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I trapped him. I came down and opened a locked door for Ugly, meaning the man standing at the bar picking up his debit card could make the only plausible conclusion. Alex didn’t get there before him. He was there all night.
I can’t blame him for thinking it after the way I confronted him last night.
I shake my head, irritated to even care at all.
I don’t do this.
I don’t get wrapped up in people.
I don’t let them leave me confused.
I’m always one step ahead, the one to bow out gracefully before real feelings get involved.
It happened too soon with Alex. I was blindsided by the man, completely awestruck from the first kiss, and drowning in him with each subsequent encounter.
I have no one to blame but myself, and that’s how I spend my day, in complete recrimination to the point I catch myself mumbling my mistakes out loud. Thankfully, there’s no one concerned enough to pay me any attention.
“The place is immaculate as always.”
I look up, trying to manage a smile at Jake, my boss and the owner of the bar.
“What brings you by, old man?” I ask, trying to be my normal jovial self.
I fall short, but hopefully he doesn’t notice.
“Just checking up on the place,” Jake says, his smile warm and inviting, something most all bartenders master not long after serving their first drink.
“Haven’t burned it down yet,” I say, my tone flatter than it normally would be.
He looks around, but it doesn’t feel like he’s being critical of the place. I take a lot of pride in my job, and I know that in recent years, with Jake taking a step back, I’ve become the face of the business. I don’t want to tarnish his name any more than I want to tarnish my own by giving anyone a reason to complain other than not being impressed when they have to be cut off for the night.
“You should give Rochelle a few lessons,” he says, pointing to the outside of the ice bin. “I don’t know that she ever thinks to wipe that down during her shift. Look at it gleaming.”
“She wipes it down,” I say in her defense.
The reason it looks spectacular right now is because I scrubbed the thing earlier in an effort to keep from grabbing my truck keys, kicking everyone out, and heading to the clubhouse. I’ve cleaned many things today to keep me from doing something stupid.
“I wanted to touch base on Joey Dixon.”
He thanks me with a nod when I hand him a soda.
“I can’t complain. It took him a few days to get the hang of it, but he seems to have a routine down. He’s almost as fast as Wallace with getting food orders out. He hasn’t made too many errors.”
Jake nods, taking a sip of his drink.
“You’re making corrections where they’re needed?”
I give him a weak smile. I had so much trouble when I first started, and got irrationally angry when I was corrected, that I struggled to correct any wrong behaviors when I took over more responsibilities. I never wanted people to feel the way I did even though I know now that the corrections that were made were needed. I had all that personal shit going on and getting nagged felt like it was a personal dig rather than it just being a need for the bar to run smoother. When I became management, I spent a lot of time just doing things myself, and the bartenders and line cooks weren’t getting any better. It was a detriment to the bar because there’s too much for any one person to do.
Jake sat me down and explained the whys and hows. Although it took a while for me to step up and tell others how things needed to be done, I got the hang of it eventually.
“I am,” I tell him with a small grin. “I’ve only had to tell him to slow down once because going too fast and not reading tickets caused a few issues. He’s doing better.”
“Good,” Jake says with another nod. “Rochelle hasn’t had an attendance problem?”
I shake my head. “Not since she kicked Aaron to the curb.”
“Very good.” Jake stands, sliding his nearly empty Coke across the bar top. Like always, he pulls a five-dollar bill from his wallet and drops it on the wood. “Keep up the good work.”
I empty the glass and put it in the tray to be carried back to the kitchen later.
Jake turns back around. “I meant to ask you how the gig went for Cerberus.”
“Very good,” I tell him honestly. “Kincaid tipped way too much, considering that almost every person who got a drink also tipped.”
Jake’s smile is wide. “That’s just how they are. Let me know if you need anything.”
I give him a little wave as he leaves, filling another mug of draft for one of the regulars at the bar.
