easier than trying to pretend I didn’t get branded by his father this morning—but this way I get to eat too. And I can have a chat about that littlebeautiful assmessage he sent me during first period.
“What bone do you have to pick with him?” Scarlett’s eyes sparkle with curiosity against the neon light.
“Well,” I start, “he sent me a very strange message today in class.”
Her eyes light up in delight. “Do tell.”
“Oh, you’ll find out just as soon as we find Blaise,” I say as we reach the end of the hallway and enter the bar area, a small room covered with small tables and mismatched chairs, and of course a countertop and barstools.
“You know what, Hadley?” She slips her arm through mine and tugs me over toward the counter. “I think you and I are going to be good friends.”
“Perhaps.” I offer her one of my rare, genuine smiles.
The truth is Scarlett seems like the kind of person I could be friends with. I’m just not convinced we’ll be able to remain friends while I’m working for her father. Plus, I’ve never really had a real friend before, besides my sisters. I used to before my dad started making us move every six months or so.
“Hey, Hunter,” Scarlett greets a man standing behind the counter, filling up shot glasses with tequila. He has short brown hair, tattoos inking his lean arms, and a scar running over his bottom lip. If I had to guess, I’d put his age at twenty tops, a bit young to be the bartender.
He offers her a nod, his brows furrowing as his gaze lands on me.
“Oh, this is Hadley,” Scarlett explains, gesturing at me. “And Hadley, this is Hunter, the best underage bartender in town.” She smiles at Hunter.
“No, I’m just a waiter. If I were a bartender, that’d be illegal.” He puts his finger to his lips with a teasing glint in his eyes.
“Don’t worry; Hadley’s cool.” She unloops her arm from mine and props her elbows on the cracked wooden counter. “So who’re the shots for?”
I scan the bar, suddenly aware that all the chairs and tables are empty. Odd. I mean, yeah, it’s the middle of the day, but all the bars my dad hung out at had regulars who would spend all day at the counter spending their paychecks on beers and shots.
“For your brothers actually. And Jay and Sofie.” He collects four of the six shots from off the counter. “Carry the other two, will you?”
“Only if you tell me why you guys are drinking tequila in the middle of the day,” she teases, gathering a shot glass in each hand.
“We’re celebrating,” he explains then licks some spilled tequila off his hand.
