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He looked skeptical at my answer, but shrugged. “Just give her a chance, huh? I don’t remember being your biggest fan when you started either, but now I can tolerate you.” Ash smacked my back with a laugh.
“You love me, you jackass. I’m your best friend.”
“One of them.” He shrugged and turned back to the growing crowd. “I like Auston more.” He laughed, and I flipped him off.
I was pouring a round of tequila shots for a group of girls that were mumbling something about a girls’ night when Rudy lifted his empty glass. He wanted another. “Give me just a second, Rudy,” I told him.
“I’ll take care of you. What are you drinking?” I cringed when she asked him. Rudy was known for being one of our grumpier regulars, and he didn’t love it when things didn’t run smoothly. Asking for his drink order was likely asking for an attitude.
I almost dropped the bottle when Rudy grinned instead. “Well, what do you recommend, young lady?”
“Personally, I’m a big fan of a negroni, but it looks like you may be a beer drinker.” She gestured to the empty pint glass in his hand.
Rudy smirked, leaning against the counter. “Let me get one of those fancy cocktails you make.”
“You sure, Rudy? That may be a bit sweet for your tastes.” Was I jealous?
He waved me off, keeping his eyes on Simone. “Yeah, yeah. I want to try this fancy pants drink from… what’d you say your name was?”
“Simone,” she said, gathering the bottles she needed. “Don’t listen to this guy. It’s only too sweet if you make it wrong. You’re going to love it.” The look she gave me felt like a challenge. She poured gin and Campari into the shaker, adding the vermouth and some ice.
“You sure you’re making that right, sweetheart?” I asked her, resting my hip on the bar next to her. “I’m pretty sure there is supposed to be Aperol in there.”
She rolled her eyes hard enough that her head rolled with them. “Do not doubt me, Logan. I may be new here, but I’m not new to bartending.” Her movements didn’t slow, and when she casually started to shake the mixture, my heart pounded.
“Just because you’re not new doesn’t mean you’re making that drink right.” I pointed to the bottle of Campari in her hand.
She set the bottle on the counter hard, the sound of the glass on wood drawing attention our way. “I know exactly how to make this drink. I’ve made enough of them to have the recipe down perfectly.”
“Want to bet? I’ll make a better negroni than yours.”
Simone passed me the shaker. “I’d love to see you try.”
I quickly made the drink, adding gin, Aperol, and red vermouth and squeezing an orange into it before sliding the glass next to hers. She shook her head and laughed, giving them to Rudy. We looked at him expectantly while he took a sip of each. His face was stoic for both, and he smacked his lips slightly for emphasis.
I stared at Simone, noting the anticipation on her face. Her eyes were wide and there was a genuine smile pulling at her cheeks. She seemed like she was having fun, and my stomach swirled. I tried to put my finger on what it was about her I didn’t like. I couldn’t, but I always trusted my gut.
Rudy cleared his throat, and it felt like everyone at the counter was invested and watching his display. “This one is the best. The other one is a bit too sweet,” he said.
“HA!” I guffawed, reveling in my victory until Simone raised her brow and laughed. Rudy was holding up her drink.
“I win.” It was a subtle brag, but it was enough to have me gripping the counter.
“That’s because you made it wrong,” I told her, pulling my phone from my pocket. “You added the Campari. It wasn’t actually a negroni.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m telling you, I’m right. Look it up.”
“I’d love to. When I’m right, you have to clean the bathrooms. Both of them.” The men’s restroom here could be disgusting, and we never made the female bartenders clean it for a reason. She didn’t seem phased, but her stomach would turn when she saw the small tile room the same way mine was turning in anticipation.
She giggled. “Deal. I’m right, though, and when you realize it, you can tell me. Out loud.”
Simone crossed her arms and watched while I searched on my phone. I pulled up the recipe for the drink and read it. Gin, vermouth, Campari, and an orange peel. No Aperol. “Fuck me,” I grumbled.
“I’ll pass.” She chuckled. “Let’s hear it, though, hmm?”
I gritted my teeth, keeping my mouth closed and refusing to acknowledge her.
“Oh, come on, Logan. A bit of a sore loser?” She taunted me, and my knuckles turned white under their grip. “Repeat after me. Simone, you’re right.”
