Brandy

by Genevieve Darcy Granger

Negan develops a new taste for Brandy over Sherry. This is inspired by the song by Looking Glass. Modern AU: No Zombies. Negan is a Bartender.

"There's a port on a western bay,

And it serves a hundred ships a day.

Lonely sailors pass the time away,

And talk about their homes."

Nothing much ever happened in the small town of Sanctuary, Virginia. It was one of the reasons why Brandy left as soon as she could and went all the way to the University of Georgia for college. Once she graduated though, Brandy was at a loss of where to go, so she came all the way back up here. She didn't plan on staying long, just long enough to form a plan of action and follow it.

Truthfully, Brandy wasn't sure what to do. She'd gotten a Bachelor's in Music, but other than that didn't know where to apply it. She had no interests in teaching music, no prospects otherwise since she was terrible at creating original content. If she were being honest with herself, Brandy had thought that she wouldn't have graduated college at all. Initially, she thought she'd meet a man and get her M. R. S. degree instead. In her head, she had this clichéd I Love Lucy daydream about white-picket fences and a husband. The only misgivings she had was that Brandy wanted her independence to do as she pleased rather than be a housewife per se – and she didn't want children. Hard to find a man who'd marry her without any hope for a family, but still be willing to support her in following her dreams for music no matter what.

Until then, though, she had bills to pay and student loans piling on more debt every day, so Brandy got a job waitressing at a local bar that had popped up sometime while she was away.

Well, that's not exactly true. It turns out the bar had always been there but Brandy was too young to pay much attention to it before. The only thing that seemed to have changed about it was the name: Lucille's.

"And there's a girl in this harbor town,

And she works layin' whiskey down.

They say "Brandy, fetch another round!"

She serves them whiskey and wine."

Lucille's was the only bar in town, and it attracted a regular influx of customers because it could be said that the bar was Sanctuary's main (if not only) attraction. People would come in for the drinks, for the food, to watch the games on the TV, to shoot pool and throw darts. Hell, people would even come in to play ping-pong. Personally, Brandy was drawn in for the karaoke night on Friday. Singing was her passion, and she could belt out Journey better than she could try to write her own song.

Brandy came home right on time because in the summer Lucille's would get particularly busy. She interviewed with a tall, muscular, mustachioed man named Simon. He was the manager, and she seemed to have impressed him because out of all the applicants, Brandy was the only one hired. She suspected it had something to do with that the fact that nearly every person who worked at Lucille's just so happened to be an attractive woman. The only exceptions seemed to be the manager Simon and the chef Fat Joseph – or Fat Joey. Brandy didn't quite remember his name yet. Either way, she doubted that he hired her because she got up on stage and sang 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' after her interview.

The four other women that worked at Lucille's were the other waitresses: Sherry, Frankie, Tanya, and Amber. Sherry was the one Brandy did her training under. She taught Brandy how to mix drinks, bust tables, take orders, clean up after the bar closed, get the bar ready to open – the works. But the most important think Sherry taught her was to watch out for the owner.

"Lucille? What's wrong with the owner?" Brandy curiously asked.

"You need to pour more vodka, that's not enough to convince someone to have Sex on the Beach," Sherry guided her, avoiding the question at first. "Lucille isn't the owner."

"But the name of the place – "

"I know what the bar is called, Brandy, but Lucille isn't the owner. Just the namesake," Sherry interrupted impatiently. "Alright, that's enough vodka, add the peach schnapps now."

As Brandy switched bottles, she further inquired, "Okay, but what reason do I have to avoid the owner? And if Lucille isn't the owner then why is the joint named after her? Did she used to own this place?"

"You know if you asked half as many questions about making drinks as you do about the owner then you'd know that you've poured too much peach schnapps," Sherry corrected her flatly, displeased but not angry. She shook her head at Brandy before she grabbed the mangled drink and threw it back in one go. No sense in letting good booze go to waste. "Let's start over. Now, one and one third of vodka…"

Dutifully, Brandy poured a new glass, only slightly embarrassed that she messed up but it was only her first day after all. "Well, I can't help it that you got me curious, Sherry. You can't just tantalizingly drop in 'Steer clear of the owner if you can,' without expecting me to be interested as to why I should. Sounds kind of suspicious of you to say on my first day."

