Standing from the couch, I walked over to my desk and opened the top drawer, grabbing a handful of the holographic dick confetti I kept on hand for when self-proclaimed alpha males started to get a little too cocky in my place of business. There was only one surefire way to knock them back down a peg. Just take a handful of holographic dick confetti and toss it over their head. Worked every time.
I shoved the tiny pretty dicks into my pocket and joined the chaos, letting my eyes drag over the sea of faces. Several members of the Sinners were lingering, taking long pulls of their beers or flirting with pretty girls. At the bar, Nixon and Preston—who I’m pretty sure was actually Nixon’s little cousin—sat facing outward on the barstools with a girl standing between each of their legs. Nixon had his signature ‘I’m getting lucky tonight’ smile plastered across his stupidly handsome face, his hand gripping the girl’s hip possessively, while Preston looked like he was more interested in the condensation on the bottle he was holding. Preston’s demeanor, and the way his gaze kept shifting to my pink-haired bartender, told me hewouldn’tbe getting lucky tonight. Not with the hopeful woman in front of him, anyway.
Sliding behind the bar, I placed my hand on Indy’s shoulder and asked, “How’s it going?”
Even with the music playing at a decibel that had bodies gyrating, I never let the volume get to where you couldn’t hear the person next to you speak. That simple reason was why I hated nightclubs. What was the point if you couldn’t hear the people you came with? Yes, our music was still loud, but you weren’t screaming over it to have a conversation. And judging by the crowds we pulled in weekend after weekend, I’d say people either had no problems with it or felt the same as I did.
Shit, maybe I was just getting old.
“Fucking awesome,” Indy told me as she smiled wide. “The Runner-Up is a hit, like I knew it’d be.”
“Did I buy enough limoncello?”
“Nah.” She shrugs. “But that’s a good thing. Supply and demand, baby. They’ll come back next weekend to see if we serve it again.”
“Maybe we should,” I countered. Looking at the stock, I noticed we were down to our last bottle. It was barely even ten—obviously I miscalculated how much we’d need.
“Probably not,” she singsonged with a mischievous glint to her. She reached over and grabbed the tabletop specials board and produced a small piece of white chalk from her back pocket. Striking through the twelve ninety-five price, she wrote sixteen ninety-five instead, followed by the words ALMOST GONE with three lines aggressively written beneath it.
I laughed, watching her as she proudly slammed the sign back onto the bar and cupped her hands around the edges of her mouth. “LAST CALL ON THE RUNNER-UP! GET IT WHILE YA CAN!”
“You’re ruthless,” I told her as I still laughed. “What do you need me to help with?”
“Get ready to serve, boss. The ladies are about to flood us.”
* * *
For a solid hour me,Indy, and three other bartenders moved in sync with each other, pumping out drinks as quickly as we could. The limoncello ran out twenty minutes in, but that didn’t stop people from asking us to create whatever other versions of The Runner-Up we could think of. Indy poured while I ran drinks up and down the bar, delivering the strange concoctions to eager mouths.
Around eleven, the roar of drink orders began to die down, and I finally was able to take a quick breather. Pouring myself a glass of water, I pounded it down, gulping the cold liquid until it was gone.
As I poured myself a refill, I noticed the gaze of a younger guy, probably in his early twenties, trailing my every move.
I hated when men did that.
“How’s it going?” I asked him, then lifted the glass to my lips to drink again. This time, I didn’t chug it, but sipped instead, not loving the way this guy hardly blinked as he stared at me. His gaze traveled from my eyes, down to my tits, before bouncing up to my lips. I didn’t hesitate to roll my eyes at him and his boldness.
“Better now that you’re talking to me.” His tone of voice was full of cockiness, and the smug look on his face solidified everything I was thinking. He’d be the first one to get dicked by me tonight.
But first, no harm in messing with his head a little. “Smooth,” I told him, packing on a sultry tone. Leaning my elbows against the bar, I brought one hand to rest beneath my chin, making sure my tits were pressed together.
Taking the bait, he leaned in forward too, a smirk pulling at his lips. His eye contact was too much, and the lack of glaze made me realize he wasn’t even drunk. Not yet, anyway. So anything this fool said would be authentically him.
With a sly look, he reached up and rubbed his hand against his freshly shaven face, watching for my reaction as though that move of his was some sort of panty dropper. “I bet you can’t wait to suck my dick later.”
I couldn’t help it. The bubble of laughter that erupted out of my chest was instantaneous, and my eyes widened with surprise. To my right, Indy’s loud snort of laughter mixed with mine. I felt her eyes on me, waiting for my next move, knowing it’d be a good one.
I’d been hit on, propositioned, and spoken to in a lot of ways, but the words that had just flown out of this guy’s mouth were a first, for sure.
Still, without missing a beat, I reached into my pocket and curled my fingers around the holographic dick confetti, securing a decent sized handful. I kept them in my closed fist and leaned back toward the guy. “Oh yeah,” I began, laying on a seductive tone for just a second, before raising my voice so those around us could hear too. “I’m going to blow it, and twist it into a balloon animal, you fucking clown.”
Then I flattened my fist, hollowed my cheeks, and blew the handful of dick confetti straight into the guy's face.
Around me, the bar erupted into laughter and cheers, watching as the guy blinked several times and batted at his face like the confetti hadn’t fallen straight into his lap. Regulars of Andromeda started chanting “dicked, dicked, dicked, dicked,” and the guy immediately slid from his barstool and practically ran out the front doors.
The laughter didn’t stop until he was long gone, and I stepped onto a stool behind the bar and gave a dramatic little bow. While laughing, I yelled to those watching me, “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why you don’t screw with the owner!”
Cheers and whoops sounded again, and deciding I was done with the shitshow for the night, I laughed my ass off the entire walk back to my office, ignoring the heavy gaze following me from across the room. I didn’t need to look. I knew exactly who it was, and I knew at some point he’d be following me in here, too.
