Page 22 of Trash Talk
Chapter 13
Ruby- 28 years old (May)
Mother freaking hell! Can I not catch a break?! Not only has today been a backbreaker, but Em is annoyingly ignoring me and flirting with two guys at the bar, and now, I have a front row seat to watch my ex-fiancé grope this Barbie-look-a-like at the pool table next to me.
Barry Baker, my cheating asshole of an ex. We’d met at a wedding at Alexander Vineyard three-and-a-half years ago. I live in a cottage on the property and help out with events as well as handle the advertising and marketing. After college, I talked Em’s dad into rebranding. It wasn’t easy, but he was thrilled with the results. He gave me a position, and I completely overhauled our website, print materials and social media. It’s a big job for one person because we distribute several products, give tours, offer event services and have an onsite restaurant. The grounds are only open to the public five days a week, but it can get hectic. Especially during season.
And we’re kicking this season off right. It’s early spring, so we’ve already had a couple of weddings. After the one today though, I’m beat. I’m always happy to jump in wherever they need me, working on a vineyard is most definitely a team effort. Our resident event coordinator, Lana, was having trouble finding the waitstaff she’d hired, and the photographer quit pre-reception. Apparently, the bride was being difficult (And yes, when I say difficult, I mean she’d been sipping vodka since 10am and was a raging bitch by noon. The ceremony didn’t even start until 2:00.) I’m surprised the groom didn’t quit. Hell, I almost quit. But I really do love my job. And I love Lana, so… Em and I ran around with my two DSLR’s strapped around our necks and a tray of apps in our hands. Snapping pics and feeding guests simultaneously. It was rough.
After all that, I just wanted to have a couple beers, hustle some tourists at pool and go home and have a nice long soak in my claw-foot tub. I had no plans to run into Barry tonight, yet here I am. Listening to the world’s most annoying giggle. Yes, he giggles. I know, I know it should’ve been a warning sign. An immediate turn off. But he was so complimentary. And I was just getting out of an ‘I hate men’ phase (I go through a lot of those, don’t ask). And he had such kind eyes. Now I’d love nothing more than to throw the rest of my beer into his baby blues. But that would be a disastrous waste of alcohol. And I need every damn drop tonight.
God, I wish this frat boy would just give it up already. He’s already lost two games and is about to lose a third when I sink my last two shots in the corner pocket. I’ve got to get away from street-corner Barbie and gropey-hands Ken. It’s distracting. I don’t have feelings for Barry anymore, unless you count loathsome disgust. I’m not even sure I was ever truly in love with him. But I definitely fell out of whatever it was around the time he blamed me for his cheating ways. It doesn’t mean that it still doesn’t hurt seeing your ex with someone new. Especially, when you haven’t moved on.
When we first got together things were good. We may have lacked the passion that some of my previous relationships had, but I thought it’d grow in time through mutual respect and understanding. We’d create intimacy through friendship. Not a perfect solution, but I liked him, and I thought that he liked me. Loved me, even.
I began to have doubts that we were right for each other. We’d grown apart (he complained about us not spending enough time together or me working too hard and I found myself finding excuses to spend more time at work or with friends than with him). We took a break, but he came back the next day and somehow talked me into doubling my efforts to make it work. There’s safety in familiarity. Barry had been the only man to put up with all of my nonsense and still wanted to marry me, I just had cold feet. I owed it to him to at least try. His solution was to move in together. I felt guilty that I hadn’t put in as much effort as him into our relationship and agreed.
Six months later, my feet weren’t any warmer than the day I moved in. I was actually going to tell him I was moving back to my cottage at the vineyard the day I found out about mom. Our relationship took a backseat. I thought he’d be there for me, instead he’d reacted poorly to a fantastically shitty situation. We took a break. I pulled away. We got back together again shortly afterward, but it only lasted a few months. I was already detached. Every time I tried to end it; he’d somehow talk me out of it.
Barry is extremely manipulative, and it took me a long time to figure it out. He always had to have the upper hand, the last word. He made me believe there was something wrong with me. That he’d be the only man that could handle all of my little quirks, as he so lovingly called them. But if I was so proud and stubborn and sassy and brash why did he always want to get back with me so badly after our breaks? Hell, why did I go back to him?
He had this way of complimenting and putting me down at the same time. Most of the time I just felt like I wasn’t good enough for anyone. I’d had true happiness before and ruined it. I didn’t deserve the fairy tale; I’d only destroy it. I deserved mediocrity because it was the best I was going to get. But after our last failed attempt at reconciliation, Barry had finally had enough. He was done with me. He needed someone he could control. I was at the same time too much and not enough for him. He said that because I’d pushed him away, he was forced to seek comfort with other women. He needed more, obviously, three cup sizes more.
