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She still wears the black tank top from earlier, and her light hair is straight and down around her shoulders. I’d probably call it blonde, but maybe it’s a light brown. It’s thick though, I can tell just by looking.
However, the longer I look, the longer I want to ask why she seems sad, and again...
Not my place to pry.
“Well, if you need a refill, let me know. I’m probably heading out soon, but by no means do you have to close out. I’ll just pass you over to one of the others.”
“Thank you, Jake.”
“You’re welcome, Sophia.”
Except, Conor still doesn’t come in at eight, and after I got Sophia to start her drink, she finishes it quickly. I line a second one up for her, but comp it on her tab. This one gets drained far faster than the first, and when she waves me down, I’m prepared to get her a third but she shakes her head.
“Can I switch to beer?”
“You absolutely can.” The beers on tap are usually going to be cheaper than our liquors, and the Effen Blood Orange is a little pricier than one like Smirnoff.
“What would you suggest?” She leans into the bar, her arms crossed on top, supporting her.
“Well, the bosses started their own brew a year or so ago. It’s pretty good. It’s an Irish beer, so it’s fairly stout, but it’s not as dark as, say, Guinness. We don’t usually have it on tap year-round but we’re prepping for St. Patrick’s Day.”
“Sold. I’ll try it.”
I pour her one from the tap, tipping the glass until it’s just over halfway filled before leveling it off to give it just under an inch of head. Satisfied, I bring it back to the light haired beauty, placing it in front of her.
“Go ahead and give it a taste. If you don’t like it, I can get you something more commercial.”
She takes a sip, nodding as she brings the glass back down and wiping the back of her hand over her mouth. “Mm. That’s good. The caramel and toffee are strong, but it’s a good strong.”
“I’ll be sure to pass that along,” I chuckle, leaving her to her game and beer. Now that it’s after eight, the post-dinner crowd is coming in. While most of the afternoon and early evening ebbs and flows, there won’t be any slowing down now. Not until after midnight.
I’m busy on the other side of the bar when Sophia calls for a refill, but it’s Shayne who gets her set up. Just like her second vodka drink, this second beer goes down quickly. I watch as she starts a conversation with the woman next to her, although it’s short lived because someone’s at the jukebox and it’s becoming a party in here. While still in her seat, Sophia starts to rock back and forth, her shoulders swaying with the beat. She mouths the words to the song—well, I assume she mouths them; she may very well be singing—as her eyes remain glued to the television, watching the final minutes of the Enforcers game.
“I am so fucking sorry,” Conor’s big voice booms behind me as he pushes through the swinging door separating the back from front. “Just as Aiden and I finished up dinner and he was getting ready to go to a friend’s, he starts puking all over. I don’t know how the hell he got a stomach bug while everyone else has the flu, but shit, it’s a mess at my house.”
The man looks tired, but if there’s one thing Conor O’Gallagher is, it’s a great owner and manager. I don’t know Rory much, he doesn’t come into San Diego all that often, but between Brenna and Conor, they keep the place running at a high level. Brenna and Stone are big fixtures here, but Conor lives and breathes two things—his family and O’Gallaghers.
“It’s not a problem. You forget you’ve been on your feet all day once the next wave comes in,” I joke, although I’m serious. “Shayne hasn’t had a break yet. I’m happy to stay longer.” I glance in Sophia’s direction. I can’t deny that I’m feeling some sort of way about her, and staying to make sure she’s okay is part of the reason I offer.
Besides, I have nothing to do tomorrow. What’s another thirty minutes at work?
“Are you sure? I can handle it without you if you’re dead.”
“I’m good.”
Shayne heads to her break right when Conor points in her direction, and while she’s supposed to take thirty, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s back in twenty. When Sophia waves me down again, I’m assuming she’s ready to close out.
“You done for the night?” I ask, reaching for her empty glass.
“Nope. I’m just finally starting to feel really good, ya know?”
I have a moment of “responsibility” panic, as I realize she’s probably had one too many. But she seemed absolutely fine before. Did that second beer really hit her that hard?
“How about a water? How you getting home?” I ask in a far calmer tone than I’m feeling, getting her a water glass without her agreeing to it.
“I’m not drunk,” Sophia mumbles, although she does reach for the water and takes a large gulp.
“I...didn’t say that you were. But you also haven’t eaten.” Fuck me, I should have offered her a menu more than the one time.
