“Thanks, Royce.”
I give her a nod and quick smile before moving down a few seats and serving another customer.
It’s only six-thirty, so it’s not too busy yet. The place usually starts filling up around nine, and it doesn’t slow down until about one.
Gaspar is a small town and it isn’t really known for its nightlife, but we get plenty of business throughout the week, regardless. In fact, we’re probably the number one place people choose to spend their time after work or on the weekends.
“Same thing, Jim?” I ask one of our regulars.
“You bet,” he answers, knocking on the wood before going back to a conversation with his co-worker, Craig.
Because I’ve lived in Gaspar my whole twenty-seven years of life, I know most everyone who comes in here. Craig and Jim always come in after work on Wednesdays, and most Saturdays and Sundays.
I pour him a Jack and Coke, heavy on the Jack, and place it on one of our King’s Tavern napkins.
“Craig, buddy. What are you talking about? The Bengals are way better than the Browns!”
“No they’re not,” Craig scoffs. “A Bud Light, Royce.”
I grab a pint glass and begin filling it up, still listening to their conversation.
“What?” Jim exclaims dramatically, his hand slapping against his forehead. “We lead the overall series fifty to forty-one.”
Craig waves his hand through the air, dismissing the stats.
I place his beer in front of him. “Good luck.”
“You’re not gonna help me out here?” Craig asks, gesturing to Jim before sliding me his credit card.
“Sorry, man. I’m staying out of this one.” I leave them to their arguing and start their tab before I go back to London.
“Need me to fill you up?” I ask, my lips pulling up on one side.
“Why does everything you say sound dirty?” she asks, running her dainty pointer finger around the rim of the glass.
“Maybe you have a dirty mind. I’m just asking if you need a refill.”
“You could just ask if I need a refill, and not if I need you to fill me up while you look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I ask, leaning onto my forearms in front of her. My tongue briefly slides across my bottom lip as my eyes drop to her mouth.
London attempts to keep a serious face as I stare into her light blue eyes, but she falters after several seconds and dismisses me with a laugh. “You know what you’re doing,” she utters, taking a sip from her drink.
I stand up straight, raising my arms in surrender. “Hey, I’m just making sure my customers are satisfied. It’s part of the job.”
“Mmhhmm,” she murmurs. “I’ve seen you in action. You don’t have to tell me twice.”
“What do you mean you’ve seen me in action?” I ask, leaning my hip against the bar.
“Oh please,” she says with a laugh, pushing her long, blond hair behind her shoulder. “Everybody in here knows you hook up with some rando who laughs too hard at your jokes, which aren’t even that funny, by the way.”
“Rando? And what do you mean I’m not funny? Remember that joke I told you about how French fries weren’t first made in France, but in Greece. You laughed!”
“I chuckled, maybe. But that was only because an eight-year-old had just told me the same joke the day before.”
“Ouch,” I say, placing a hand over my heart.
She laughs and shakes her head at me. “Anyway, you don’t need lame ass jokes. Just ask them if they want to sleep with you. I’m sure that’s all it’ll take.”
“Oh really?” I ask, placing my chin in my hand as I lean over the bar again. “And why is that? Because I’m the most attractive man in all of Gaspar?”
She rolls her eyes. “And the cockiest.”
“But the most attractive too, right?”
“Anyway,” she sings, changing the subject and gazing at her phone. “Midge should be here soon.”
“Oh good. I like Midge. She gets you drunk and makes you dance.”
“Oh shush. That was only like three times.”
I look down the bar and notice Chad’s taking care of a couple new people who walked in.
“Well, maybe tonight will be four.”
“Don’t count on it. It’ll be an early night for me. Got plans for tomorrow morning.”
I don’t bother asking about them, because I’m sure it involves her boyfriend, Hunter. I’ve seen him once. He had to come pick London up when she got absolutely shit-faced, which was one of the nights Midge got her drunk and on the dance floor. But I’ve never talked to Hunter. He doesn’t join her when she visits the bar, and I’ve never thought to ask why.
I point at the glass she has clutched in both hands. “You sure you don’t need a refill?” I ask.
She grins. “I’m gonna babysit this one for a while.”
“All right. I’ll come check on ya later.”
I end up getting sucked into Craig and Jim’s fight while I’m at their end of the bar, but when I serve Curtis his Hennessy I tell him about the Bengals vs Browns argument knowing he’s from Pennsylvania, and a Steeler’s fan.
“Hold up, guys. The Browns ain’t better than anyone,” Curtis pipes in, moving over a seat to get closer to them.
“Oh, here we go,” Craig responds, taking a drink.
I chuckle as I slip away, making my way to the other side of the bar.
About a half hour later, I spot Midge taking a seat next to London, so I saunter over to take her order.
“Hey, Midge. What can I get ya this time?” She wants a new drink every time she’s here. She’s not a creature of habit like most drinkers.
“A tequila sunrise sounds good. Thanks, Royce.”
“You got it.”
I pull the orange juice from the fridge under the bar, grab the tequila and grenadine, and place them in front of me.
“So, Royce. How’s your brother?” She rests her cheek in her palm, her head tilting to the side as she stares up at me with a smile.
“Which one?” I ask,
