"Orange juice for you?"

"No. Let me have a martini with lemon slice, please. Extra gin and don't go easy on the vodka either."

He stood there for a moment staring at me, before the corner of his lip rose and he draped the dishcloth over his shoulder. Giving the counter a light tap, he said, "One round coming up!"

Great.

I needed something strong. Sean would've been there any minute and I preferred to be heavily intoxicated when he arrived. That way I would have an excuse if I wanted to be a total bitch to him, and also that would mean I would've already killed half of the night. I couldn't believe I agreed to go out with him again after the previous week's epic fail between the sheets. I guessed I really needed a little more...something in my life, that I'd become downgraded to such a desperate mess.

I turned around, resting my back against the bar, and observed the many people who'd populated the relatively spacious building. Some were seated in groups in the lounge area, chatting and laughing and having the time of their lives, while a few just wandered around the room bearing glasses or bottles of liquor and sporting either a dull expression or the obvious flesh-hungry, sex-crazed look in their eyes. I would know that look anywhere, since I too had worn it so well once or twice, or maybe a buncha times, before. But I was not the subject of attention here, right?

My gaze, however, shifted and remained on the hoard of people who flocked the dance floor, rocking, jumping and gyrating to the loud bass of the music thumping through the speaker boxes which lined the top corners of the room. I must admit, the DJ really knew how to drop a wicked mix.

After a few seconds, I felt my head do a slight bob, then continued to shake to the beat of the baseline. Drake's Controlla filled the room with its sweet melody and I couldn't help the involuntary tap of my foot.

A small pat on my shoulder, followed by the clearing of a throat behind me, drew me out of my trance and caused me to turn around swiftly. "Huh?"

My eyes met with the bartender's, before drifting down to the glass that was being slid across the counter toward me. "Here you go!"

I looked at the glass, which settled between my sprawled palms, with raised brows. It took me a few good seconds to register the orange liquid which was adorned with three precisely placed cubes of ice. I raised my head up then looked back at the drink with scornful confusion.  "What's this?"

The smile in his voice was clear as a bell when he responded with a, "It's orange juice."

I popped him a quick glare. "I know it's orange juice. But what's it doing here. In front of me?"

His eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head.  "Isn't it what you ordered?"

"No! There must be some confusion. I clearly told you a gin martini. Not...orange juice!"

I mean, was he serious? If I wanted a glass of fucking orange juice I wouldn't have wasted my time coming to a fucking bar, since I had plenty at my damn house. Geesh! Some times I wonder how difficult it is to get people who are actually competent in their jobs to work for you. Goddammit.

He smirked. "Oh, I remember now. You were the one who ordered a martini, extra gin, heavy on the vodka. Right."

I nodded in confirmation. Finally.

He bent over the counter and folded his arms across his chest. I noticed how buff his biceps were, as well as the tip of a tattoo which peeked from beneath the rim of his short, black shirt's sleeve. His dark green eyes were lidded and his cheekbones squared and sprinkled with the shadow of a beard. He looked no older than twenty-four, and, from what I could tell, was probably from the wrong side of town. Most definitely, since Chelseire was a small town, and, since I got around much, I kind of knew a lot of people, but I didn't remember seeing him before. I think I'd remember that face since the jagged scar on the right side of it was hard to miss.

He picked up a slice of lemon from off of the tray —which was set beside the liquor bottles on the counter—and propped it on the rim of my glass.  "Yeah, about that, we kind of have a policy here to not serve anyone under twenty-one liquor. So, I decided if you really were thirsty, orange juice would do just fine."

Wait, what?

"Excuse me!" Is he shitting joking, right now?

He propped up on one elbow and pointed a slender finger at me.  "You underage. No alcohol." He then pointed the same finger at his chest.  "Me need job. No get fired."

I felt the tension growing in my chest and could faintly identify it as heartburn. The ticking of my jaws wasn't helping my temper either. "I'm not underage! I'm twenty-one!"

Through my peripheral vision, I saw a few couples at the bar turn to look at me with wide and curious eyes. One man, in particular, scrunched his nose and shook his head. I didn't care.

