by Khan, Jen
And that’s when it happens.
One of the girls balls up her fist and gets a lucky shot right to my jaw. I see stars for a brief moment and immediately my vision goes red.
That is all it takes. I head-butt that bitch and she goes down.
Tristan would be so proud.
I glare at the other girl, ready to take her too. She scowls at me, then down at her former opponent, and back at me once more. Both of her hands go up palms out and she backs away.
One of the spectators comes over and helps the other girl to her feet. She rubs her head and looks at me in stunned silence, doing a slow blink before her dumbass blurts out, “Fuck you!” Her arms and legs start flailing. “You bitch!” Luckily the person who helped her off the floor has her hooked around the waist, holding her back.
This female is unbelievable.
“Out!” I huff, pointing to the door. “Wait—you.” I jab my finger to the man in the corner who was videotaping the fight. At one point, I am pretty sure he was taking bets on which one of the girls would win or lose the most clothing. “Settle the tab for this group. The rest of you, you’ve been eighty-sixed here. Get your shit.”
They all mutter their insults at me while they get their things.
I right a couple of the barstools that toppled over and start collecting glasses. As I am heading back to the bar, I notice Braden and Juice leaning on the bar, watching me, and smiling.
“I know you had those females, Mike Tyson. I wasn’t worried in the least,” Juice smiles with satisfaction.
I slam the glasses on the bar and look over at Murphy. “Your ass, in the office, now,” I growl.
“Sugar, you want me in the office, all you gotta do is ask—nicely,” Murphy responds.
“You might wanna be careful how you talk to your new boss,” Braden groans.
Murphy’s face loses the smug grin. His eyebrows draw together. “New boss?”
“New boss,” I confirm, crossing my arms over my chest and tilting my head with a little bit of sass. “Em. Ma.” I enunciated each syllable because I’m a smartass like that.
“Emma. Well, Emma, nice work you did breaking up that little scuffle over there.” Murphy crosses his arms over his chest and leans his hip into the bar.
“Why didn’t you do anything to help?” I spat at him.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Help with what?”
“Two fights broke out and all you did was encourage them. We could have used your muscle in there, Murphy.”
“I don’t break up fights, sugar. This face can’t risk getting hit.”
And the fucker just winked at me.
“You show up late! Two fights broke out, which took most of our manpower to squash! And from what I understand, you pull this shit all of the time. No call, no show, you don’t pull your weight! Guess what, Murphy? I’m in charge now and that’s not how I like to run things. You don’t want to work your scheduled time, you won’t get a scheduled time. Got it?”
“Ahh…what you’re saying is that you wanted me to follow you to the office to burn off all of that—“
The air in the room changes. Braden’s heated body is up against my back and his hand is on my hip. Juice’s body gets tight as if he is ready to lunge at Murphy.
I held up my hand to silence this idiot.
“You have an expiration date,” I inform him.
“Excuse me?” Murphy chuckles in response.
“You have an expiration date. The next time you decide to not show up to work or on time or you prove that you’re nothing more than dead weight around here, you’re out on your ass.”
“What the fuck?” Murphy breathes out.
He looks at Braden and Juice and now Olivia, who shows up beside me, and he nods and walks down the bar to take drink orders.
Braden squeezes my hip, “Attagirl,” he says and kisses me on the cheek. “Seems you’re perfect for the job.”
I breathe out a sigh and rest my head on his chest.
“I hope it’s not like this every night.”
“No, this is the most excitement this place has seen in a while. They must have known you were coming and wanted to give you a proper hello. See if you could hack it. You’ve shown that you can pretty much hack anything that comes your way.”
The evening isn’t even halfway through. It’s going to be a long night.
Chapter Eight
My first week at Holt's has been eventful to say the least. Between the cat fight, macho bar brawl, Murphy and his antics, and the stoner kitchen staff, I am exhausted.
Those two are killing me. They never get an order right. The customers know this, the wait staff knows this, and I am figuring it out. The thing is that they are good.
At first I was worried that they were botching my orders on purpose, but that didn't make sense because it seemed like they liked me. Patty melts came out grilled cheese sandwiches, an order of mozzarella sticks got you potato skins, and don't bother asking for a side of anything.
One night, I was famished. I ordered supreme pizza, all the meats, and planned to share with the wait staff. What I got was a French dip sandwich with a side of mac and cheese. When I asked who the order was for, I got, "That's your order, boss." I was starving and in no mood to argue. It was the best damn French dip sandwich with mac and cheese I ever had.
I caught Marcus and Sean several times sneaking off to light up in the parking lot. They would come back in, red glossy eyes and big smiles. They were also ravenous. I didn’t know how much longer we could keep the bar in business if they kept getting stoned and eating half the kitchen the way they were every night. I swear some days it was like babysitting two teenage boys. The problem is that they are great cooks. I was able to convince them to lower their weed intake to just one joint a night as opposed to what I thought was at least two or three.
Good thing they saw reason, especially since business during happy hour has picked up considerably since I started our new specials, added a few extra items to the menu, and started dollar draft nights.
