“You got ID?” Nolan asks us.
“Yep.” Millie tells him, popping the p. “Courtesy of me. And before you get all Mr. Protective-Panicky-Pants, we all know you were buying cheap beer with one when you were seventeen, so you can’t tell us it’s not a good idea.”
Nolan holds his hands up in defense before replying. “Hey, I wasn’t going to say anything other than, I’m in. A couple of beers tonight sounds good, actually. Right, Dev?”
“Yeah, why not.” Devon says after giving Nolan another knowing look.
“Great,” I tell them both. “In which case, see you later tonight. Hope you scrub up well, boys.”
Millie and I are in my room, putting the finishing touches on our outfits. Despite the fact we’re not going anywhere fancy, we’ve both decided to dress up, and I’m wearing a tight-fitting backless dress in emerald-green, while Millie has opted for a baby-blue halter-neck. After putting the finishing touches to my lightly-curled hair and having a quick make-up tutorial from Millie—I’m now an expert at the cat eye—we put on our heels and make our way downstairs where Devon and Nolan are waiting. Jude isn’t joining us tonight as he’s on a date with some girl he picked up recently. I’m under no illusion my brother is a saint, but I also don’t need to know the ins and outs of his sex life.
As we enter the kitchen, Devon emits a low appreciative whistle, and we lap it up as we twirl around so they can see the fruits of our labor. Boys have it easy; all they need to do is have a shower and shave, pull on some pants and a shirt and run hair product through their hair and they’re done. Girls, on the other hand, need to set aside at least two hours of preparation time to shower, shave, wash, dry and style their hair, cleanse, tone, moisturize, and then pile on the layers of make-up. Some might consider the process too much, but we do what’s required to make us feel comfortable and confident, and right now, I feel like a queen.
After Millie takes a couple of photos and uploads them to her Instagram account, we get in a cab and make our way to the Boardwalk. Although I’ve been here before, I’ve not yet walked to the far end where The Crease is situated. Devon holds the door open for us and I follow Millie in and to a table opposite the bar. Saul and Brad are already there—seemingly Nolan put a call in to them and decided to make a night out of it—and they already have a round of shots lined up on the table. We all say “Cheers!” and down the liquid—which turns out to be tequila—before slamming our glasses on the table. As I’m about to put mine down, I have a strange feeling of being watched and I slowly turn around to find the pair of meadow-green eyes which frequent my dreams, angrily staring in my direction. I instantly know the night is about to get interesting.
Biting the bullet, I offer to buy the next round and walk over to the bar, where Kyler is serving. If I’m going to buy drinks, he might as well be the one who serves me. Even though he sees me approaching, he serves another customer first, making me wait a while to place my order. I take the time to study him. He’s wearing his usual attire of black jeans, this time with a dishcloth tucked into the back pocket and a black shirt rolled up at the sleeves. He’s scowling a little and doesn’t give the impression of being the friendliest bartender in town, so I can only assume his drink-making skills are top notch.
Finally, he finishes serving his customer and places both hands on the bar, head bent, and takes a deep breath before looking up at me and then walks over.
“What are you doing here, Thea?” he asks, his voice low and measured and not very welcoming.
“Ordering drinks, of course.” I tell him, even though it should be obvious given I’m standing at the bar.
“You’re underage.”
“Not according to this, I’m not,” I tell him as I show him my fake ID.
“Fuck!” he swears under his breath as he quickly swipes the card from my hand and stuffs it in his pocket. “Where the fuck did you get this?”
I’m a little pissed he’s taken my ID and not given it back. “It’s none of your concern so can you please give it back?” I tell him, batting my eyelashes at him. I might as well be polite as possible in order to get served.
“The hell I will. This piece-of-shit ID can get you in trouble and us closed down. You need to leave. I’m not serving you and no one else here will either.”
And now I’m furious. What’s a girl gotta do to get a goddamn drink around here? And who is he to tell me I need to leave? He doesn’t own me; he’s not my father and I can do the hell I want. I’m completely fed up with people telling me what I can and can’t do. First, it’s Adam with his bullshit about where I should live; and now it’s Kyler, telling me how to spend my free time. If I want to have a drink then I will. If I want to buy a drink in the bar he happens to work in, then I will, and he has no right to tell me otherwise.
