Wyatt stood on the top step of a stool in the corner of the bar, pretending not to stare as my first customer walked in.
I stood front and center. "Hello! Welcome to The Greasy Stump!"
The customer winced and slowed to a stop before sitting down. He narrowed his eyes at me and blinked. "You're not Wyatt."
If it hadn't been so early, I might've wondered if this guy had come here from a different bar. He was an older gentleman, in his fifties likely, wearing a baseball cap that he probably always wore to hide a growing bald spot. He sat down on a stool in front of the bar top and stared at me. "Beer," he said after a few seconds of just blinking.
I jumped for one of the chilled glasses.
"Hey now, Tony," Wyatt said from his stool. "You gotta be nice to the new bartender."
"Oh there you are." Tony's tone brightened when he spotted Wyatt. I didn't think there was anything romantic going on there. More like this guy liked things a certain way, and I was not included in that way. "What's his name?" Tony asked, despite the fact that I was standing directly in front of him.
Wyatt frowned. I'd asked him not to make a big deal of me working here, but only because I didn't want word to travel to my uncle. The last time he got close, I'd been in Northern California. I'd found a little bungalow that charged weekly rates for their rooms and was within walking distance of several four-star golf resorts. I'd made a quick penny before my uncle caught up after I'd been filmed in the crowd at one of the professional golfing tournaments.
There was an entire state between that place and where I was now. And, as long as I could stay away from anything being filmed or photographed, I should be fine for at least six months. After that, I could go back to my normal, nomadic way of life. Though, if I was being honest, that prospect held little appeal. I'd deal with that when I had to. Right now, I needed to deal with the fact that the beer was not coming out of the tap nearly as smoothly as it had when Wyatt had shown me.
I slid the tap closed and set the pint on the counter, staring at the large amount of foam that hid the inch of beer I'd managed to pour into the glass.
"His name is never-you-mind-his-name," Wyatt replied, appearing as if by magic at my side. He took the glass from me, slid it into the sink, and grabbed a fresh one from the cooler. "You have to pour it at an angle," he reminded me, without sounding annoyed or impatient.
Today, he was supposed to be patching the holes in the walls, but training me had taken so much of his time that he'd only just managed to lug out all his materials.
Wyatt set the full beer in front of Tony. The man winked at me from over his rim. His smile was considerably brighter now that he had a pint in his hand.
"Just keep 'em coming, and we won't have any trouble, Never You Mind."
I smiled. I was sure to him that sounded like an easy thing, but I was already dreading having to pour my next.
This was going to be a long six months.
With his beer in hand, Tony looked content to sit and stare at the television.
Wyatt pulled me down to the other end of the bar top. "I thought you said this was all easy to you."
"I said it looked easy." He was probably regretting this plan. I could've told him I had zero experience with customers or bartending-related things, but I was only doing this to stay off of my uncle's radar, and I hadn't been about to give Wyatt reasons to change his mind on that.
"What's in a margarita?" Wyatt asked.
I shook my head. I knew that one had tequila. And something else that normally made the drink an orangey yellow.
Wyatt sighed. "A Long Island?"
I'd heard of that one. Was pretty sure I'd been bought a few of those in my time as well, but normally when I was working a mark, I only made it look like I was drinking. The free drinks weren't my game. The money I'd steal from the men when they passed out was.
Out of habit, I opened my mind and sucked a little more of Wyatt's energy. I didn't take too much, but with Wyatt, I didn't have to. Even a small sip kept me going like ten cups of coffee. He claimed he just worked out, but I'd pulled from people who worked out before, and their energy hadn't affected me on nearly the same level.
"Can you at least cook?" Wyatt asked, propping his hand on his hip.
"I can make Top Ramen." And had lived long periods of time on nothing but that, especially in the beginning when I'd been too scared to use my power very often.
"We'll start the kitchen training later," he said. "For now, here's a cocktail recipe book. Most drinks that these people order will be listed here. A few you should memorize to make your life easier. Screwdriver, Baybreeze, Sea Breeze, and Buttery Nipples are popular on the weekend."
I crossed my arms over my chest, and Wyatt smirked. He leaned in. "They're shots, and no, they don't taste as good as yours."
I jerked back. My face burned while the rest of me heated up as well. "Well, in six months when I take my nipples with me, it's good to know you'll still have your booze." I had to mention the timeline we had in place here. I needed to remind myself repeatedly that this wasn't permanent. Nothing in my life was. I had the right here and right now, and my life would only run smoothly if I remembered that.
Wyatt's playful smile faded, and he looked over my shoulder. "Tony's ready for his next pint. Go practice your pour."
I spun around and lowered my chin to my chest as I talked to myself. "You can do this, Kansas. Pour a beer. It's easy. Remember the angle."
Grabbing a fresh glass, I stuck it under the spout and flipped the tap. Beer shot out, foaming up in the bottom of the glass, but I corrected the angle, staring at the amber liquid as it filled. This time, only half the glass was foam. I set it down proudly in front of Tony and turned to Wyatt, who gave me a double thumbs-up.
Tony grabbed the pint without looking at it and lifted it, his eyes dropping to what was in his hand. "I'm not paying full price for this," he mumbled and took a sip.
"It's on the house," Wyatt said while I smiled.
That felt good. I'd had a task, and I'd done the task. Not quite perfectly, but I'd done it all the same. Something that sounded so simple shouldn't have made me feel so proud.
I returned to where Wyatt waited for me. "If you get a food order, yell for me. Otherwise, just study the recipes and familiarize with the locations of things. The faster you can be, the better." He headed back to his stool, and I had to remember that I wasn't some new hire he'd taken a chance on, I was the man who had stolen a large amount of money from him, and now I was doing this to make up for it.
The sex in the motel had been a mistake, one that we wouldn't repeat, and hopefully with more days between that event and me, I'd find it easier to remember my place here.
The bell chimed, and I inhaled in preparation to greet the customers.
"You don't have to scream at them when they come in," Wyatt said, quickly but quietly. "Try good morning or whatever the time is. Most people will let you know if they want to talk."
I jerked my head down in a determined nod. I could do that.
The two new people, a man and woman, took a seat at one of the small tables near the front windows.
"You're new," the woman said with a bright smile.