Our breakup is recent enough that it’s tacky for him to bring a chick into my bar like this (and he doesn’t even live here anymore— he’s here specifically to annoy me). And yes, I realize Depot isn’t my bar. I don’t own it. It’s just the one I always go to (and he knows that). There are other options, but I’m not in the mood for karaoke, trivia or whatever else the kitschy bar on the other end of Main has going on tonight, and I certainly don’t want to deal with a bunch of badass bikers. They don’t take too kindly to a little girl winning a cool three grand off them in an hour’s time. I hate being underestimated (actually, I thrive on proving assholes wrong). Okay, so I may have unwisely hustled them a bit. And I may be banned for a while. Okay; okay. Life. I’m banned for life. Sheesh. Not like I’d ever go back anyway; those guys are scary AF. Damnit, even taking a hundred bucks off this kid isn’t elevating my mood. Nope, this is a job for tequila.
I sink the eight ball, collect my money with a small salute and stride toward the bar. After plopping down on the stool next to Em, I wave down Jemma. I can’t believe she’s still here after all these years. And she still looks like she’s in her early twenties, even though I know she’s around thirty-five. She’s a damn good bartender. “Another round?” She asks holding up a bottle of Dos XX.
I nod, “Yeah, but I’m also gonna need something stronger.” Her eyes narrow on something over my shoulder. She grabs the bottle of Patrón. Didn’t I say she’s awesome? I slam the shot. “Another.”
“Um, don’t you think you should slow down, Rubes? You remember what happened last time, right?” Like I need Em to remind me. I had one shot too many and fell asleep in the back booth. I didn’t pass out; it was late. I got sleepy and found a comfy spot to wait for everybody. I’m winning the nap-race; everyone else is playing catch-up. They assumed I’d gone home with the guy I shot darts with earlier (even though I haven’t done that in forever). Apparently, Knox found me, drove me home, put me to bed (fully clothed) and left a note.
I know you won’t remember or thank me later, but I made sure you made it home safe last night. Drinking in excess can really get you in trouble, Ruby. Please don’t do that again. It would hurt a lot of people if something bad happened to you. And stop using Depot to hustle innocent frat boys. I’d hate for you to get banned from two of the only three bars in town. And for the love of God, please start locking your damn door.
– Knox
I just know he wrote half of that note with a sexy smug smile across his face. Probably the whole freakin’ note. But I digress. Knox Teller is a thorn in my side. And he has been ever since the last time I decided to stop talking to him forever. He pushes and prods me just to get a reaction. He may think we’re friends, but I know differently. We’ve hurt each other too badly, too many times, for me to ever consider him friend material again. He betrayed me. He lied. It’s safest if I just keep my distance, regardless of how panty-meltingly hot he’s gotten over the years. It’s not fair. I hit my prime about four years ago; it’s only downhill from there. Knox though, is aging like a fine wine. Damn him.
And regardless of what Em may think, I haven’t over done it tonight because I can still clearly see the couple across the room, “dancing” (if that’s what you want to call it). Another few shots should set me up perfectly. I’ll soon be drunk enough to flirt with one of the boys that Em’s been entertaining since we got here. I’ll let her choose which one she wants and take the leftovers. They’re both cute. Have I mentioned that Em is the ultimate wing-woman? She likes them younger, but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.
“Nah, I’m good. Why don’t you introduce me to your friends?”
She looks me in the eye hard, trying to gage my level of inebriation. From the frustration on her face, I can clearly see, she can’t. I’m good at that. Pretending to not be drunk when I am. Not sad or hurt when I am. Pretending, holding it all inside. I’ve had lots of practice. Years with a disappointment as a father will do that. All men will disappoint you at one time or another. If you couldn’t tell, I’m going through one of my ‘I hate men’ phases right now.
Em shakes her head at me. Even though I’m good at hiding, she always knows. It’s not like she didn’t see Barry. Or doesn’t know he’s trying to make me jealous. Well, two can play this little game, asshole. Em knows me well enough to know I’m not backing down. I need this. Sighing, she turns to the guys on her right who can’t be more than 22. “Guys, this is my friend Ruby. Ruby, this is Dave and Mike. You were playing pool with their friend Eli earlier.”
I extend my hand, “Nice to meet you boys. Either of you play pool?”
Dave, the dark haired one speaks first, “I’ve been known to shoot a mean game. But I’ve been drinking way too much to think I could take on a shark like you. I think you made our boy cry a little.” Smart boy.
I laugh, “it’s called liquid courage for a reason. Maybe you haven’t drank enough.”
Mike, the blond, speaks up, smirking, “but if we continue drinking how are we expected to perform later? It’s called whiskey dick for a reason.” Wow, direct. I think I might like Mike a little more than I did a second ago. His blue eyes glint in the low lights of the bar and his sharp jaw is dusted with a light stubble. Yummy. Blond haired, blue eyed guys are my go-to. I haven’t deviated from that formula since… well, I’m not going to think about since when. Or who.
But it would seem the universe is against me today. Just as I’m winking back at my new friend, a certain dark haired, brown eyed boy comes into view. He’s mostly been in the back tonight, so I haven’t seen a lot of him. He always did have the worst freakin’ timing. He catches my gaze and holds it as he rounds the end of the bar. Walking behind it, he stops in front of us.
“How’re we doin’ tonight?”
Before I can get a word out, blondie pipes up again, “we’d like a round of shots for us and our new friends here.” I knew I liked this kid.
