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Raucous laughter filled my ears, and it was all I could do not to cry. I hated this. Hated my life, hated my sister, hated Bernie, hated absolutely fucking everything.
I was a failure, a fuck-up, and at the age of twenty-three, I realised that my life so far had amounted to nothing and unless I left this job, this city and this life, I’d never amount to anything.
I gingerly picked up the broken shards of glass, trying not to cut myself.
A voice I didn’t recognise spoke.
“Hey, leave the guy alone. He only dropped a glass. No big fucking deal and it was your fault he dropped it. That’s no way to treat your staff.”
“Mind your own fucking business, son. It doesn’t concern you,” Bernie answered him, an aggressive tone to his voice. The guy Bernie was speaking to needed to butt out, but at least he’d stood up for me, which was more than anyone else had done for me recently.
I turned to see the guy I’d been ogling earlier looking over the bar at me, a concerned look on his face. I was surprised to hear a Manchester accent, not the Korean one I’d expected.
“Can I give you a hand with that?” Then that smile of his was back, and once again, I was mesmerised.
“Erm. You could pass me the dustpan and brush, if you wouldn’t mind. I just need to clear this glass up before someone cuts themself on it.”
He handed them over to me and waited while I cleared up the mess.
He gestured the way Bernie had gone with a tilt of his head. “Seems like a right cock.”
“Yeah, you could say that, but he’s the boss, so, you know, I have to do what he says.”
“If you say so, but it sounded like he wanted a bit more than bartending from you. Sorry if I’m overstepping here, and of course, he could be your boyfriend, but I’m assuming by the tears in your eyes that it’s not something you want?” He spoke softly, almost in a whisper.
It wasn’t something I wanted, no, but I didn’t know this guy. As good-looking as he was, this was none of his business.
“Yeah, well, you don’t know my circumstances.” I was being a shit, and I knew it. The guy was only trying to be friendly. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but it’s fine, honestly.”
He shrugged and went to leave but turned back at the last moment.
“If you need a friend, I’m here. Well, for the next few days anyway. We’re playing at Level tomorrow night if you’re free. Just mention my name at the door if you decide to come along.” He held out his hand, rings on several of his fingers, and I again noticed how long and slender they were. I stood, wiping my beer-soaked hand down my shirt before grasping his in mine. It was as I’d imagined, warm and soft, not at all like my cold, calloused hands.
“I’m Kwanchai, but my friends call me Kwan.” He smiled then, that beautiful, captivating smile, and I was gone, lost in his dark-brown eyes.
“I’m Beau. Just Beau, and thanks. I might take you up on your offer.” He continued to smile at me, and we stood there, still holding hands while the rest of the club carried on around us.
“Beau, get your ass over here and serve someone. I’m snowed under here.” We dropped our hands at the sound of Kenny’s voice.
“I, erm, should get back to work.”
He nodded. “I need to go see the others anyway. Nice meeting you, Beau, and I hope I’ll see you tomorrow night.” With that, he, too, disappeared into the crowd, and I was left staring open-mouthed at the place he’d vacated.
A dishcloth to the ear brought me back to earth, and I turned to the next customer.
“Hi, what can I get for you?” I plastered a fake smile on my face, knowing that in a few short hours, I would probably be on my knees in front of Bernie, knowing my place.