Jim is so happy with the way things are rolling that he’s decided to cut out early every night, telling me, “Looks like you got this, sweetheart.”
It is Monday night, which is also my night off. I change into a black camisole, faded skinny jeans, and black knee-high boots with four-inch heels. I put on lip gloss, go light on the makeup, and spritz on my favorite Juicy perfume.
I am going to meet up with Braden at work tonight. It is his night on, but Mondays are never that busy, so I figure I’ll go hang out with him and have a couple of beers.
Things between us are getting intense, but I’m not complaining anymore.
I walk into Holt's from the back entrance and slip into the first vacant stool I come to. I look behind the bar and don’t see him.
My head turns, takes a look over my shoulder, and glances around the bar. There, near the dartboards, stands Braden leaning against wall.
My belly does that flippy thing it always does whenever I see him. I hop off the stool and take three steps before stopping dead in my tracks.
I think I just stopped breathing.
He is talking to the stunning woman standing next to him. She has her arms crossed on her chest, hip slanted, and a pissed-off-at-the-world look on her face.
She is wearing a very revealing short black dress and fuck-me heels. Her long blond hair is flowing in waves down her back. The best way to describe her would be to say that she is a Scarlett Johansson lookalike. She is flat-out gorgeous. Looking at Braden, I can see that he doesn’t look all that happy himself.
“Who’s the girl everyone’s seen you all over town with?”
“That’s none of your business,” he returns.
Uhhhhhhh...
“Wh-wha… None of my business?” the stunning woman grits through her teeth.
His eyes move around the bar until they land on me. His body straightens and his arms come down to his sides.
“Emma.”
T
he striking woman’s head twists to me, looks me up and down, and asks, “Who the hell is that?”
His face is tight and the muscle in his jaw jumps.
My feet are planted. I want to run.
Braden moves to me, his eyes not leaving mine. He stops when he reaches me and looks down at me. Face still tight, jaw still jumping, but a warmth enters his eyes as he studies my face.
Shit, shit, shit.
“Did I interrupt something?” I whisper.
“Emma.”
I start babbling. “I guess…” I peered over at the striking woman. “Yeah, I should be going.” I start to jog to the door.
I almost make it to the door when Braden’s hand catches mine, stopping me and forcing me to face him.
“Emma, we used to date. If you’ll give me a minute—“
My brows draw together, my head dips to the side, and my eyes look into his. “You used to date?”
“Baby, just give me a minute.”
I try to pull my hand free with no success. He squeezes it tighter.
“Who the hell is this?” the striking woman asks Braden as she makes her way over to us. She is looking at our hands. Directing her question at me, she asks, “Are you the girl he’s been seen with?”
Uuuuuuh… “I gotta go,” I tell him.
“Please, just give me a minute and I’ll explain.”
I don’t want him to explain. I want to go home, curl into bed, and hide for the next month.
I was such an idiot coming here tonight, thinking I could just walk in here, talk to him, tell him my feelings, and expect him to drop everything and go back to being what we were before.
I thought that’s what he wanted too. It appeared that way anyhow. We spend all of our time together.
All I had to do was stop running. So I finally made the decision to take the plunge, stop running, and go after what I wanted. Figures.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Who. Is. That?”
“Give me a damn minute, Tara,” Braden yells over his shoulder.
The striking woman has a name and it is Tara. I would’ve been happy never learning the fact that she had a name or the fact that Braden knew her name and had at one point dated her.
I hate that name.
“A minute?” she shoots back with attitude.
“I gotta go,” I repeat. I really don’t have any place to be though.
“Where are you going?” he asks me in a low voice.
I blink at him, not sure what to say.
“Go home. I’ll be there in an hour when Juice gets here for his shift. Got it, baby? In an hour.”
“You’ll what?” Tara snaps.
I blink again. “No, that’s okay. I have a lot to do. I’m just going to go run some errands and hit the hay. I have a long day tomorrow.”
“Don’t lie to me, Emma.”
“No, really. I gotta go.”
“I’ll be there in an hour,” he repeats.
The tears are stinging the backs of my eyes, and if I don’t get out of here, I’m not going to be able to stop them. So I have to think fast. I yank, freeing my hand from his and jumping back, slamming into the side of a high-top table.
“I’ll see you some other time.”
I spin on my heels and run to the back door, through it, and down the steps, bleeping the alarm on my new Jeep Cherokee and sliding in the seat before slamming the door. I put my hands at ten and two on the steering wheel and my forehead in between.
Shit! I really wish I hadn’t just run from him like that, but I just couldn’t help it.
I bang my head one time on the wheel. I lift my head, take a deep breath, open my eyes, and put the key in the ignition. I put the Jeep in reverse, and when I do, I peer up to the top of the stairs and see Braden at the door.
I look out the back window, back the car out of the parking spot, and put her into drive. I don’t know if he watches me leave because I make an effort to not look back to where he is.
I don’t go straight home. I ride around town with no destination in sight. A drive can be good to clear the mind. To me, it is a miracle worker as much as the shower is.
