eyes, and somehow, I wonder if the guy who was first and foremost my best friend will open up to me.”
“Have you asked Leith?” When I don’t answer, Justice says, “Your silence is speaking volumes, Chevelle. Honey, you have to talk to him.”
I toss the round straight to the head, then grip a bottle of alcohol and pour us another one. From my peripheral, a crew of at least ten familiar Japanese businessmen saunters inside. They work at an investment firm down the street. These guys are majorly loyal. They shine in their grey shark suits.
“Damn, we need to take a couple of bottles to their table. Just to get the tips, ya’ know?” Justice chuckles. “Alright, tell me about—” She eyes the glasses I’ve poured. The conversation about Leith and I dissolves, just like the vulnerability surrounding me. Justice snorts. “Girl, you have mastered the art of pouring a glass to the brim without it running over. But damn, are you trying to get me drunk?”
Hell, I’m trying to get me drunk. Falling in love with a crazy Scot has increased my tolerance for alcohol. “Because I know you very well, Justice. A little tipsy, and you’re good company. The thing is, I can’t stand a little tipsy. I need more. But with you, there are intervals. Good company becomes a sad love song before you’re a fun drunk.”
“Girl, bye.”
“No, really. This’ll certainly catapult us to the exciting part, right?”
We lift the glasses. The conversation I need to have with my husband will come sometime later. It’s too soon for Leith to have the seven-year itch. Count me out in that regard. I’m in it for the long haul.
Looking at the servers Michie has on rotation tonight, I giggle. “Justice, he needs help.”
Leaning toward me, she whispers, “That’s the new guy. Quinn’s handling so much. When I called in sick tonight—”
“You called in sick?” I palm my forehead. “That was the game Michie was talking about! I thought it was his usual petty, have the last word and walk away.”
“Heh, Michie does talk out the side of his mouth. Then he moves right on along with a serious swagger, doesn’t he?” She shrugs when I give her a pointed glower. “Well, I asked if this was a cognac-and-a-shoulder night, girl, and apparently, you needed tonight.”
“Awwww, you were looking out for me,” I blubber. Maybe I’m the sad drunk? I glance around the bar. “Now, I got you.” Her eyebrows pinch together, perplexed. Glancing around conspiratorially, I tell Justice, “We’re gonna help the team and recuperate some of those funds you lost out on.”
Justice hesitates. “You’ve known Michie’s surly ass longer than I have but―”
“Shhhh,” I wiggle my index finger before my mouth.
“You are drunk as fuck.” She snickers.
“I’m not.”
Justice and I sneak over to the table where the Japanese men have congregated. They offer laughter, gorgeous dark eyes, and no-limit credit cards. We create a new tab and serve them swiftly. Laughing, we settle back down, and I hand my portion of the ample tips to Justice. She attempts to return them, but I won’t have it.
Michie comes over and tops off our drinks. “I should thank you for keeping my best clientele satisfied.”
“You’re welcome,” we reply in unison.
“But so y’all asses already know, I’m charging you for this here bottle tonight.” He places the brandy on the counter next to us. I stick my tongue out as he walks away. “Saw that, Chevelle.”
“No, you didn’t.”
He backtracks. Leaning an elbow on the bar, Michie locks his leg about the ankle. Michie nudges his chin to the mirror on the wall. I cringe, realizing how tipsy I’ve become. Michie winks. “I’m all-knowing, girls. I’m ‘Skinny Buddha.’ ”
“Chevelle said that,” Justice blurts out as he walks away again.
“Sure did, and I own my shit!” I reply.
We fall into each other laughing. I’m not sure who initially dubbed the boss Skinny Buddha, but it was a joke made before either of us started working here. Michie’s a stingy, lucky bastard. While I’m giggling about the past, Justice sours.
Damn, the sad love song phase I’d hoped to bypass has descended. Justice has a look on her face that makes me want to watch The Color Purple.
This is it.
We’re doing it.
The downer part.
I’ve met every type of drunk known to man during my tenure behind the bar. They are like the Seven Dwarfs—sleepy, bashful, dopey, grumpy—there are so many kinds. Sorry to say, though, I’ve met my spirit sister when it comes to drinking.