Page 12 of Saving Pookie

"Sure as shit looks like it." She flicks her hair behind her ear. "You must be the new guy."

"Paul—" I stammer, but immediately correct myself. "I'm Pookie."

She raises an inquisitive brow. "Gay or straight?"

A lump swells in my throat. I cock my gaze to the right, catching the lens of a camera pointed directly at my face. The girl gives her head a violent shake, gesturing for me to look away from the camera. "Gay, gay. Like really gay."

"Goddammit," she sneers. "Us ladies can't have anything nice."

"Sorry?" I say sheepishly, unsure if she's complimenting me. "What's your name?"

She sighs, not even attempting to mask her disdain. "I'm Tamra, and for the next fifteen minutes, this is my bar."

"Nice to meet you," I lie through my teeth, but it feels like the proper thing to do. I search the crowd with my eyes. "Where are the guys?"

She smirks sideways. "They're hiding."

"What the hell for?"

"Look, new guy, either get to work or get out of my way." She nudges past me, shuffling her body against mine, and leans over the bar to take another man's order. I watch her as she works, chewing seductively into her bottom lip as she greets the customer wearing a crop top and shorts. She knows that man is gay, right? She has to...

I roll my eyes and get as far away from her as humanly possible, making my way towards the other girl who is sun-kissed with deep freckles and dark copper hair with attentive emerald eyes. She wears the same getup as Tamra, but it looks more authentic on her. Like, Tamra is cosplaying as a cowgirl, but this girl is a cowgirl. I make the second mistake of the night by stepping on the other girl's foot.

"Shitfuck," she shouts and jabs me in the stomach with her elbow. "Like hello to you too. Christ on a stick, I know I'm a but I'm not fucking invisible."

I raise my hands to protest, stumbling over my own words, "I'm so sorry."

"I'm just fucking with you," she cackles, her voice torn between a Southern drawl and a valley girl accent. She lifts her leg, brings the toe of her pink boot to her soft lips, and gives it a soft kiss. "These things are made of steel." She kicks her foot back down to the floor and practically jumps at me, engulfing my body with a hug. "I've been waiting all day to meet you, Pookie."

I tap her on her back as the hug goes on for a few seconds longer than I'm comfortable with. Then, I find the strength to break away as politely as I can. What is it with the people here and their lack of boundaries?

"I'm Avalon," she says through a wicked grin and places her hands on her hips. "Are you excited to be here?"

I scratch at the back of my head and ignore every part of my body that's screaming to run as far away from this place as humanly fucking possible. "So excited."

"That's what I like to hear, cowboy. Now do me a favor and pour me two Bud Lights and one Samuel Adams."

I nod and turn to the rack of empty glassware on the lowest shelf of the bar. There's an assortment of sizes, hundreds of clean glasses lined up neatly. I've had a beer before—although it's not my favorite drink—and know that it usually goes in the pint glasses. I grab three from the shelf and they clank together. There are about fifteen different taps, and it takes me far too long to find the ones I'm looking for.

Now, I've never poured a drink from a tap before, but how hard can it be?

Apparently, it can be very hard because I pour all three, and each of them is half beer and half foam.

Avalon's hot glare rests on my shoulder. "Like, do you know what you're doing?"

I force a smile and turn to meet her gaze, freezing in place as I once again take notice of the camera aimed squarely at us.

"Like, have you ever used one of these before?" She lets out a restrained groan—at least she's trying to hide her disdain unlike her coworker—and pours the drinks down the drain. "I've found it's easiest to learn to do something by watching, so watch me teach you."

I do as instructed, watching as she tilts the glass and fills the glasses to the top with only a slim film of foam at the top. She finagles the three glasses into her grip and carries them over to the customer, who hands her his card in exchange.

I turn back to the crowd and swallow my pride and my nerves. The only way I'm going to survive this trial by fire is to actually try to do the job. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans as I approach a man hunkered over the counter. He's staring at something on the opposite end of the bar and doesn't seem to notice me until I loudly clear my throat.

His gaze twists sideways and lands on mine as his big lips curl into a smile. "Can I get an IPA?"

"What kind?" I ask, the words scratching at the back of my throat.

His eyes flutter as he drags a finger over the bottom of his lip where flesh meets light stubble. "I like variety, so I'll take whatever you give me."