in behind the bar. I tread carefully across the honeycomb mat, waiting while Ronan slides two pints over the bar and rings the money through the till before I tug on his sleeve.
I feel very much like a kid seeking the attention of someone who definitely doesn’t want to give it to me.
Ronan startles at the contact and frowns when he realizes it’s me and not one of his employees. “What the hell, Blaire? You can’t be back here.”
“I need to talk to you!” I say, just as another particularly loud aggressive drum solo starts up.
He motions to his ear, signaling he can’t hear me.
I pin him with an unimpressed glare and he rolls his eyes. I grab his arm, digging my nails in and try to pull him down so I can shout directly in his ear.
He gives me a look like I’m insane. “I’m kinda busy here.” He points to the sea of bodies.
“You’re ruining my Comedy Night with this!” I gesture in the direction of the band.
He huffs and shakes his head while he tries to pry my hand free from his arm. I stumble back a step, heel caught in the honeycomb mat meant to keep the bartenders from slipping on spilled beer. “You’re gonna get hurt back here. You gotta go.” He points to the end of the bar.
“Not until we talk.”
“For fuck’s sake, Blaire. I don’t have time for this shit tonight.” He circles my waist with one arm and hauls me up against him.
I gasp and flail, forced to hug his neck as he stalks the length of the bar. I don’t want to notice how firm all of him is, or how good he smells when he’s this close. “What the hell are you doing? Put me down! You can’t manhandle me like this!”
“I can when you’re behind my bar, wearing fucking heels, and at risk of spraining your damn ankle,” he shouts, his minty breath washing over my cheek, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“You’re ruining my night.”
“Maybe your comedians suck. Ever think of that?”
Instead of opening the waist-high door, he swings me up, catching me fireman style under the knees, his cold palm wrapping around my thigh briefly as he lifts me over it and then unceremoniously dumps me back on my feet on the other side.
“My comedians don’t suck! Your scream-o band is the problem.” I keep flailing, which is frustrating because it makes me look like more of a lunatic.
“I need to work.” He turns and starts to walk away.
“I’m not done with you!” I call after him.
He motions to his ear again.
Ugh. I hate him. I flip him the double bird. “How’s that? Can you hear that?” I shout.
He has the audacity to salute me, gives me his back and leans on the bar, turning his head so some scantily dressed college girl can yell her beer order in his ear. He really is a jerk.
By the time I get back to B&B the last comedian has given up on account of the noise and the crowd is starting to clear out. Probably heading next door to enjoy the stupid band. I apologize to Karen, and while she’s understanding I don’t think there’s much of a chance that she’ll come back anytime soon, if ever.
I start to clean up with the help of Daphne, who hasn’t asked what happened yet, likely because I’m so angry it’s a wonder there isn’t steam coming out of my ears. Only a few diehard customers are left in the place and I’m pretty sure the only reason they’re hanging around is the possibility of half-price cupcakes.
I offer them the deal and they polish off what’s left of their martinis, pick a half-dozen each and take off, muttering about stopping at their car before they head over to The Knight Cap to check out the band, leaving my place totally empty. I’d planned to stay open until ten tonight, but it looks like I don’t have to anymore.
I flip the bird at the wall between our two bars as yet another bass-pounding song starts, and then box up the few remaining cupcakes.
Daphne dumps what’s left in the coffee carafe down the drain. “Guess the talk with Ronan didn’t go all that well, huh?”
“He’s a dick.”
“What’d he say?”
“He pretended he couldn’t hear me and then manhandled me.”
She sets the carafe down. “He did what?”
“He was behind the bar, ignoring me, so I went back there to confront him and he picked me