With a sigh, Sherry shortly explained, "Firstly, the owner is a he, not a she; and he's not necessarily a bad guy, per se, so don't you worry your pretty little blonde head at that. He's just a bit of a womanizer is all, and I'd hate to see you get your heart broken over him like we others have."

Confused, Brandy wrinkled her nose at that. "We others?"

"Myself and the other girls, the other waitresses," Sherry clarified. "I left my husband to be with him. Amber called off her engagement to her old fiancé Mark three days before the wedding to be with him."

"What? He's slept with you all?" Brandy openly gawked and didn't even bother to try and mix the drink now. She turned to Sherry, deeply surprised at the situation. "How could you all be fine with that? None of you are married to him? The bar isn't exactly called Sherry's or Amber's or whatever."

Sherry actually had the audacity to roll her eyes at Brandy as if this kind of affair was normal for a small town like Sanctuary. "I may have exaggerated a bit about my situation. My divorce from Dwight had been a long time coming. The good fuck I had with the owner was the nail in the coffin, so to speak, rather than the catalyst. As for Amber, well," Sherry shrugged, "I wasn't exaggerating. Though I suspect that Amber had cold feet about marrying Mark way before she was hired here. There are rumors circulating now, though, that Amber has been hooking back up with Mark again, but you didn't hear that from me."

Not to be sidetracked by other small-town gossip, Brandy shot more questions at Sherry, rapid-fire. "What's so special about this guy? What's so good about him that he could sleep with all of you and you still work together fine? God, what's so great about him that you haven't all quit? Is the sex really that great?"

Here, Sherry once again drank what vodka Brandy had poured before she was sidetracked again. "He's devastatingly handsome," Sherry admitted. "Truly. Dark hair, hazel eyes, beautiful smile, dimples, lean, tall. Sinfully good-looking and amazing in the sack," Sherry stressed to Brandy emphatically. "Besides that, he's charming, he's funny as hell. He's not dumber than a sack of rocks like most men are in this backwater town. Not only that, but he takes care of us, if you can believe it, all of us. He doesn't even have to marry us to do it. He isn't the marrying type anyway, not anymore. But he'll meet our sexual needs and emotional needs no problem. We like it. We all have our freedom this kind of way."

Brandy shook her head, still in disbelief. She just couldn't comprehend it; it just didn't seem possible. "That still doesn't explain to me why you've chosen to stay here. Couldn't you get a job somewhere else but still be with him this way?"

Buying time before she had to answer, Sherry picked up the vodka bottle, examined it, and then poured herself a shot. As she set the bottle down again with a small clink, Sherry suddenly said, "It's a small town, Brandy, full of traditional albeit backwards ideas. It is hard to get a job anywhere else when people sneer and call you a whore to your face and even worse behind your back." Sherry took the shot and then flipped the glass over when she was finished, signaling that she was done. "Look, Brandy, you're young. You're educated. You don't need to get wrapped up here."

"Trust me, Sherry," Brandy assured her, "From what you told me about the guy, I doubt that he'll ever be interested in me when he has four ladies like you guys." She smiled at Sherry, and then finally moved on from the subject, intending to put it out of her mind, "So, what are the proportions for Sex on the Beach again?"

A little suspicious, Sherry gave Brandy a steady look, measuring the young woman up. Then she nodded, seemingly satisfied with her judgement, and moved on, too. "Start with one and one third vodka…"

"The sailors say "Brandy, you're a fine girl." (You're a fine girl.)

"What a good wife you would be." (Such a fine girl.)

"Yeah your eyes could steal a sailor from the sea.""

The rest of Brandy's week went fairly well as she was taking to waitressing like a duck in water. Being a fresh face at Lucille's she attracted quite a bit of attention, especially on karaoke night. Some of her old high school friends who stayed in Sanctuary came around to see her. It was almost nostalgic for Brandy, except she would say that unlike in high school, when she was at Lucille's Brandy was popular.

Of course, it certainly helped that over the four years after high school, Brandy grew into herself. Not to say she was ugly before or that she's beautiful now. Just that Brandy was finally comfortable with herself. She was confident that she was an attractive young woman, so that's how she was perceived by those around her. Were she to act otherwise, she'd be thought of as average. There was nothing particularly striking about her blue eyes, and she kept her blonde hair in a ponytail. Her makeup was the simple, bare minimum. Brandy wasn't thin like the other waitresses, but she didn't have that perfect curvy figure either. All of that, though, hardly mattered to her. Before it used to bother her, certainly, but now she just didn't care. It wasn't like she was trying to impress anyone. To Brandy, all she needs is her voice and she's beautiful that way.

