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After a few minutes, the guy grabs her near-empty glass and heads toward where I’m sitting. They have servers in this place, so I’m unsure why he wants to get her a new drink himself.
He briefly acknowledges me as he stands inches away, trying to get the bartender’s attention.
Finally, the barkeep comes over. “What can I get you?”
I look straight ahead at the TV while I sip and pretend not to listen.
“Vodka soda with a lime, I think. And, bro”—he lowers his voice conspiratorially—“could you add extra vodka?”
The blond bartender deadpans at him, “So you want a double?”
“Nah, just some extra, ya know.” He makes two clicking sounds with his tongue and points to the table of girls. “Hook me up.”
It’s not hard to notice the bartender’s rainbow bracelet, lip gloss, and the amount of attitude and sass he pours out so I don’t think this douchebag is going to get the hookup he thinks he’s going to. I bite back a smile.
I briefly turn to see the bartender bring him back the drink in a glass much bigger than the original and charge him twenty for it. A single is about ten so I’m trying not to laugh.
“Damn,” the guy says, giving him a twenty-dollar bill, and then shoving a dollar into the glass tip jar.
“Cheap prick,” I hear the bartender—who I just noticed is also named Carter, which makes me laugh even harder—mumble as he goes down the bar to help someone else.
So he’s trying to get my girl drunk.Well, go ahead, buddy, because you aren’t taking her home.
I watch as he sets the drink in front of her. She says thank you and takes a sip, then winces. It looks like she’s commenting on how strong it is. But she sips it again. She’s going to be wasted in no time if she drinks that whole thing.
After finishing my scotch, I consider ordering another but I don’t. I close out my tab and just sit and watch. After a few minutes, I see Taryn get up and head for the bathrooms. I wait about thirty seconds and head there myself. There’s a dark wood-paneled hallway that shields the restaurant and bar area from the restrooms so I wait in there for her to come out.
It doesn’t take long, and after she exits, she looks at me briefly and then her eyes widen. “Carter. What are you doing here?”
“You invited me,” I state. “Are you drunk?”
She shakes her head. “No. Got a little buzz. That’s it.” She looks past me then says, “Excuse me.”
As she tries to pass, I grip her upper arm. “I don’t think so.”
She looks down at my hand on her arm and says, “What?”
“Let’s go,” I say, walking her out of the hallway as she tries to loosen my grip.
“No,” she states, digging in her heels.
“Yeah, you’re drunk and that guy you’re talking to is a complete tool.”
She looks up at me with wide eyes. “No, he’s not. He’s nice.”
“He tried to pay the bartender for extra vodka so he could ply you with alcohol and get you into bed.” Okay, so I kind of made up that last part but I doubt I’m wrong.
“Oh, you think I’m that easy, do you?” she asks, yanking her arm out of my grip and folding her arms across her chest.
I shake my head. “No, I don’t, but he does. So let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“Out of here. Say bye to your friends,” I demand.
“Look, I don’t know why you think you can just come in here and order me around, but we’re not at work, so you can go f—”
I yank her arm and spin her around. “Get your shit, we’re leaving. This isn’t up for debate.”
