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“I’ll show you…”
“Anyway, ignore those two,” the man closest to me says gruffly. His beard is thick and long, reaching down to his chest. His shoulders are massive, practically bursting out of his blue and black checkered flannel.
He arches a pierced brow up at me. “Can we get a round of Switchbacks—”
The blond grunts, and the man speaking rolls his eyes.
“—and a rum and Coke for the Princess.”
Swallowing, I nod, and go to turn away when someone calls out, “Oh and the biggest glass of Diet Coke you can manage. No ice.”
“Sure thing,” I murmur, flashing them a small grin over my shoulder.
Releasing a sharp breath, I quickly make my way back to the bar and put in their orders with Micah.
“That bad?” he says, reading me clear as day.
I clench my teeth, shaking my head. “No.”
And it really wasn’t. I’m off the ball tonight, and I have no idea why. I just feel…jittery. On edge, more out of sorts than I’ve felt in a while.
The music picks up, and I hear a girl cheer.
In my periphery, Dana swings up onto the pole, leg stretching straight up making it look like she’s doing a split against the air. Her black hair gleams under the red lights, falling in a sleek sheet down her back as she twists, arches back, and wraps her legs around the pole, flipping herself upside down.
I’m vaguely aware of the door opening. A cold breeze blowing through, sending chills down the back of my neck and arms.
The music pulses in time with the lights, drowning out the crowd’s murmurs.
I sense more than see Micah slide the tray my way, and I grab it, nodding a thanks, before turning back toward the bachelor party.
A newcomer has arrived. His back’s currently to me as he talks to the guy on the end—the one with the blue and black button up and long beard. They all scoot, making room.
“Yeah, man. We got you. Here they are now,” I hear him say.
Someone whoops behind me, momentarily pulling my attention. It’s always loud and a little overwhelming in here, but tonight I’m feeling it more than usual.
Deciding I’ll step out back quick for some fresh air and quiet—something Micah, who’s technically my boss being that he’s the bar manager, has no problem with. He knows it gets to be too much for me sometimes.
I step around the guy currently hunching over to take a seat, and lower the tray to the table.
“Here you go,” I say, not looking at any of them. I can’t. “If you need anything, I’m Sky. Just yell for me, and—”
There’s a sharp intake of air.
Alarm bells go off in my head, and it’s like lightning zaps through me. I flinch, my hand knocking over the drink closest to me. I barely notice—barely hear the exclaim of surprise coming from the men at my back as I whip toward the guy who just sat down.
I’m distantly aware of beer rushing over the table, dousing my hand.
Carlos magically appears with a rag, mumbling apologies. A hand grips my shoulder. Someone asks me if I’m okay. Carlos maybe?
But I only have eyes for the ones staring back at me, big and shocked and the greenest of greens I’ve ever seen.
As if being back here, in Vermont, infused life and color back into his eyes.
Or maybe I just forgot how vibrant they were.
Maybe I just didn’t appreciate them as much back then.