For that reason alone, though, she turned heads. Brandy didn't pay it attention, figuring that because she was so new the looks she got made her feel like a new toy. The way she figured it was that eventually they'd grow bored of her soon enough. Still, Brandy was an excellent waitress. She laughed at the patrons' jokes, was prompt with their drinks, and listened sympathetically to their woes. None of it seemed to be false politeness either, because Brandy truly was a genuinely kind person. Her heart goes out to people all the time, and she didn't mind.

"He came on a summer's day,

Bringin' gifts from far away,

But he made it clear he couldn't stay.

No harbor was his home."

One Sunday night, however, Brandy's heart went out to someone in particular. Brandy was the only waitress on the shift since Sherry had called in sick. Simon didn't call in any of the other girls because he figured Brandy could handle it. Being a Sunday, it was slow, not many people wanting to risk a hangover to make them late for work in the morning. Brandy didn't mind the easy-going pace. She attended to the bar flies Gary and Skinny Joey, but took her time otherwise. She'd been all her feet all day, and despite wearing flats, they didn't forgive her for it. Since there were no sports games on this time of year, a James Bond movie – one of the good older ones with Sean Connery – was playing on the television. A bit absentminded, Brandy leaned against the counter, propping her chin in her hand, and watched From Russia with Love with the avid interest of someone who had never seen it before.

"But why kill her," says James Bond to the villain, Grant.

"Orders," replies Grant, "That's only half of it, old man." He pulls out a roll of film and an envelope from his suit pocket. "Here's a roll of film. She'll have this in her handbag, and on you they'll find this letter. It's from her, threatening to give the film to the press unless you marry her for helping you steal the Lektor."

Bond seems confused. "What film?"

Grant sneers at him, "Taken in the bridal suite at your hotel. Something else the girl didn't know about…or you."

"You know, Connery is my favorite Bond," rumbles a low voice that drifts over Brandy's ear drum with all the pleasant flavor and richness of wine coupled with chocolate, "but I think he was best in Goldfinger."

Startled, Brandy turns to the source of the voice, and of course it's a man as equally tempting as a glass of wine and a box of chocolates. He's handsome with slicked back black hair and a salt-and-pepper beard. His eyes are hazel, crinkled at the corners from his smile, and his smile is wide, devious, pearly white. And he has adorable, deep dimples.

A little embarrassed, Brandy sits up off the counter, aware of the fact that it probably looks bad that she was so inattentive – and that her meager cleavage was a little scandalous from being hunched over that way. "I don't think I'm familiar with that one," Brandy smiles apologetically, nervously smoothing her hands down her front. He's too handsome for her to talk to, and part of her wants to blush and look away, but she realizes that would be even more unprofessional of her. "What can I get you, sir? Martini, shaken not stirred?" She lightly joked at him.

If it's possible, his smile stretches wider and he wrinkles his nose at her playfully. "Actually, I'm here for Sherry." He raps his knuckles on the bar top and looks around casually. While he's not looking at her, Brandy greedily drags her eyes all over him. His nose is large, and adorable, and she'd love to feel it press to her intimately. His jawline looks strong enough to sit on, too. On a non-pervy note, he's wearing a black leather jacket with a side zipper – still zipped up – with a red scarf peeking out of the collar. By all means, the man is bundle up, but looks like a bad boy. Brandy is smitten already. Suddenly, he turns back to her and raises his eyebrows meaningfully.

Blinking, Brandy asks in an uncharacteristically small voice. "I'm sorry, do you mean sherry like the dessert wine or Sherry the waitress? Because if it's the wine, I'll have to check in the back, but if it's the woman, then I'm sorry she's not working tonight."

"Huh," the man comments, and his tongue slides out over his teeth, tracing around his bottom lip. Brandy's eyes helplessly track its movements, her own tongue a little envious. "Coulda sworn she was on the schedule for tonight."

