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Pulling out of the parking spot, Blaire begins driving us in the direction of work. “Huh, I guess that makes more sense,” she admits. “I still won’t forget about that time we were over at her house for dinner and she tried to convince me a spirit was speaking to her.”
We both laugh at the insanity that is Margret Anders. Growing up, it was just my mom and me. The sad story of how I was conceived can be shortened to my mom as a college sophomore, a dark walk home from campus to her dorm, and a terrible man who put my mom through something no person should ever have to experience.
While my mom made the difficult decision of keeping the child that resulted from her rape, she has never treated me as if I was unwanted. Growing up, I lived in a home filled with love and laughter. My mom was a young mother, only nineteen when I was born, and I think her age and the fact that it was just the two of us helped to create the bond we have. She is the best person in my life and while she only lives a couple hours away and we talk as much as possible, I miss having her around.
Whiskey Joe’s comes into view with one of Florida’s sunsets framing the one-story building in a pink-and-orange glow. It’s almost seven thirty on a Saturday night and the parking lot is more than halfway filled with a variety of cars.
Blaire chooses a spot under one of the streetlights in the unofficial employee area. I spot Garrett’s old Ford truck a few rows down and smile, happy to be working with him tonight. Garrett is a nice guy and while he focuses on customer happiness, making sure his employees are taken care of is also a top priority for him.
Once inside, I welcome the familiar smell of mixed liquor and cigarette smoke. While some would be disgusted by that mixture, I have grown accustomed to it while working here. It has started to feel homey to me. Even though I have worked at Whiskey Joe’s for only about two years, it has become a place that I perceive less as work and more as a comfort. Not only do we have the greatest boss, but the group of coworkers Garrett has put together mesh well. Everyone is helpful, and we always have a fun time working, even on stressful nights.
“Ladies,” Garrett greets us from behind the bar on the left side of the room with a bright smile framed by his full beard. He is a large man, a former college football player, and has his long, dirty-blond hair pulled back in a bun tonight. If I didn’t know him personally, his size and permanent scowl would be intimidating, but truthfully, he is a big softy, even if he would deny it.
Whiskey Joe’s is the most popular bar in the college town for a few reasons. One is that we are lenient about ages here. As long as someone seems responsible enough to drink, we don’t ask questions. From what I hear, the owner is on good terms with the police in town, and they turn a blind eye as long as no one gets sloppy and they don’t find any patrons on the roads drunk driving. Another reason we are so popular is that not only do we serve a variety of alcoholic drinks and the best bar food you will find within thirty miles, but the atmosphere is top-notch. Inside, past the booths and tables on the right, are air hockey and foosball. Outside, there is a brick patio with mismatched furniture and a few cornhole games set up, as well as a giant Jenga. Since Garrett became the manager, he has turned his dad’s outdated establishment into the most popular hangout area in town.
We both smile and nod at him on our way toward the employee-only area, where there is a wall of lockers and a couple tables meant to make up our break room. On the way back there, we pass the makeshift dance floor and stage where a local band is performing. Garrett likes to have live music on the weekends and Thursdays are reserved for karaoke night.
“I’m glad football season is over. Now we only have to deal with baseball, but they’re at least a little less…rowdy than those Bucs fans,” Blaire states as we load up our lockers.
Being mere miles from the Bucs stadium means we attract many of their fans. There have even been a few times players have come in for a drink and to hang out, and their jerseys are signed and framed, hanging on the walls.
Smiling at her, I wrap my black apron around my waist and tie it in the front. “Just be happy hockey season is about done and our town’s team isn’t in the playoffs. I’ll never forget my first year working here when they won the Stanley Cup. I was covered in more beer and champagne than I liked.”
Her eyes widen in horror. “While I’m happy for our town if the teams win, I am also content with them not winning and everyone remaining civil and calm and keeping me dry.”
Laughing, I shut my locker after checking my apron is filled with my pens, bottle opener, and server pad. “Let’s get to work, girlie. I’m ready to forget about my current life drama and focus on serving college kids alcohol and food that will take years off their lives.”
While I love Whiskey Joe’s and working here, this place will serve as a reminder of Conrad. More nights than not, he would show up while I was working and made sure to always sit in my section. Even on nights Blaire and I weren’t working, all of us would come here to hang out. When I look at certain areas of the bar, I can’t help but think of times we were together. Nights that he and I would dance close on the dance floor. Moments of laughter we shared with our friends out on the patio when we would play Jenga or cornhole.
Coming to work, I thought I would be able to get lost in thought while waiting on tables, but when I look around, I wonder if that is going to be harder said than done.
17
EMREE
The more than half-full parking lot turned into an overflowing one as the night went on. Apparently, everyone had the bright idea of coming to Whiskey Joe’s tonight. Luckily, we had a full staff scheduled, so no one was overly stressed with tables and orders. Those nights are the worst, or if someone has to call out.
With how busy we have been, Conrad hasn’t crossed my mind at all. A sadness did come over me when Camden, Maddox, and Levi came in about half an hour ago, but I pushed it aside and focused on my tables. Getting consumed by sadness is not what I need tonight. What I need to do is keep busy, and later, I can reflect on my messed-up love life.
After delivering a round of refills to my table with five guys and three girls who have made my night easy by ordering beer buckets and wings and checking in on my four other tables, I head over to the guys to say hello.
Maddox smiles and holds his arms out as I walk up to them. I lean against his side and wrap an arm around his neck. “Evening, gentlemen. How are we all doing?”
Three pairs of eyes make me their focus as they all grunt out hellos. While I have seen Camden a few times since Conrad and I broke up, I haven’t seen Levi or Maddox since the beach. I’m assuming they both know about what happened, but neither of them is acting differently toward me.
Maddox snakes his arm around my waist and gives me a squeeze. “Doing pretty well, beautiful. And yourself?”
Maddox is a notorious flirt and one of the best-looking men I have ever seen. With his long, dark-blond hair, tanned skin, and sparking light-green eyes, he knows others get mesmerized by his looks alone, but add in his charm and he is damn near irresistible to many women.
“Not many complaints from me,” I tell him, hoping he can’t see through the extra-wide smile I plaster on my face. My eyes automatically scan their drinks to make sure no one is running low, but they are in Blaire’s section and she is always on top of her tables.
“Oh fuck,” Levi, who is typically the quiet one of the group, mutters. He is looking toward the front entrance and his eyes are wide with concern.
We all turn our heads in the same direction, and my body freezes when I see who walks in. While I only saw her for a brief moment last night, I could never forget the woman who called the man I lovehubby.
The stunning brunette waltzes through the double doors of Whiskey Joe’s, turning almost every head in the room. Without even trying, she demands all the attention around her. She is looking even more captivating tonight than she was yesterday in a dark-blue dress that hugs each of her curves and hits midcalf. Her legs look impossibly long and she has added a few extra inches to her height with the black strappy heels she is wearing. Her face is perfectly contoured with the right amount of bronzer and concealer, and her eyelashes are fanned out around her light-brown eyes.
The mystery woman is dressed more for clubbing in downtown Tampa than she is for a college bar in Braxton.
