Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
“You’re underage.”
“Not according to this, I’m not,” I tell him as I show him my fake ID.
“Fuck!” he swears under his breath as he quickly swipes the card from my hand and stuffs it in his pocket. “Where the fuck did you get this?”
I’m a little pissed he’s taken my ID and not given it back. “It’s none of your concern so can you please give it back?” I tell him, batting my eyelashes at him. I might as well be polite as possible in order to get served.
“The hell I will. This piece-of-shit ID can get you in trouble and us closed down. You need to leave. I’m not serving you and no one else here will either.”
And now I’m furious. What’s a girl gotta do to get a goddamn drink around here? And who is he to tell me I need to leave? He doesn’t own me; he’s not my father and I can do the hell I want. I’m completely fed up with people telling me what I can and can’t do. First, it’s Adam with his bullshit about where I should live; and now it’s Kyler, telling me how to spend my free time. If I want to have a drink then I will. If I want to buy a drink in the bar he happens to work in, then I will, and he has no right to tell me otherwise.
“Are you being serious right now? Who do you think you are telling me what I can do? You’ve no right, you don’t own me! Give me my goddamn card back and serve me my drinks. Or I’ll complain to the manager and get you fired!”
“No, Thea. Get your stuff and go home,” Kyler says. His jaw pulsates with tension, and he flexes his fingers against the bar, hinting at the anger building up inside of him. He turns his back, and I’ll be damned if he thinks he can walk away from this conversation without serving me.
“Fuck you, Kyler!” I screech at him, not caring who can hear our conversation. Maybe his co-workers need to know he’s refusing to serve a paying customer, and if it means causing a scene then so be it. I’m tired and pissed at people—no boys—thinking they can tell me what to do. I’m old enough to make up my own mind and make my own decisions and I’m not taking this kind of crap from any of them.
Unfortunately, Kyler doesn’t seem to get the message. Instead of taking my order, he glowers at me for a little longer, his eyes alight with anger. There’s a fire burning with rage within them and I’m sure it’s exactly what he sees in my eyes, because the fury coursing through my body is creating a nervous pent-up energy that’s about to be unleashed at any given moment. He mutters something to one of the other servers and before I can comprehend what’s happening, Kyler walks around the bar, grabs me by the arm and promptly walks me through a door to the back.
I instantly know this conversation is not over.
fourteen
Kyler
I need to find something new to say because “What can I get you?” or “What are you having tonight?” are so mundane I’m boring myself each time I open my mouth. Yet, my brain comes up with nothing. Literally the two most tedious things a server or bartender can say are on constant repeat. Believe me, there are times when some college frat boy is standing at my bar and I want to say, “What the fuck do you want?” but my job is far too important to lose it over how I approach the customers.
Someone decides it’s mellow-dramatic-night and has power ballads playing from the jukebox. When my boss installed the thing, I begged him to keep it unplugged. He’s not here every weekend to hear the nauseating love songs play on repeat or watch drunkards group together to sing and hold their beer bottles as if this is their last night together. I get it, people are sentimental, and I’m not. I blame my mother. It seems I’ve been doing that a lot lately and should probably stop. My life doesn’t need to revolve around her, although it’ll likely never stop. I swear, I’m the adult in this relationship and she’s the child who doesn’t listen. I can’t change her, which is unfortunate.
The night is going well. Tips are flowing and the customers seem happy, except for the group in the back, who are currently rocking out to Meat Loaf’s “I’d Do Anything For Love” and emphasizing “that” each time Meat Loaf belts it out. I bet half the people singing right now don’t even know what they’re agreeing to since most never understand the lyrics. They’re plain as day to me if you actually listen to the song. He’s never going to lie, he’ll be there until the end, and he’s never going to cheat. Words to live by if you ask me.