When I look at the clock on the dash, I see that it has been two hours since I left Holt's and Braden with Tara.
I barely make it through my door before there is a knock. I lean against the door. There is another knock. I peer through the peephole.
It is Braden. A very pissed-off-looking Braden.
“Open the door, Emma,” he calls.
I crack the door. “Braden, it’s late.”
“Can we talk?”
“It’s late,” I remind him.
His face warms, no longer looking pissed. He pushes his way into the apartment. God, he is always so bossy and intrusive.
“Braden, it’s late.”
He nods. “I know. You keep saying that, but what we need is to talk about what you saw earlier.”
I don’t want to talk about what I saw earlier. What I saw earlier is not something I want to revisit.
“No, we really don’t. It was none of my business.”
His brows draw together and he counters, “Yes, we really do.”
“I’m tired and I need to be up early in the morning. I have a busy day. We can talk tomorrow night at work.”
His head dips down to me, his arms circle my hips, and his lips twitch. “No, I think we really need to talk now.”
“There’s nothing to say, Braden. You don’t owe me any explanations. I shouldn’t have just shown up expecting you to keep me company—“
“Em, just let me talk.” Now he sounds annoyed.
I shake my head. “Braden, I really need to go to bed. I have to be up early. I have a ton of shit to do.”
“What you saw tonight wasn’t what you thought it was,” he tells me.
I shake my head again. “You don’t owe me any explanations,” I repeat.
“Just listen to me.”
“I’ll call you next time or shoot you a text to warn you that I may be coming up for a beer.”
“Baby, Tara and I used to date. Well, if you call it that. It was more like we used to sleep together.”
Oh, that's all? Kick to the gut.
If that wasn’t bad enough, he goes on to say, “It was after you and me. We broke up. I waited a coupla months before I met Tara. She was convenient. No expectations on my part or hers.”
My face drops and my belly twists. I knew not to expect him to never move on. I figured he had, but now there was knowledge of the fact that he had and it makes me physically sick to my stomach. He was the first thing on my mind when I woke up and the last thing on my mind when I went to sleep—and he was sleeping with Tara.
His face drops. “Baby,” Braden whispers.
I step out of his hold and walk back to the door. When I open it, I say, “Goodnight, Braden.”
“Em.”
“Goodnight.”
Braden walks to me, tips my chin up with the crook of his finger, and looks down at me. “We aren’t finished talking about this, but I’ll give you tonight.” He lightly touches his lips to mine.
My stomach jumps.
“What I had with Tara was a mistake. I was pissed off after our breakup, but every day that we were apart, it was you I thought about. It was you I wanted in my bed. Day and night. I made myself sick with grief thinking that we were never going to have that again. But now I know better. We will have that again. I’m not going to let you push me away again. That shit’s not going to happen.”
He kisses my forehead. There goes that belly flip once more.
I nod because I can’t seem to form words anymore. Nothing comprehendible, that is.
Braden walks through the door and turns to me. “If you even think about running again, don't bother. Nothing will keep me from winning you back. Your days of fleeing are over.”
My eyes grow wide, he laughs out a low chuckle, and he walks down the hall. I close the door, lock it, and go to my room.
>
I change my clothes, do my evening ritual, and slide into bed.
I lie there staring into the dark room, thinking about the things Braden said before he left, and my mind focuses on him and Tara.
There is that kick to the gut again. Damn, that is painful. It is all my fault. I pushed him into another woman’s bed. I can’t blame him for trying to get over me, but it hurts all the same.
The tears well up in my eyes before spilling over.
I cry myself to sleep.
Chapter Nine
Braden
The next morning, Braden is meeting Holly for coffee at The Ugly Mug in town. The place is always busy, whether it is the morning, afternoon, or evening. It is a small place lined with two-seater tables along the walls of both sides of the shop with a walkway to the barista station and cashiers. The lighting is darker than most places, but each table has overhead lighting.
A lot of people come in and chat, enjoying their coffee amongst friends, and others bring in their laptops and tap into the free Wi-Fi that the owners so graciously offer. Some of them stay for hours.
When he walks into the coffee shop, he spots her sitting off in the far right corner. He clenches his jaw when the image of Emma seeing him and Tara in the bar last night creeps into his mind. The way she tried to run from him still kicks him straight to the gut.
His mind is filled with all of the shit from last night.
His eyes go to the baristas, then to the couple at the front end of the shop, back to Holly as she waves him over.
Braden called Holly about an hour ago, asking her to meet up with him for a cup of coffee. He needs to talk to her about Emma and find out where her head is. If Holly knows why Emma broke up with him in the first place, that would be a good start and he intends to get it out of her.
Emma is still holding out on him, and he is done with that shit. He really likes Holly. She is a great friend and very loyal. But he needs her to spill and he’ll get the answers he needs one way or another today. He is just hoping Holly isn’t going to be difficult.
Braden moves to the table she is at. She stands and greets him with a hug smiling at him until she sees his face.
“This isn’t just a friendly cup of coffee with an old friend, is it?” Holly mentions, having a seat back in her chair.
