It wasn’t that I hated Fiddlers. Honestly, it was the best bar in the county, and had given me more stability than I ever expected when I made the hard decision not to go off to college. I just wished it was mine, so I didn’t have to answer to people like Jeff.
But I stayed and worked because I’d have to leave town to find something more lucrative, and leaving town wasn’t as easy as it sounded.
Dad liked to say it was, that it came down to a single choice and the courage to make it. But that was what my mother had done to him, and I’d never aspired to be anything like her.
My dad was the only parent who ever gave a damn about me. The only one who showed up and stayed. And when he got sick after I turned eighteen, I canceled everything I had dreamt of doing and stayed where he needed me to be. I’d never leave him. That was the one choice I knew I couldn’t live with.
So I once again spent my Friday evening at Fiddlers, flirting with the guys who passed through town and making sure the ladies felt safe. Tips were always higher when they knew I cared, and I truly did care about everyone that came through those doors.
Almost everyone.
“If the Murphy brothers come in tonight, don’t call the cops,” Jeff barked at me, jabbing a finger in my face.
The owner of Fiddlers only cared about the money they spent getting drunk. He didn’t give a shit about the employees, or how hard it was to deal with those overgrown pieces of shit.
“I’m not letting them tear this bar apart,” I snapped back.
“They ain’t committed no crimes,” he growled, his voice dripping with irritation.
“It’s more than that, and you know it.”
Jeff leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. “You’ve lost whatever power Miles Brooks, and his badge gave you over those two, but here’s the thing…no one else in this town gives a damn. So why should you?”
He turned around and marched down the hall. He was only there to empty the safe and then he’d leave. I stared at the back of his head, wanting to yell “I quit.” But when he was finally out of sight, reality sank in. There was nowhere else to go, not yet anyway.
“It’s better when he’s not here anyway,” Tuffy huffed.
“Yeah,” I sighed, as anger coursed through me.
“And stop thinking about quitting,” she laughed. “I know you deserve better, but you can’t leave us.”
I smiled, knowing that everyone else I worked with made that job tolerable. I’d been stashing money into my savings account every week just hoping that eventually I had enough to buy Jeff out.
Owning Fiddlers would be satisfying. So much of my blood, sweat, and tears had gone into that place, and if I could run it my own way, it wouldn’t be such a miserable place to be.
The thought had me smiling again as Tuffy and I started serving quickly with the Friday crowd getting bigger and bigger.
By ten o’clock, I let myself believe that the Murphy brothers weren’t coming in that night. I was even looking forward to Aiden coming in. He had sent me a text letting me know he’d be there by midnight for a few beers, then we’d head to his place after I got off. Maybe it would be enjoyable. Maybe he’d be able to find my clit.
My mood had shifted in the best way, and I was letting my guard down, thinking that the night wouldn’t be as bad as I thought it would be when I was driving in for the day.
I should’ve known the night wouldn’t stay quiet, though. The moment I heard that smug, grating voice behind me, I knew peace was off the menu.
“Two beers, baby girl.”
Shivers of hatred ran down my spine and I felt like I was going to be sick. I turned toward the bar, and without even looking at him, I put my head down and pulled on the draft. “Coming right up.”
“Aw, don’t be shy," the voice crooned, closer now, as if he’d leaned over the bar. The sour tang of cheap cologne and desperation hit my nose. "Give us that pretty smile."
I slid the beers across the counter without a word, resisting the urge to wipe my hands on my jeans. Silence was safer.
Of course, he didn’t take the hint.
"What's the matter, baby girl? Cat got your tongue? Or maybe you’re just playin’ hard to get." His laugh grated like nails on a chalkboard.
I forced a smile then, tight-lipped and paper-thin. "Don’t start with me. I’m not in the mood for y’all’s bullshit.”
He slapped a twenty on the counter, but his fingers lingered, drumming just close enough to mine to make my skin crawl.
