by Jaye Ripley
When I show Shane the tip, he picks me up in a rough hug and spins me around. “It’s about time you were back to your old self. Horny and grumpy Mel ain’t as much fun. Or as good. You’re killing it tonight.”
My fist connects with his arm, and he fakes an injury as he walks away from me toward the other end. Midnight looms, and the bar empties a bit. Harley and the other waitresses clean up around a few of the tables. One girl sits at a two-person table in the corner and out of the way. Harley addresses her, and comes back with a weird look on her face.
“That woman at that table asked if she could come sit at the bar and have you make her a dirty martini.”
“Her choice. Not sure why she would wait or ask permission. Think she’s trying to hit on me?”
Harley shakes her head. “Don’t think she plays for my team. Didn’t get that vibe from her. I don’t know. I’ll send her your way.”
The end of the shift burns off my adrenaline. My mind drifts to my talk with Trey like the old days, bar dark and quiet, double checking that everything gets left in the proper way, sitting at the bar and talking. When I tell him about our tips for tonight, he might be more amenable to me taking time off. Or not. Always hard to tell with him. Either way, if I get my time off, I can go visit Hunter. And that will make the talk worthwhile.
A voice cuts through the relative quiet. “You put on a good show.”
Goosebumps break over my skin. I know that voice. It belongs to the girl that I promised if she ever messed with Hunter again, I’d kick her ass.
“Gemma, right?”
“You remember me from that day at his place. Wasn’t sure if you would since you mostly saw the back of my head as he kissed me.”
“You kissed him.”
“If that’s the way he told you things went, then it must be true. I simply wanted to see the girl who thinks she has a chance with him.”
I set up a martini glass. “So just how dirty do you like it?” My voice drips with venom.
She leans onto the bar. “About as dirty as some low white trash like you got from wherever you crawled out of.”
Harley’s head snaps up from behind Gemma. She narrows her eyes at the back of Gemma’s head and indicates to me that she’d be happy to take her out. My head barely shakes no. Frustrated, Harley walks away. Fuck, she better not bring back trouble with her. She knows I can handle myself.
I pour the ingredients into the tin filled with ice. When I get to the olive juice, I flourish the extra-long pour. Gemma’s eyes watch, the corner of her mouth crooked up with too much glee. She’s here to push my buttons and stir up trouble. I’ve never been too good at covering up my emotions. When the cocktail pours, the muddy liquid fills the glass. I add a skewer of three olives to it and push it at her.
She takes a sip, holding it in her mouth for an extra beat before swallowing. Her smile shows me that she’s in this to win it.
“So you’re the girl he sang with that night. And my sources tell me the two of you hung out quite a bit before he moved to Nashville.”
“Sources or stalking?”
Shane walks back into the room, wiping his hands on a towel. When he sees Gemma at the bar, he does the same silent communication with me. I indicate that I need no help, but he resumes his place behind the bar, staying at the far end.
“You can call off your friends. I’m not going to attack you or anything. Thought I would give you some advice. A warning, woman to woman.”
Ah, the invocation of the sisterhood of vaginas. Equal to the old “look over there” ruse to distract me before plunging the knife in my back. I’d rather she stab me in the front so I have the chance to take the knife out and carve out her heart.
“Do tell me what you could possibly say that’s worthwhile, sister.”
She blinks her eyes at me in innocence. “You’ve been with Hunter for a millisecond, but I speak from two years of real experience. Whatever he’s promised you, he’ll break your heart first. I should know. We were supposed to get engaged once.”
It shouldn’t bother me. She shouldn’t bug me. But every particle in my being wants Hunter’s ex to be an ex-customer right now.
My forced smile attempts to cover the direct hit. “Not sure how what Hunter does now concerns you.”
She takes another sip of her dirty martini and suppresses a wince. “More than you know, apparently. But I’ll let him fill you in on that.”
My mind fluctuates with doubt and questions. He would have told me if Gemma was causing him problems, right? Or would he keep them from me? It doesn’t really matter. It shouldn’t, at least. But it’s starting to.
Gemma lays a twenty-dollar bill on the bar. She stops me from getting her change. “Consider it a bonus to what I’m going to say. If you care about Hunter at all, whatever’s going on between the two of you, and if you want him to succeed, you really need to think about what role you play in his life.”
How about the role of pissed-off girlfriend, you bitch. “And what role is that?”
“Are you an asset to his success or a liability? I double-majored in marketing and political science with the initial intent to help Hunter and his band make it big. And honey, based on the little I’ve seen of you, you’re gonna need some assistance in cleaning up your image.” She looks straight at my tattoos.
Shane walks closer to me, but I hold up my hand. “I think you need to worry about what it’ll do to your image if you get thrown out of here for harassing one of the employees.”
She eyes Shane, and dismisses him with a leering look and eye roll. “Yes, the barmaid and meathead tossing out a college graduate and business professional will do wonders for the club’s PR.”
I grit my teeth. “You don’t know shit about any of us.”
Her grin grows wider. She takes out her phone. “I know that if I took a picture of you right now as you are, you won’t stack up to images like this.”
