she’s such a powerful mage by now, how proud he is of her, and how he can’t wait to hear all about it when he visits.
First of all, he’s not gonna fucking visit.
Second of all, now Maddy’s moping around the house, devastated about her lack of magic all over again.
Thanks a lot, Dad. How you manage to make my life hell without even being in it, I’ll never know.
So now I’m stuck at work, trying to think of some way to cheer my sister up and figure out how I’m going to pay for her college classes—and what the hell I’m going to do with myself in a week once she’s at the state university all day—and on top of all that, I have to deal with a bunch of drunk idiots in front of me who think the height of philosophy is debating Fight Club.
Newsflash: if you’re a straight male, I can guarantee you missed the point of Fight Club.
It’s nothing I can’t handle, drinks-wise. I just don’t have the patience to deal with this, not today.
“Hey, hey, girlie!” one of the guys calls across the loud bar.
“Elliot,” I remind him for at least the third time. I kind of regret telling them my name in the first place, but I couldn’t take the damn pet names they kept calling me. I’m nobody’s “honey”, least of all theirs. “You want another round?”
I’m mixing a couple cocktails while I ask—there’s a hell of a bachelorette party going on at one of the high tops and their order was to just keep sending all the Sex on the Beach they could handle.
“Elliot!” Ajax calls. “Can I get a scotch, neat?”
“Sure, gimme one sec.” I finish the cocktails and put them on a tray, then pass them over to the corner so Carla can grab them and bring them to the bachelorette party. I make the scotch and look back at the guy who got my attention. “What can I get you?”
“Your number,” the guy replies, grinning like he thinks this is some killer pickup line.
“Yeah… I don’t give that out to customers.”
It’s mostly the truth. Every once in a while I will, but I don’t advertise that. I’m a bartender—that means I’m here to work, and that means it takes a real damn hot guy to turn my head.
Oh, shit.
A real damn hot guy like those three that just walked in.
My mouth goes a little dry, and I have to force myself not to stare as I watch the three newcomers find a corner table where it’s darker and people won’t bother them. They look about my age, maybe a little older, and they’re talking quietly amongst themselves, clearly not looking to be rowdy.
Damn it, I wish it wasn’t so slammed or I’d go over and take their orders.
They’re all tall, at least six-foot. Two of them have dark hair—brown and almost black, respectively—and the other has blond hair shot through with gold highlights, as though he’s spent a lot of time in the sun. The one with slightly shaggy brown hair has a lean body like a swimmer, and the other two are broad-shouldered, their shirts stretching unfairly over their chests and arms.
Jesus. Our clientele is mostly people in their twenties and thirties, so it’s not like I don’t get a decent share of man candy to scope out while I work… but these three? They make me wish I wasn’t on the clock so I could go over and try out my extremely rusty flirting skills.
But my shift isn’t ending anytime soon, the drunk guys in front of me are still loudly asking for my number, and I’ve got drink orders to fill. I sigh, shove the three walking wet dreams out of my mind, and get back to work. I have to earn those tips if I want Maddy and me to have a roof over our heads come next month.
To say that it’s an exhausting shift is an understatement. Welcome to a Friday right before all the college students have to hit the books again. Everyone’s cramming in their last bit of fun. By the time I get off work, my feet are throbbing and my fingers are cramped from being curled around bottles and glasses.
It’s so late it’s early, so when I tramp sluggishly up the steps to our apartment, I assume Maddy’s asleep. I catch sight of myself in the reflection from the glass door that leads into our building. Good lord, I look a