Bartender guy pulled down his dishcloth and began leisurely wiping off the countertop where the liquid dripped from around the cold glass.  "Hey, lady,"—he dropped a sly smile—"you're disrupting the other customers. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to keep it down."

This made me fume.

Pulling my head closer to his chest and squinting my eyes, I managed to make out the name printed on a plain white tag attached to his chest. Killian. No last name, no fancy letters, just plain old Killian typed out in bold, boring Times New Roman. Peachy.  I brought my pointer finger down in a jab at the smooth mahogany.  "Listen here, Killian. I came here to get a fix and I'll be damned if I let some preppy bartender stop me. I have an ID and if you don't mind I'll like to have a chat with your manager."

He scoffed. "Yeah, sure. If you plan on jet setting to Milan."

Is this guy seriously stringing me out?

He turned and headed over to a group of girls who'd ventured over to the side of the counter away from me. "What can I get you, beautiful ladies?"  I heard him say.

I scoffed. He so didn't walk away from me and my complaints to flirt with a bunch of girls. Not being one to back down, I picked up my clutch and marched over to them.

His eyes met mine and a frustrated sigh escaped his pointy lips.  "You again?" he said and all eyes were drawn on me.

I didn't falter. My confidence not wavering for a minute.  "Yes. I believe I'm yet to be satisfied by my services. And last time I checked, good customer service is key."

Killian rolled his eyes. "This is a bar. I'm a bartender, not a freaking customer service representative."

I ignored the snickers which followed. "Are you serious right now?"

His expression was suddenly serious.  "Listen, miss, I don't know what game you're playing at, but I don't intend on joining in. I have work to do here, and I prefer to tend to my customers without being constantly nagged by a little...woman."

"I'm not little," was my lame response.

He shrugged.  "Yeah, whatever. You're twenty-one, I forgot. You might be fooling other bartenders, but not this one. Plus your story would've been more believable if I were to go off of just your height. But your face and chest, or lack thereof, say otherwise. However, I'm willing to let you stay here just as long as you leave me alone. And forget the martini."

I didn't know how I felt. I don't think there was one word to describe the feeling. All I could do was stand there, my fists clenching and unclenching by my side.

"Hey, sorry I'm late!" a voice said beside me as an arm wrapped around my waist. I looked over to see Sean hooked to my side, sporting a dazzling smile and a new haircut. He smelled good and as always was dressed to the T. I returned a tight smile.  "Are you okay, you're literally trembling."

I leaned into him. My knees were weak from standing so long in heels. "Yeah, just a little edgy, but I'm good," I told him. "Now that you're here," I added as an afterthought.

He was positively beaming.  "Super."

I turned my back to the bar and tried to calm down with deep breaths through my nose. "Oh, hey. I didn't secure a seat in the lobby because I wasn't sure where you'd like to sit. And"—I peeked over his shoulder —"looks like it's all full now."

Sean shook his head, not once losing the creepy smile. "That's okay. I'm perfectly content with sitting at the bar. If that's okay with you?"

Was it? I glanced over to where the bartender still stood and our eyes made four before he turned away and started serving up liquor for the group of girls.

I really wanted that martini. "Yeah, sure. Why not?"

Maybe because Dicktor the bartender will be in earshot of your conversation.

With a gentle push, Sean led me to his selected stools, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back.

When we were both seated, he snapped his finger in gesture for the bartender.

Killian trudged over to us, a small grimace on his face. Definitely not customer friendly.  "What can I get for you, tonight?"

Sean suddenly pulled his phone out of his back pocket and stared at the screen.

I could see that Killian was growing impatient. Served him right for dishing it out on me earlier. He cleared his throat.

Sean's head snapped up.  "Oh, didn't see you there."

"I bet," Killian shot back. "What're you drinking?"

After pausing for a moment as if to make a mental decision, Sean said, "Lemme have a Jack Daniel's on the rocks, and a...gin martini for the pretty lady please."