She shows me old photos of Hunter and her. Gemma looks the part of a clean, wholesome girl. The exact opposite of me.
“So. Those are old news.”
She smirks. “Yeah, but these aren’t.” She flips through several of the pictures from that fucking hashtag. “I told him he’d go viral one day.”
“He explained those to me. It was the idea of one of the people on the PR team.”
“And I respect that person’s game. They know exactly what’s going to sell his records. Him. And none of those women posing with him want to think about whether or not he has a girlfriend. Or if she looks like an inked slut at first glance.”
Shane breaks his silence. “That’s it. Bar’s closed.” He clears her drink from in front of her.
Gemma eases off the stool and gathers her purse. “My apologies. That was…over the line. I never did do the jealous thing well.” She flashes me an insincere smile. “But you should take the time to Google Hunter with Stacia Rollins. It might help.” She turns to walk away.
Fuck it, I can’t help myself. “Help with what?”
She stops at the end of the bar and straightens up. To the victor goes the spoils, and she relishes my bad attitude as her trophy. Gemma addresses me one last time. “Sweetie, you are a hot PR mess waiting to happen and an online website’s wet dream. Look at what you find and use it to help you figure out whether or not you’re good for him or whether you should save him the pain, and end things now before anything gets out and you ruin everything.”
Her happy ass sways a bit too much as she leaves. Once she’s sure Gemma’s gone, Harley claps. Shane does me a favor by cashing out the twenty.
“What a bitch. You should have let me slap her.” Harley leans on the bar.
Shane walks over and gives me a side hug. “Ignore her. She was trying to fuck with your head. Exes are not to be trusted, which is why I make sure that the only thing girls get overly attached to is my dick before I kick them out the next morning.”
Harley and I mock Shane’s manwhoring ways as we finish up. They both make sure I’m
good before leaving me for the locker rooms. My phone burns a hole in my pocket, but I wait until I’m alone. Turning it on, several text messages come in at once.
Hunter checks on how my night’s going and asks when I think I’ll be home. He attaches two pictures, both taken at a barbecue that Stacia hosted for them. One has the country star photobombing the guys with a silly face as they all try to look cool. And the other is a selfie with Hunter and Stacia, who sports two thumbs up with the caption that says she can’t wait to meet me.
Another text pings. “Love you.”
My fingers hover over the phone to type. Not sure any of the responses that come up would be appropriate, I give up. No answer is far better than typing, “Hunter, we need to talk.”
Clicking the screen off, I pocket my cell and go to find my own ex, Trey.
37
Mel
Screw Gemma and her fucked up ways. And screw my brain for letting her in through the cracks of my own insecurities. Trey told me to wait for him at the bar on the Rodeo side of things while he finishes up. My fingers move over my phone typing in the Google search.
Tailgate Down gets mentions in all the news articles about Stacia Rollins and the announcement of her new label as the first group signed to Long Road Records. Two hours ago, my stomach would have flipped over the excitement for Hunter and the guys, not just for the positive attention but also for the better path for their careers. In one fucked up moment, Hunter’s ex has obliterated my night.
Most of the online articles show press photos of Stacia. If I weren’t so distracted, I’d admire her game in furthering her brand. Hell, her label name comes straight off of her first huge hit she earned on her own talent. Kind of a big middle finger to all the trash thrown her way before then. She’s beautiful. She’s talented. She’s kick ass. And on one gossip site, she’s got Hunter.
Whoever took the picture wasn’t in the same room. There’s a glass window that blurs the image a tiny bit. But Hunter’s arms definitely encircle Stacia’s smaller frame. Her hands rest on his biceps. But the look between the two of them suggests that more than just a business deal’s going down. The accompanying headline does nothing to alleviate the fear clenching my gut. “Country Superstar Snags Up and Coming Hottie”.
The report itself dances on the line of gossip and news. It covers the new label and mentions the band. But it also includes embedded tweets with pictures from #HuntersHot, in case the avid readers need to know who Hunter Ford is. While it doesn’t come out and say the direct words, the implication that a romance brews between the two drives a rising number of curious readers to the “article.”
And there it is. Exactly what Gemma talked about. Perception. Whether or not the new rumor was true, it wouldn’t hurt Hunter in the long run to be attached to Stacia. In fact, it might even help get the band more initial press. What headline would be attached to a picture with him and me? “Up and Coming Country Star Slumming With Local Bartender”? Or better yet, “Local Slut.” They could attack my character for so many things if they dug around long enough in my past. Or maybe they could spin my prior relationship with Trey so that I look like a gold digger trying to get a leg up in my world by going down on the guys I date.
The picture captures an isolated moment. For all I know, they were talking about the weather at the time. But rumor or not, it still fucking hurts. More than the initial hashtag storm. And if this was just the beginning of what I’ll have to put up with by being with Hunter, then maybe it’s better to let him go and succeed on his own by whatever means he needs to without a liability like me hanging on, waiting to taste that fleeting happiness we managed to conjure in our first three weeks. Oh God, how that gossip site might love to know that we’d only been dating for such a short time. How they would crucify me.
