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I pasted on my tight-lipped but still friendly smile as I set down the fourth beer in front of Jack, a regular at Bosco’s. He was an older man with a craggy face, a long, salt-and-pepper, unkempt beard, and sported a beer gut that hung over his pants because he’d clearly drunk way too much back in the day… and still did.
But I tolerated him because although he liked to throw out the sickly sweet endearments, he never tried to touch me, didn’t smack my ass or “adjust” my name tag, which sat right above my left breast. He just loitered, like one of those creepy old perverts who had nothing else to do with their time but sling back beers as he checked out the barely drinking-age girls who came in.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” I said but didn’t wait for him to respond, just turned and made my way around to my tables, never staying too long at them, especially if it was very clear the guys had too much to drink and had little to no self-control.
I was at the bar when I heard the loud conversation ring through from the new customers who’d just walked in. I didn’t have to turn around to know they were young men, probably already drunk from barhopping. But when I did glance over my shoulder, it was to confirm what I already knew and then groan, because of course they’d picked a high-top in my station.
“Thanks, Barb,” I murmured when my drink order was placed on my tray from the bartender. She had the rode-hard-and-put-up-wet look that surrounded her, as if she’d lived a rough city life, but she was still surviving. She saw toomuch with her dark-gray eyes, but she had a warm smile and a smart mouth when any one of us was disrespected.
“Good luck with that bunch, darlin’.”
I gave her a pained—thankful—smile and dropped off my latest order to the table of twentysomething-year-olds celebrating a bachelorette party. I made my way over to take the drink order from the obnoxiously loud group of guys. I’d have to be on the top of my game with this group, because I could already smell the liquor pouring off them before I even reached the table. Yup, for sure bar crawling.
“Evenin’, fellas. What can I start you off with tonight?” Maybe a couple of baskets of breadsticks to soak up the booze churning in your bloodstream? I pasted on my signature fake-as-fuck smile and looked at each one of them in the eyes, something I forced myself to do when I felta little off-kilter with drunks. It was a silent way to show them I was stronger than I looked.
They all had that glazed-over look in their red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes, a sheen of sweat on the foreheads, and their polo and button-down shirts were wrinkled and skewed, as if they’d been tugging and adjusting them all night in a drunken haze.
“A round of Irish car bombs.”
I stared at the one who ordered. His voice was booming, and I forced myself not to wince as it rang in my ears. I got the vibe he’d be the one to give me the worst of the shit as the night wore on. I called it my drunk sixth sense. And I was usually pretty spot-on where it was concerned.
“Sure thing. Anything else?”
The guy who ordered smiled in a way that told me he was thinking of something totally obscene and disgusting. I curled my lip and tried not to roll my eyes. “I’ll grab your drinks.” I turned on my heel but felt them staring at my ass, as if their eyes were fingers reaching out and stroking me. I suppressed a shiver and leaned against the bar after I placed the order with Barb. I idly looked at the clock on the wall, thankful the night was winding down with only a few more hours on my shift to go.
“Here you go, doll.”
I gave Barb a grateful smile and carted the tray back to the table, deposited their shots, and mumbled out an, “Enjoy,” but right when I was turning to leave, I felt a thick palm smack my ass so hard the sting traveled right up my back and wrapped itself around my throat.
I slowly turned around, the one who touched me grinning ear to ear as he looked at his friends, the other three smiling and all but giving each other claps on the back for a “job well done.”
“How about you hang with us after your shift?” He leaned forward, his warm, yeast-smelling breath wafting over me and causing my stomach to roil. He didn’t wait for me to respond before he reached out like he was about to curl a hand around my wrist and pull me in close.
I didn’t see myself doing it, didn’t even realize it had been done until I had his wrist in my hand and squeezed it as hard as I could. I wasn’t strong by any means, but I felt a stab of pleasure at his wince and the way he tugged as if to free himself, but it was also clear he didn’t want to look like a pussy in front of his buddies.
“Keep your slimy fucking hands to yourself before I go behind the bar, grab the hammer we keep there for such occasions, and bring it down on your fingers.” I was all bark and no bite, could never stomach doing something so violent, but this little asshole didn’t need to know that. I also had no clue if there even was a hammer back there, but the threat sounded good in my head, so I had gone with it.
I stared into his eyes and made sure he could see the pure venom and fire seeping through every pore in my body, made sure he could feel how serious I was right now. I was at the end of my rope tonight, and him laying his hands on me had pushed me over the edge.
“Crazy fucking bitch,” he grumbled out, his buddies mummering similar “endearments,” but they did leave, angrily throwing cash on the table to pay for their drinks and all but stumbling out of the bar.
I felt customers staring at me, but I’d had enough, so tired of this shit and feeling like I was on my last legs. I grabbed the money and stalked toward the bar, not looking at anyone or anything, my focus firmly planted on my feet.
“Evelyn, can I see you in my office?”
I gritted my teeth when Ritchie called out, and I glanced over at him with narrowed eyes. He didn’t bother waiting for me to reply before he turned and headed toward the back.
I set my tray on the bar top, and Barb gave me a sympathetic smile.
“Dolly, can you watch my tables for a minute?” I asked the other waitress, and she gave a nod and a little wave before moving on to her newest customer.
With an exhale of frustration, and just waiting to get this shit over with, I headed toward Ritchie’s office. He was already seated behind his cheap desk, acting like a king who was taking court with me.
“Shut the door.”
My fingers tightened into my palm before I loosened them and did as he ordered—because God forbid he actually ask.
For a second I just stood there by the door, the small swatch of space between me and him not far enough away for my liking. He stared at me with his dark eyes that always seemed bloodshot, like he’d been inhaling shots back here just to deal with life.
