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SHAWN
“You must be excitedthat Ryan is going to be in town this week,” I tease as I stare at Bridget. She’s been wearing a perpetual smile since she finally accepted her happily ever after.
She dips her chin coyly. “Something like that. How ’bout you? There’s a table full of pretty girls over there pointing in your direction.”
I shake my head with a laugh. “You know me better than that. I don’t play where I work.”
“You don’t play at all,” she counters.
I huff out a breath. “You know, working for you was supposed to be fun, relaxing…not stressful.” I quirk a brow.
She shrugs her shoulders, but before she can hit me with another one of her saucy comebacks, a woman interrupts us.
“’Scuse me, can I get a round of shots?”
I turn my attention to the woman speaking. She’s got short blond hair and a huge smile on her face. She shimmies her shoulders and pouts her lips. “Please,” she says in a kitten whisper.
“What kind of shot?” I ask, giving her my full attention. I see the smile on Bridget’s face, and I try to tune her out completely. She thinks I need to get laid, but she’s sorely mistaken. I need a lot of things, but sex with a stranger is not one of them.
“Oh, what’s that?” she asks, looking past me without answering my question.
I don’t even know why I turn anymore, but I do. It’s always the damn dollar bills. I swear these things will be the death of me. Although sometimes they do make for a good laugh.
Bridget smiles. “Oh, those are our wishing dollars.”
I’m happy she’s here for once. Let her explain how she and her friends bought this bar as a second chance and now want every person who visits to put a wish on a dollar bill. The bar has been a popular hangout for locals since it opened, but word has gotten out since the first wish that fell came true, and now the place is packed most nights. People come from all over to put their wishes on this wall, hoping for a change. Why they don’t just make the changes happen themselves rather than putting them up to some spirited wall gods is beyond me.
The woman pulls a dollar from her pocket before Bridget can finish explaining the significance of the wall. She searches the bar top, and because this isn’t my first rodeo, I grab the black marker I keep by the register for this exact reason and slip it to her.
“Did you figure out what you want?” I ask impatiently.
She smirks as she looks back at her table of friends and then turns her attention to the dollar again. “Do me a favor,” she whispers, like we’re in on some big conspiracy. “Make sure you don’t tack this one on too hard.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I meant for the shots,” I reply as I take her dollar and tape it to the wall. When I turn back around, waiting for her to tell me her drink order, I find her looking me up and down, as if I’m on the menu.
“My friends and I are only here for the weekend…we’ve got a house,” she offers.
“That’s great. Now the drinks?” I ask again.
“My friend…she never does anything crazy. Always follows the rules. I just want her to have fun this weekend, ya know?” she says, still ignoring my question.
I let out a long sigh, giving in to this conversation. “Listen, some people just want to be left alone. Maybe that’s your friend. Maybe she’s fine with the status quo. Maybe she doesn’t want her friends to butt into her life.” I glare in Bridget’s direction, and she laughs like she knows I’m talking about myself. I’m not. But I could be.
The woman sticks her hand out toward me. “I’m Savannah. What’s your name?”
Because I was raised with manners, my hand immediately finds hers. “Shawn,” I reply.
“Okay, Shawn, you adorable, grumpy bartender, you. I’ll take a round of tequila.” She winks at me, and I have to physically hold back my growl.
Five minutes later, she’s on her way back to the table, and Bridget is holding back a smirk. “What’s so funny?” I ask.
Her head shifts to the dollar on the floor. “Maybe you’re not such a grump after all. You gave Chatty Kathy her wish.”
I pick it up and laugh out loud when I read it.
“What does it say?” Bridget asks, her eyes like saucers.
I wish my friend Brittney would get laid this weekend. But not by the grumpy bartender. He’s all mine.
