Hanging On (Jessica Brodie Diaries #2)(61)

It was a jeans night tonight. I wore my new ones, which seriously looked good. We all switched around tops like we did the night before because some that were old to us were new to others, and visa versa. We had flats or runners or boots on tonight so walking would be easier. Not so high fashion, either, but in this state of hangover, who gave a shit? We wouldn’t be able to pull it off if we tried.

William had called a couple times in the morning but must have realized I wasn’t going to talk to him and stopped. He text that he was sorry, and that he hoped I would be going tonight. I also saw that with each dozen roses there was a different love poem. Very sweet, and Gladis said he must have looked each one up, so he definitely got points for that. I was able to break down a little faster than Gladis originally said.

The business of fighting was a business indeed. I wasn’t even mad anymore—more love sick. But I understood that it was important to set precedence so the behavior wasn’t repeated, so I would have to stick this out like Gladis said. After all, he would do the same thing to me, Gladis was sure of it.

We girls arrived at the bar in absolute misery! What happened to the days when we could drink all night, wake up tired but alive, and head out the next day? Early twenties rocked for that! We weren't even thirty and hangovers were already getting worse.

We walked into the bar with a sort of zombie shuffle. I was filled with trepidation about William, but was more concerned with my raging headache and slightly queasy stomach. The bar was about a quarter filled, which was great for low noise volume. It was a good sized place with a long bar to the right of the door, and a bunch of tables and booths spread out. There was a small dance floor and a juke box off to the side. No room for bands unless there was something I wasn't seeing. Which was good news, because a noisy country band would be torture I was not up for.

I saw William in the corner dressed casual with extremely flattering clothes. His muscles were not bare, but were certainly not hidden. It looked like he was trying to get laid. If I didn't already know it was for me, I would have been nervous at the competition. As it was I was extremely turned on. Which was his intention.

He was fighting a war of his own.

"Do I look as good as William does?" I asked quietly, leading the way to the bar.

Everyone was a pro in this group; no one had to turn and look, and if they did, they were subtle enough not to be noticed.

"Could you possibly ever look that good?" Flem asked.

"Not helping Flem. Your stupid ass left me last night, too."

"Yeah, but you always do that to me, so I claim tit-for-tat."

True.

"Okay, well then let me rephrase. Do I look good for me?"

"You look hot, yes. Many a man would want to take you home. And those jeans make your butt and legs look amazing. Cleavage is not all bad, either, but you could stand to adjust a titch," Jane said, ever helpful.

I secretly adjusted the cle**age, which meant William's table couldn't see, but the bartender got some eye candy. And judging by the ogle, he took a good look.

Since he was focused on us anyway, we ordered beers. I threw out money for the round and leaned heavily on the bar. I still wasn’t confident I could swallow a beer without immediately throwing it back up.

The bartender came back and shook his head at the money. "You’re Jessica, right?"

I nodded in confusion.

"Yeah, you n' your friends don't pay. I was told there would be one more."

"Uh...she couldn't come. And I will pay for this round, thanks."

He shook his head again. "Nope, you don't pay tonight. You pay, I get a shitty tip. So, you don't pay. Sorry darlin."

That was irritating. He was the only bartender on duty, too. I looked at the girls. They looked back. No one had any ideas. Flem shrugged and took her beer. Claire followed suit.

I was so frustrated I wanted to cry. He was getting the upper hand; forcing me to use his generosity. What would Gladis do?

I took the beers from the girls and put them back on the bar.

"No. We'll leave," I said sternly to the bartender.

I would get my way tonight, damn it!

"What would you get if we left?” I continued, trying to convince the skeptical bartender. “All those boys would follow us, right? So you would get no tip. Not less—none at all. But if we stay, we'll keep people in this bar—at least the boys. Then the girls will stay for the boys. You'll make out better."

He looked at me with a contemplative face. I pushed my advantage. "Five single ladies looking good? We'll keep people here, and that will generate tips. More people means more money in your pocket. That guy at the far table tips you less, which is probably just an unfounded threat, and I'll make up the difference, alright? I’ll settle it with you."

"What if they leave?" He asked.

"They're not leaving if we're not leaving. They will leave, though, if we do. Tonight they are trying to impress us. Well, the one is trying to impress me. He'll go where I go."

I was losing my patience. I put on my management voice. Newly learned, but damned useful. "Look, take my money and just sell us the beer, okay? Maybe later we won't ask, but at least this round, sell the damn beer. Please."

He finally shrugged his fat shoulders and took the money.

Jane whispered, "Willie is looking this way. He looks mad. No...wait. He’s smirking. He just shook his head and said something to Adam. Lump, you have a better vantage, take watch. They'll see me looking."