Well what do you know, he remembered my order from last time. My head snapped up and I couldn't help the smirk which graced my lips at Killian's expression.

Killian glanced at me and replaced his frown with a small smile. "Sure, no problem."

Now, that's the spirit!

When he was out of range, I felt Sean's hand on my thigh and pulled my attention from the bartender to him. He looked me square in the eyes and it took all of me to not look away. I hated making eye contact with people, it felt awkward. He smiled. "I forgot to tell you, you look really beautiful tonight."

I lowered my head and smiled. "Thanks. You look pretty dapper yourself."

He adjusted his hand so his fingers slightly grazed my skin. "Well, I had to look good for the pretty lady."

I genuinely laughed at his impersonation of a southern folk's accent.

My head flew back and my chest rose and fell as I laughed. When my laughter trickled down to small chuckles, my eyes met with Killian's from across the room before he looked away.

What is his problem?

***

Just as we were starting to really enjoy the evening, Sean got a call that he had to take.

Pivoting on the iron stool, I rubbed my palms against my exposed shoulders and sighed as I relished in the warm ambiance. The room was getting more and more crowded by the minute but was yet to become overbearing. And for that I was grateful. I mean, I wasn't usually phased by crowds —just not all types enticed me.

Especially bar crowds.

Something was bound to go wrong.

My eyes fleeted toward the back foyer in search of Sean, but he wasn't in my line of sight. A few couples lined the corridor, though, but they were too busy being absorbed by each other's attention that they didn't notice me staring.

I sighed.

Just as I was starting to feel out of place, I saw Killian place a glass, of something I couldn't identify on spot, in front of me.

"On the house," he announced.

Bearing in mind how much of a dick he was earlier, I lifted the drink above my head and inspected the content— through the bottom of the clear glass— for any suspicious particles.

"Do I even want to ask what you're doing?" I heard him asked.

I shrugged without sparing him a glance.  "Checking for poison."

He laughed and it was the weirdest thing.

When I placed the glass back down firmly on the counter and looked straight at him, he shook his head, the small smile still on his lips. "You're definitely something else, you know that right?"

"So I've been told, on occasions."

He turned and looked toward the exit, as if following Sean's trail then he turned back to face me and frowned. "Boyfriend?"

"How's that any of your business?"

Raising both hands in front of his chest, surrender style, he said, "Hey there, easy now. I'm just trying to build a friendly conversation. Compensate for earlier?"

With a deep breath in, I sighed.  "He's my friend." With benefits.

"I see."

Somehow I didn't quite like the judgemental tone in his voice, but I said nothing and instead lowered my head and hesitantly popped the straw into my mouth.

Sean had been gone for over five minutes and I'd started to wonder if everything was okay.

Killian must've been paying close attention to my expression because I soon felt his presence directly in front of me. "Are you okay?"

I looked up to see him propped up by his chin on his folded fists. I frowned. "Yes. Why'd you ask?"

"Nothing. Just curious for whatever reason. You seem a bit tense."

I sat up and used the straw to stir my drink. "Awe, the self-absorbed bartender cares!"

"Hey! I'm not self-absorbed," he said. "And who says I care?"

I scoffed. "First of all: you are. Judging by the way you treated me earlier. Or would you rather be termed an asshole? And two, is your second comment supposed to make me feel urged to confide in you?"

"Look at it this way: do therapists really care about your personal problems? But don't you still confide in them?"

I couldn't help but smile.  "You have a point."

"Plus, they always say bartenders are like therapists. They take your money, and allow you to vent."

"Is that what yours does to you?" I asked, feigning pity.

He snorted.  "I don't have a therapist."

"Well you sure as hell sound like you have a whole lot against them," I said. "Are you sure one didn't rip you off?"

"I don't have, nor have been involved with any. And why would I need a shrink anyway?"

Because you're a jerk with obvious deep-seated issues. "Definitely not because of your sunny personality."

"You don't think my personality is sunny?" he asked, his tone teasing. "Look at this smile."