“Are you being serious right now? Who do you think you are telling me what I can do? You’ve no right, you don’t own me! Give me my goddamn card back and serve me my drinks. Or I’ll complain to the manager and get you fired!”
“No, Thea. Get your stuff and go home,” Kyler says. His jaw pulsates with tension, and he flexes his fingers against the bar, hinting at the anger building up inside of him. He turns his back, and I’ll be damned if he thinks he can walk away from this conversation without serving me.
“Fuck you, Kyler!” I screech at him, not caring who can hear our conversation. Maybe his co-workers need to know he’s refusing to serve a paying customer, and if it means causing a scene then so be it. I’m tired and pissed at people—noboys—thinking they can tell me what to do. I’m old enough to make up my own mind and make my own decisions and I’m not taking this kind of crap from any of them.
Unfortunately, Kyler doesn’t seem to get the message. Instead of taking my order, he glowers at me for a little longer, his eyes alight with anger. There’s a fire burning with rage within them and I’m sure it’s exactly what he sees in my eyes, because the fury coursing through my body is creating a nervous pent-up energy that’s about to be unleashed at any given moment. He mutters something to one of the other servers and before I can comprehend what’s happening, Kyler walks around the bar, grabs me by the arm and promptly walks me through a door to the back.
I instantly know this conversation is not over.
Fourteen
Kyler
I needto find something new to say because “What can I get you?” or “What are you having tonight?” are so mundane I’m boring myself each time I open my mouth. Yet, my brain comes up with nothing. Literally the two most tedious things a server or bartender can say are on constant repeat. Believe me, there are times when some college frat boy is standing at my bar and I want to say, “What the fuck do you want?” but my job is far too important to lose it over how I approach the customers.
Someone decides it’s mellow-dramatic-night and has power ballads playing from the jukebox. When my boss installed the thing, I begged him to keep it unplugged. He’s not here every weekend to hear the nauseating love songs play on repeat or watch drunkards group together to sing and hold their beer bottles as if this is their last night together. I get it, people are sentimental, and I’m not. I blame my mother. It seems I’ve been doing that a lot lately and should probably stop. My life doesn’t need to revolve around her, although it’ll likely never stop. I swear, I’m the adult in this relationship and she’s the child who doesn’t listen. I can’t change her, which is unfortunate.
The night is going well. Tips are flowing and the customers seem happy, except for the group in the back, who are currently rocking out to Meat Loaf’s “I’d Do Anything For Love” and emphasizing “that” each time Meat Loaf belts it out. I bet half the people singing right now don’t even know what they’re agreeing to since most never understand the lyrics. They’re plain as day to me if you actually listen to the song. He’s never going to lie, he’ll be there until the end, and he’s never going to cheat. Words to live by if you ask me.
The Crease is filling up nicely for a Friday night. Everyone congratulates me on the win from Wednesday night. While I didn’t score, I had three assists, which count just as much in the stat box. If it’s not me pushing the puck across the goal line, I’m more than happy to be the one who passed to a teammate. Jude finished the night with a shutout. Another one to add to his growing list. His goal for the season is to have the longest shutout streak in the division—something the team is fully behind. Our defense is top notch right now and will only get better once the freshmen find their flow. To say I’m excited about this season would be an understatement.
I’m elbow-deep in a round of shots when I glance up and see Devon and Nolan heading to the table where Brad and Saul have taken up residence. My eyes widen when I see Millie and Thea trailing behind them. I can’t take my eyes off Thea, and it’s because of the way she’s dressed. The green number she has on barely covers her body is only causing my imagination to run wild. I fucking hate knowing what she sounds like when she’s having sex and those little noises are playing rather loudly in my mind right now. Meat Loaf be damned. I look toward the door, waiting for her douchebag boyfriend to walk in, but he doesn’t. He’s probably parking his Lambo with the valet down the street, afraid us townies might touch his precious. Fuck, I hate him. I wanted to beat the shit out of him when I saw him but knew Thea would never look at me the same. Not that I need her to look at me at all. Ifuckingwant her to look at me.