“I’ve got Four Roses behind the bar, but I also brought two of these with me.” Trey walks into the darkened room carrying two dark bottles of beer.
Turning off my phone and shoving it in my bag, I close my eyes and shut out all the bullshit. For one second, maybe I can be drama-free and forget the ache in my chest.
“Let’s go with the beer. No point in dirtying a glass for me. What is it?”
He hands an opened chilled bottle to me. “A Belgian dunkel weiss. I know you’re not a huge fan of darker beers, but you should try this one.”
The pull I take lasts longer than a small taste. The cold liquid slides down my throat, and I swallow the rage and tears bubbling up. “It’s lighter than I would expect from a dark beer.”
Trey settles down next to my stool at the bar. He takes a long drink, and sets his bottle down. “Yeah. Too good and expensive for us to carry in the club, but I’m thinking of keeping my own stash in my office for nights like this.”
A small smile creeps onto my face. “Meet many girls after work here, do you?”
“Not since you.”
His low voice reminds me of times gone by. We’d always cleaned up the entire place at the old R&R space. When finished, we’d share a drink at the bar and bask in the success. After he invested in this building and the club started taking off, time got in our way. That and his insistent pushiness that I return his feelings. Instead of fighting hard to overcome my past, I’d wrapped myself up in its icy cloak and run the fuck away from him. And he let me. But he never fired me, which was either really stupid on his part or really compassionate. Knowing him, it was the latter. But what did that make me for sticking around? A needy bitch or a lazy one?
Nostalgia hits me. “Remember that one night when you fired that really shitty bartender? Can’t remember his name. But he managed to break most of the glasses before leaving. You told the rest of the cleanup crew to let you handle it.”
“You were pissed because you didn’t think it was fair. When I didn’t back down, you picked up the last two clean glasses and dropped them on the floor, too.”
I cringe a bit. “Yeah, not one of my finer moments. But if you recall, I made it up to you.”
Trey chuckles. “How could I forget? We did things on that bar that would have gotten the place closed down by a health inspector.”
Memory lane may not have been the best path to take tonight. My legs squeeze together tight at the flashback of how good Trey could make me feel. We both clear our throats at the same time, and laugh. Awkward silence fills up the space between us.
“So what’s up? Why’d you want to talk tonight?” Trey cuts straight to the point, as always.
My original mission doesn’t seem so desirable at the moment. No point in pushing for something that may not be needed. “Just thought we could both use a break and talk. We never talk anymore.”
Trey holds his bottle to his lips but doesn’t drink. His eyes focus on me, causing me to drink more beer to ease the awkwardness. The dark never worked as a place for me to hide from him before. Don’t know why it would now.
He doesn’t press. “You’ve been busy lately. And a bit distracted.” He leans his arm against the bar and holds his head up in his hand. His arm flexes as he shifts to face me. His muscles have always been a welcome distraction.
“I guess.” Shit, European beers have a higher alcohol content. Halfway through the bottle, and my light buzz helps with my agitated nerves. “Although I have a feeling I’ll be getting back on track here really soon.”
Trey’s eyebrow rises. “That’s not what I’ve heard. Thought you were going to take some time off.”
Fucking Bethany. “Some people need to learn to keep their mouths shut.”
“And some people need to allow others to care enough about them to help you out.”
Once again, he can’t help but push. “And some people need to learn to stay out of my business.”
“And others need to openly share their business to make it easier on them.”
Seems like drama’s taking up permanent space in my life. Tired, buzzed, and a little pissed, I wallow in anger and snap back. “You want me to share? Then let’s share. So I guess y
ou don’t mind that I was going to ask for time off so I could drive to Nashville and fuck one of your friends. There. Is that enough sharing for you?” Slamming the bottle down on the bar, I stand up to leave.
Trey grabs my hand and holds me. “You feel better? Now that you said enough to hurt me? I suppose you think I’m gonna let you walk away.”
My wrist won’t budge from his hold. “I don’t think you have a choice.”
“We all have choices we can make. Some are easier than others. But I think your choice to lash out whenever you feel hurt at those who care about you is a fucked up one.”
My other hand rises to slap him, but he catches it. “I can’t catch a fucking break tonight. Fine. You’re so all knowing. What am I so hurt about?”
He holds me without bruising my arms. Or maybe I’m not struggling as hard as I think I am. Trey’s hulking body stands inches away from mine, the heat from him radiating against my face.
“I’m betting that bitch of an ex of Hunter’s said something that got to you. Yeah, Shane and Harley both told me, and I figured it out. Maybe those pictures of girls pressed up to him makes you feel a little insecure. Or maybe you think you’re not as good for him as a certain country superstar might be, at least by those new pictures. I’m taking shots in the dark, but tell me, Mel. Am I getting close?”
The fucker always sees through me. I shouldn’t have stuck around after work. I should have run.
“Your lack of a response tells me I’m right on the money.” He steps even closer until his face towers over mine. “How about he’s the first man you’ve let in. The first one you’ve opened yourself up to admit you like him. Maybe even love him.” Trey breathes that last statement on me, his face close to mine. “And that scares the ever loving shit out of you. And makes me jealous as hell.”