"Oh, she was," Brandy assures him, "she just called in sick. She works again on Tuesday, if you're that interested in her." Maybe it's the other waitresses rubbing off on her, but Brandy feels the need to add something. Not quite sure why, Brandy lowers her voice conspiratorially and leans closer to the man. "Though, if you're interested in her romantically, I'd say you're in for stiff competition."

There's a spark in his hazel eyes at that, though, Brandy can't quite pinpoint what it means. He, too, leans forward and whispers back in a low tone of voice like thunder rolling ominously, "Oh yeah? Who's my competition?"

"The owner," Brandy confides in him, smiling softly. The man is just so handsome, Brandy wants to draw this out, talk to him as long as she could. There's no other way she'd have talked to him otherwise. It would figure, though, that he'd be interested in a woman like Sherry, though. Sherry was classically beautiful. Maybe that's why Brandy hinted at Sherry's other relationships, because she was jealous that she couldn't even have the attention of one man. "He's apparently sleeping with all the waitresses. Not me, though," Brandy is quick to add that last comment, maybe in hopes that he'd go for her if all the other women were unavailable.

The man suddenly leans backwards on his barstool, and for a moment Brandy is afraid that he'll tumble over. Then he chuckles, and rubs his hand through his facial hair, making a bristling noise, and Brandy is effectively distracted and entranced by him. He catches her stare, and smiles at her crookedly. "Lemme let you in on a secret," he exaggeratedly whispers, "I am the owner."

Brandy stills where she stands, mind racing. This was her boss, the womanizer, the one Sherry warned her about. And Brandy fell for him, and she was attracted and smitten. Sherry was right and Brandy felt like such a fool. Unsure of how to act now, Brandy clams up, and stares down at the countertop now. "Oh," she numbly responds, because what else can she say.

He chuckles again, and Brandy wants to kick herself because it's a damn attractive laugh. "You must be the new girl I asked Simon to hire," He hums. "Hi. Brandy, right? I'm Negan."

Her lips press together, and then she shyly greets him, "Hello." Then she forces herself to move, grabbing the rag they use to polish the wooden countertops and she busies herself with it, rubbing in very small circles, avoiding the man's hazel gaze.

"Wax on, wax off, huh?" He laughs at his own joke, and then pauses, waiting for her reaction. She disappoints him, not stopping what she was doing or even bothering to look up. "You get it, right? Karate Kid? That might be a little before your time, I mean you didn't even recognize Goldfinger when I mentioned it. And you were watching From Russia with Love as if it were your first time. You're not a Bond girl, Brandy, you're a fucking Bond virgin."

That gets her attention and Brandy looks up at him. He's enticed her into a conversation, and she can't help but respond to him. "Well, I don't know, Bond is a pretty handsome man. Tanned skin, dark hair, sinful eyes, great smile."

"Actually, he's wearing a toupee," Negan corrects her. Brandy's eyes widen and she laughs in surprise, forgetting about the rag in her hand. Negan smirks at her and actually winks. Brandy can't remember the last time any man has winked at her. He gestures at his hair, messing running his fingers through it, as he continues, "Don't worry, though, all this hair is real and its mine. No wig."

"Well, that's reassuring," she giggles at him. And with all his smirking and teasing and smirking and winking and flirting and grinning – she's hooked.

"The sailor said, "Brandy, you're a fine girl." (You're a fine girl).

"What a good wife you would be." (Such a fine girl).

"But my life, my love, and my lady is the sea.""

They continue to talk for the rest of the night until its passed closing time. That's fine of course, considering Negan is the owner. Still, Brandy is surprised that she let the time get away from her. At one point they switched positions, Negan ducking behind the bar and Brandy gratefully sitting on one of the barstools as he demonstrates to her how to make a very dirty martini – shaken, not stirred.

Sherry was right to call him handsome, and she was right to call him charming, even if it was in his own unique way. Labelling Negan as funny, though, was not in the normal sense. He didn't tell corny jokes or make clever puns. He had such vulgar albeit colorful language that always managed to catch Brandy off guard so much so that she had to laugh. Negan even made Brandy laugh embarrassingly loud when he used the dysphemism 'Dick-Beaters' for fingers. It wasn't supposed to be funny, but it certainly didn't bother Brandy. She wasn't even drunk and that made her laugh. Negan seemed especially pleased with himself for that, and so his mouth started getting fouler. Brandy could see now how Sherry could dub him intelligent since Brandy had to give Negan points for creativity.