He grinned and I immediately looked away for fear of blushing in front of him. He really had a great smile —one that was wide-set and decorated by two dimples on either cheek. I instead tucked the straw into my mouth and took a sip. I marveled at the burst of flavors on my taste buds—like a mixture of strawberries, pineapple, and lemon. Delicious. "What's the name of this?"

At my question, he stopped smiling. "That's top-secret," he said. "Just a little potion I concocted."

"Potion, huh?" I said with a smirk. "You didn't put something in there to make me fall head over heels with you, did you?" I gasped. "Or want to have sex with you?"

"Don't flatter yourself," he said without a hint of a smile. "You're not my type."

Burn!

"I'm everybody's type."

He shrugged.  "Thank God I'm not everybody."

"Ouch!" I frowned. "Then why can't you tell me what's in it?"

"I'm afraid you might not want to drink it if you knew."

I scrunched my face in disgust and seriously contemplated spitting the bit I had in my mouth, out.

Probably picking up on what was happening, Killian laughed.  "Hey, I'm joking!"

"Don't fuck with me, bar boy!" I said through gritted teeth, wiping the dribble from my chin.

"The preppy Princess swears," he said. He folded his arms and cocked a brow, which —for a guy— was pretty well-groomed. "Interesting."

"I'm not preppy!"

"Says who?"

"You're the only person who thinks so."

"Well, then that's something. Guess I'm the only one around you with a brain."

"Fuck you!" I hissed.

"Wouldn't you like to."

I snorted.  "As if!"

"Admit it!" he coaxed. "Come on, go ahead."

Could you believe this jerk? "You're not my type."

"You still haven't said it."

"Said what?"

"It," he supplied. When I gave him the 'I don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about' look, he said, "Told me you don't wanna fuck me."

"I just did!"

"No you didn't, Charlie Brown."

"Don't call me that."

Another smirk.  He was obviously enjoying this way too much. "So...?"

"Don't you have a bar to tend to?"

He came closer. "Na, that can wait. There isn't even anyone at the bar. Say it. Unless you don't mean it."

He was getting on my damn nerve. Though, surprisingly his attention made me feel...content?

Oh hell no!

"Fine!" I sighed. Quite dramatically I might add. "I. Don't. Want. To. Fu—have sex with you!"

"Was that supposed to convince me or you!"

"Neither! It's obvious. You're doing nothing for me. I don't find you attractive. Not. One. Bit."

"Hmm...I see."

"Duh!"

"No worries. They all want to fuck the bartender at some point."

"You're full of shit!"

He laughed —at which I rolled my eyes.

I used the straw to flick some of my drink at him, which only made him laugh more. His laugh must have been contagious because pretty soon I was giggling too.

When we sobered up —more so him than me —he said, "You're not so uptight after all, Princess."

I hissed my teeth. "Whatever," I said. "You're not a total jerk either."

"I'm not giving you my number though."

I gasped. "What? Who says I want your freaking number?"

"I've seen the looks."

"What looks?"

"The ones you've been giving me since night."

"You're delusional."

"Am I? Then why'd you sit at the bar, instead of around the lounge, like everybody else, huh?"

This guy's unbelievable. "Because the lounge was full, and this was the only place left by the time my date got here!"

"So you admit he's your date."

I shrugged.  "Yea. So?"

"No reason," he said. "No reason at all."

I was getting a bit defensive. "Great!"

"Super."

I was about to lash out at him when I saw Sean approaching. I'd almost completely forgotten about him.

He must have sensed the tension at the bar when he finally reached beside me, because he looked repeatedly between me and Killian before saying, "Sorry that took me so long. Always working. Even when not at work."

I forced a smile. My mood had gone sour.

"So, what did I miss?"

I heard Killian say, "Nothing" at the same time that I said, "I'm ready to go home."

Sean looked momentarily confused, but quickly concealed it with a clear of his throat." Okay! Um, sure," he said as he picked up his jacket and helped me off the stool.

I walked away, with Sean trailing behind me, but not before giving Killian the most deadly glare I could've mustered.

Jerk!