Little does he know, I’m heading to Hooligans, too. I have to work in a couple hours. He wouldn’t know that, though, because he refuses to talk to me.
Twenty minutes after he leaves, I’m curled up on the couch watching some crazy show about a guy who raises tigers when there is a knock at the door. Tossing the blanket off me, I walk over and peep out the hole, finding a delivery man standing there with a manila envelope.
I open the door and he hands me the envelope, not even asking for a signature or any sort of delivery confirmation.
It’s addressed to Nash, of course. But it’s the return address that has my stomach dropping—California Vital Records.
It’s the death certificate. This means I can get the diary from Dr. Harris. This also means that my time here has come to an end.
I can go home now. I just don’t have the slightest idea where home is anymore.
The bar is packed full with residents of Sunnyville. There’s a bachelorette party taking place and beautiful women flock around with drinks in their hands. Laughing, flirting with men, and putting the bride-to-be on display for her last night out as an unmarried woman. She’s wearing a sash over her chest that reads I’m Getting Married while sitting on a chair giggling bashfully as a cowboy gives her a lap dance.
I can’t help but laugh and feel sorry for her all at the same time. It’s obvious she’s uncomfortable, but her bridal party keeps pushing her back down for more.
They are all wearing T-shirts that say Bridesmaids on the front and back, and one is currently stuck in between the legs of a man at the bar. I keep on my way to the side of the bar with my eyes on them. There is something familiar about the man. When she nuzzles her face into his neck and his eyes hit mine, my heart drops. The anger I’ve pushed away for the past three days returns with a vengeance. Gritting my teeth, I walk briskly behind the bar and whip out my bartending apron, tying it on and not giving him another look, nor another minute of my time.
How dare he? He treats me like I’m some sort of mistake that stepped into his broken life and then comes here and decides to make it all better by getting drunk and letting some girl hang all over him, one who is at least five years younger than him. Not that age matters. I’m seven years younger than him, but still, it pisses me off. Maybe it’s the way her white-blond hair cascades down her back like a waterfall. Or her long, tanned legs that meet her jean miniskirt sitting right below her ass. She’s drop-dead gorgeous. Of course he’d want her between his legs.
“Hey, roomie,” Nash hollers with his turned back toward me, the girl still lingering between his legs. She follows the direction of his stare. “Forgot to tell ya, there’s a showing on the house tomorrow. Find somewhere to go between nine a.m. and noon.” He winks. He actually fucking winks. And it’s not a flirtatious wink. It’s condescending in a way that tells me he knows exactly what he is doing right now.
Part of me wants to walk over there and tell him that I’ll be gone for good when he wakes up because I’m able to get what I came here for. The other part doesn’t let me.
Ignoring him completely, I begin taking orders and making drinks. “What can I get you?” I ask a handsome gentleman in a sleek black suit who pushes his way in between two elderly men at the bar.
“Two shots of tequila and a bottled Bud,” he replies with his baby blues locked on mine and the corner of his lip tugged up.
Getting his shots first, I set them down then grab his beer, twisting the top off and dropping it into the trash can next to my legs. He slides one of the shots back toward me and I give him a look of puzzlement. “One for you and one for me.” He holds the little glass up in cheers.
“I’m working. I can’t, but thanks anyway.” I slide it back to him. I look around at all the people who are waiting for drinks. “That’ll be sixteen dollars.”
“Oh come on, you can have one drink. You’ve been working hard. You deserve it.” He pushes it back to me again, and just to humor him so I can continue serving the customers waiting, I tip it back and take it all in one swallow then slam the glass to the counter. “Atta girl.” He takes his shot, then slaps a hundred-dollar bill on the counter. “Keep the change.”
My jaw drops. Any further and it would hit the top of this wooden bar. “What? That’s eighty-four dollars. Are you serious?”
“You earned it with that pretty smile.” He grabs his beer and disappears into the crowd, leaving me speechless with the hundred in my hand and the burn of tequila in my stomach.
“You must have given him the bartender special.” Nash appears out of nowhere, taking up the space that the generous hottie once filled. His eyes are squinted with a shade of pink covering the whites.
Without even responding, I move down to another customer. “Need another?” I point to his empty glass of tap beer.
He waves his hand over it and shakes his head.
“I’ll have a shot of whatever lover boy down there just bought you.” Nash appears again, only this time, he’s shoulder bumping the man on the stool as he staggers back and forth.
“Would ya back the fuck up!” the guy hisses, giving him a shove with the palm of his hand.
Nash shoves him back. “No, but you can.”
They are nose to nose, and in the right state of mind, Nash could take this man out. But he’s pretty wasted right now and he doesn’t stand a chance.
If someone doesn’t stop this soon, these two are gonna go at it. I look around at the other men, who are just gawking and waiting for a show. “Fuck you, asshole.” The big, burly man shoves him again.
“Nash, just walk away,” I demand. “Please.”
“Yeah, Nash. Just walk away,” the asshole mocks me.
But before I can even attempt to get through to him, he’s cocking his fist back and ready to plant it right on the guy’s face. Someone grabs a hold of his arm. “He’s not worth it,” the girl he was getting cozy with earlier says. My plea didn’t do the trick, but hers did, because he drops his stance and begins walking away with her. Either way, I’m just grateful a fight didn’t break out.
“If you’re done here, maybe you should just leave,” I tell the man who is still sitting there with his empty glass and a shit-eating grin on his face.
“I’ll leave when I’m good and ready,” he snarls, then turns to his friends and mutters under his breath, “Who does this bitch think she is?” They all start laughing.
The next thing I know, the man is being jerked off from the barstool and his back crashes to the ground. Only it’s not Nash defending me, it’s the gorgeous blue-eyed guy from the end of the bar.
The unnamed man grabs the asshole by the collar of his plaid button-up flannel and lifts his chest off the ground. “You have two seconds to apologize to this young lady before you live to regret it.”
Everyone stands by idly watching. Even his buddies make no attempt to jump in. “I’m...I’m sorry. Didn’t mean what I said.” Releasing his grip with a shove, the asshole drops back down to the ground before one of his friends offers him a hand.
Still in a state of shock, I just stand there behind the bar, unsure of what to say.
“Get the hell out of here,” blue-eyes snaps at the men, then he turns to me with a smile. Straightening his jacket, he extends his hand. “Elijah Pelton.”