Joe was looking at us as if we were some kind of seventh wonder. Really, I was kind of new to the whole supernatural world (well, not so new any more, you get my drift) but I was starting to feel as a monkey in the zoo. I couldn't understand why she found us so fascinating when all I could feel was doom and gloom. This blood bond thing was a fucking hall of mirrors, it made you do things you didn't want to do, it robbed you of your free will and messed things up royally; at least for him. I was pretty sure that I was messed up well before the blood sharing started. Honestly, I didn't stand a chance. What was I supposed to do, huh? The fact is that at first I did what had become second nature, that is, I blew him off. I won't deny that it was just a tinny bit harder than usual, you've seen the guy, he's drop-dead gorgeous. But his were not the first blue eyes I had ever seen and that sculpted jaw was too good to be honest. So, yeah, my "bite me" T-shirt was meant to do the job for me, only I didn't know back then what a good job that was.
I don't remember at what point he started to call me 'sad eyes,' and I won't lie to you, I thought it was a crappy way of hitting on someone. But then I looked again and when I saw a pair of sad eyes looking back at me, I started to think that maybe he was as lonely as he seemed, even if it was ridiculous to imagine a guy like him having to spend a single minute of his life alone if he didn't want to. He asked for bourbon, and I wasn't surprised, it suited him. So naturally, I decided to show off and asked: '16 or 20?' Now, that was a shock if I ever saw one, I would have laughed if I had more that two minutes to spare, but the club was packed and the usual crowd of spoiled disgusting hyenas were at my heels. The truth is that I was also testing the waters, a sort of childish challenge to see if he was as cool as he thought he was. And boy, was I in for a treat. He threw me back a challenge of his own, and when his smile reached his eyes for the first time and he said 'well, say A.H. Hirsch and you'll have me all impressed', I knew he was trouble. So, I did the most out of character thing I had done in years and sassed, 'I would if I thought you could afford it' and even winked at him.
Charlie chose that moment to show up and start pestering me about something or other. I was annoyed and grateful at the same time. My interactions with customers were usually much shorter and clinical, no chit-chat, no sass and absolutely no winks. So I'll admit I was out of my depth. Yes, I knew my way around bourbon, hence the question about the age he preferred (16 or 20) and my knowledge about the mythical A.H. Hirsch Reserve, but that was about all I had to offer and I was fresh out of jokes. Saved by the irritating bell, as it were. I left Charlie to flirt her way out of this one, assuming she would be up to the task, as usual. Bending just a bit too much over the bar (the girl had assets, what can I say) and waving her blond hair in a seductive way I could't have managed after years of training, she took to it enthusiastically—I have mentioned how gorgeous he looked, right?
And off I went to try and solve the last crisis. The girls hated me; it was no secret. I was the odd woman out in a club where every waitress and bartender worked their asses off, literally, for a little extra cash. To put it simply, Mike's offered much more than drinks and music, and the very young girls that worked there knew it from the start and even counted on it. I was the oldest, by far, and I wasn't interested in money. I actually wanted nothing to do with the club, the job, the extra 'perks' and, especially, with the boss. But alas, I wasn't given a choice. I was forced to work there at least until my brother did his time. Mike had strong-armed me into working for him unless I wanted my little bro to be ripped to pieces in the joint. As he often reminded me, I was lucky he simply wanted to keep me around and didn't force me into any other sort of agreement. Well, I felt the farthest thing from lucky, let me tell you. Bran would be in prison for the foreseeable future, and he depended on Mike's connections to stay alive and healthy, so yeah, I wasn't going to risk it and therefore I was trapped in that bloody place. I don't know how much the other girls knew, but they knew enough. I wouldn't say they envied me; after all Mike and his thugs beat the shit out of me pretty regularly, and I had ended up in the hospital three times in the last four years. Just a hint, Ron, my least favourite of Mike's minions, used to call me smart mouth, so you can imagine what was my never-ending source of troubles: I never knew when to shut the hell up. The thing is that when I was not being slapped around, I was allowed to dress as I liked and wasn't required to do anything other than serving drinks. My attire sent the message to back off loud and clear, shabby jeans, any T-shirt I could find and just the barest hint of make-up (come on, don't judge, I wasn't a complete savage). Nevertheless, for some reason, my tips were usually quite awesome and I was known for not putting up with anyone's bullshit. My theory was that the guys that frequented our less than respectable establishment were so used to get whatever they wanted that they mistook my awful attitude for a challenge and kept coming back for more, idiots.
The current crisis was that we were running out of beer, go figure, college boys were back in town for the holidays I guess. I spent an incredibly boring time solving the problem, calling in favors with providers, and dealing with the sort of things my boss should pay a manager for. When I went back to the bar, the crazyness had dialed down a bit and most guys were either dancing or choosing their game for the night, yep, I'm not talking about darts either. But there he was, nursing an empty glass and looking right at me, Charlie nowhere in sight. I started the usual 'what can I get you' routine, and he had the gall to pout.
'Just when I thought we were bonding over bourbon you leave me in the claws of Baywatch Blondie,' he said.
I laughed, sue me.
'Well, duty called, plus, Charlie may not be the brightest but she is perfectly capable of pouring you a drink.' I paused for effect and then loud whispered, 'trust me, I've seen it'.
What the hell was wrong with me that night? I blame that faraway look, that devilish smile, and a six-year drought.
'And what about you?', he asked.
Too easy, I thought, but I went and answered anyway, 'oh, I'm definitely the brightest, plus, I'm also capable of providing drinks, so, what can I get you?'
He stood there silent, looking at me with those piercing blue eyes, just as a spider would look at a weird fly, and then said, 'Pappy will do'. I didn't even bother to ask if he wanted the cheaper 13-year-old version, he looked like he could afford the $100 pour and had the taste to appreciate it, so I wouldn't insult a fellow bourbon connoisseur by asking. I bent down, retrieved the precious almost full bottle from its secret spot behind the bar and poured. I felt watched throughout the process, so I finished with a 'there you go' and went to return Pappy to his resting place. 'Wait', he stopped me, 'leave the bottle'.
To this I obviously raised an eyebrow, and then he did the weirdest thing. I didn't see him moving but suddenly he seemed to be much closer, reaching for me over the bar, and his eyes seemed to grow larger until they were all I could see. He repeated 'leave the bottle' in a deep voice and I felt a weird pull that told me it was ok to do as he said, but stubborn as I am I answered:
'Hey look, I'm happy to keep pouring but I could get into a lot of trouble for letting one of these out of my sight, so, not gonna happen'. The kind of trouble that ended up black and blue for a week, so no dice baby.
When I saw his shocked look I guessed he wasn't used to not getting his way, especially with women. Later I would learn that that had been his first unsuccessful attempt at compelling me, the bastard, and to get free bourbon! Really?