I brought a guy home? Yep. Big brother. He doesn’t know who, but he isn’t pleased either and told me I was being incredibly irresponsible. This coming from the guy who fucked my best friend up against his desk two nights ago. He doesn’t get to tell me what to do.
“So…” Presley reaches for a stack of towels next to me on the bar just as the bell of the door chimes as it opens. Fletcher, one of our regulars, walks in. “Are you going to see him again?”
I’m prickly with nerves and shrug. “Probably not. Doubt he wants to see me again.”
Disappointment forces her smile from her lips. “What’s wrong with him? You’re amazing.”
“Yeah, well, men don’t see that. First one was married and the second is probably married to the sea.” I knew when I asked Lincoln if he wanted to come inside that he’d be leaving shortly after that.
“I saw him leave last night with his brother. How’d you end up together?”
“Oh, right.” I had totally forgot that I didn’t tell her how it happened. “Devereux was outside waiting for me, trying to get that stupid ring back, and Lincoln sort of appeared out of nowhere like some kind of Batman and saved the day. He walked me home and I thanked him.”
Presley gives me a cheeky smile and shakes her hips. “Clearly.”
I throw more straws at her. “Stop it.”
I hear a noise in the back, followed by a crash and an “Oh shit.”
Surprisingly, Avie doesn’t come out of his office, but Everett peeks his head out from the kitchen. “Little help?”
Presley and I dart back there to see what’s happening. It’s Kylo. Our dishwasher. He’s… how do I say this? Equal parts lazy, entertaining, and accident-prone. I swear he’s spent more time with the first aid kit than he does washing dishes. He’s also a recovering drug addict. Avie felt bad for him and wanted to give him a fresh start, and I think he regrets this decision daily, based on the fact that he probably has Labor and Industries on speed dial now.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Kylo says, his black eyes wide. He’s got the darkest irises I’ve ever seen. It’s like his pupils swallowed them.
Presley shakes her head, laughter slipping from her lips when she notices the red mark on his forehead. “Kylo, what are we going to do with you?”
Surrounding his feet are about a dozen martini glasses, shattered. Last week he broke a case of tequila. The week before that, two dozen cases of Bud Light. Needless to say, I’m not sure if Kylo has even received a paycheck yet. He’s too busy paying back Avie for everything he’s broken.
Presley moves around the kitchen, carefully avoiding the glass, and helps Everett clean up the glass while I tend to Kylo. “Kurt!” Avie screams from his office. “Get your ass in here.”
Kylo stares at me. “Who’s he talking to?” Kylo is a kid. I think maybe seventeen. I don’t know for sure. Half the time I don’t think Kylo knows. All I know is he ended up in this town and never left. Avie found him sleeping next to the dumpsters and gave him a job. That was six months ago, and now he’s living with Everett and kinda getting the hang of washing dishes.
“He’s talking to you.”
“That’s not my name though.” Kylo scratches the side of his face, his cheeks pink. He has a crush on me. I’m not sure why me, but if I’m in the room, his cheeks are flushed and he smiles. It’s cute really, but again, I don’t think he’s even eighteen yet.
“I know.” I pat his shoulder. “But I’d go see what he wants if I was you.”
“Okay.” With his head hanging, shoulders stiff, he steps over the mess he made and heads down the hall.
Everett sighs. “He set my microwave on fire last night.”
My eyes widen. “How?”
“He put a fork in with his spaghetti.”
Presley gawks at him and then me. “Didn’t he know it’d spark?”
There’s not much I can offer. Last week the dude drank bleach because he forgot which cup had his water in it. I think all his drug use killed a few too many brain cells.
With Kylo getting yelled at, and Presley and Everett cleaning the kitchen, I make my way back to the bar.
Fletcher approaches the bar, sliding onto the same barstool he occupies every afternoon. Fletcher doesn’t talk about his family often, but from what I hear, he’s from Raymond, his