"So, what are you doing all the way out here in B. F. E.?" Negan asks her at one point, casually pouring her a rum and coke. Turns out she didn't like the martini much.

Brandy pushes her hair off the shoulder, watching him intently as if this were for training purposes, but really, she's imaging what his hands would look like drizzling lube over his cock so he can push her over the bar and enter her where no man has ever entered her before. Blinking away her arousal from her glassy eyes, Brandy looks up at him curiously, eyelashes still fluttering. "B. F. E.?"

"Bum fucked Egypt," Negan explains and pushes the drink towards her.

And Brandy laughs. She laughs because of the ridiculous saying as much as she laughs at the irony of the situation. "Well, I'm from Bum fucked Egypt."

"No shit," Negan tilts his head, and rests his elbows on the bar top as an odd reverse of how he first found her. "I woulda thought I'd've seen you before, pretty as you fucking are. You know I used to teach at the high school."

At that, Brandy nearly chokes on her drink, and she sputters, "Oh my god, Coach Negan?"

He smiles at her, and it spreads over his face as slow as molasses and just as sweet. "The one and fucking only. I ever teach you before?"

"Oh, no, no," Brandy assures him quickly. "I never had to take P.E. because I was in the marching band. That counted for our athletic activity. You coached baseball, right? Or was it basketball?"

"Fucking both, and I was damn good at it," Negan boasts proudly and loudly, and Brandy was quickly discovering that that was typical of him.

"I remember now, I'm sure we went to the state championship every year with you. Yeah, I saw you here and there. Heard how much of a hard ass you were, too."

"I am very hard in general," Negan practically growls, jutting out his chin aggressively as he talked with a smile curling her lips. "What else did the other little shits say about me, huh?"

Figuring that she was already in deep enough as it is, Brandy dared to say, "That not only were you a hard ass, but you had a great ass."

He guffaws loudly, obviously pleased, and Brandy likes the way his eyes crinkle in the corner, nose scrunching up adorably. Negan bows in on himself, long and lean body curling up, while he doesn't clap his hands together in his amusement, he crosses his arms over himself. "Shit, I wasn't expecting that, but damn as far as I fucking know I still have a damn great ass."

Brandy tilts her head to the side, chin up, eyes trying to catch a glance, but she couldn't see him that well. She'd have to fact check him later. "I guess I didn't recognize you without the short gym shorts, the sneakers, the baseball hat, the sweatshirt, and the, uh," Brandy mimics his stubble. The more she thought about it, the more she remembered him being clean shaven. He seemed dorky and harsh and an asshole; nothing like the biker boy persona he had now.

"Fuck, I gotta shave this shit," Negan self-deprecatingly traces his dimples that are barely masked under his short beard. Brandy wonders just how much more prominent the dimples would be without the beard, and she's deathly curious to encourage him further to shave. "Well," Negan begins before she could, "fucking figures I wouldn't have remembered you since I never had you. You were in the band? The fuck did you play? Flute?"

She wants to throw out a ton of innuendos; how he most certainly will remember her after he haves her; how the only flute she could play was the skin-flute and she was damn good at it. Instead, Brandy blushes, not quite drunk enough yet to act so damn slutty. "Oh, I was a musical prodigy. I played on the drumline and xylophones, but I prefer the guitar and the piano now. Those instruments are what I got my scholarship for."

"No kidding, huh? I remember in your resume it mentioned you having a degree in music." He steeples his fingers in front of his chin as he cheekily – not meanly – asked, "How's that working out for ya, Brandy girl?'

"Not well," and Brandy takes a hardy gulp of her rum and coke. "Music isn't exactly paying my bills."

"I'm sure your fucking talented. Don't worry about it," Negan brushes it off and then cockily adds with a rakish grin, "Daddy Negan is paying your bills now, Brandy." Then he smirks and takes a sip of his beer as if nothing he said was out of the ordinary.

Shivering, Brandy crosses her legs, squeezing her thighs together to prevent her arousal from dripping out and soaking the barstool's cushion beneath her. Her thighs didn't provide the friction she was desperately searching for though, but that would come.

Later at nearly 4 in the morning when Negan finally takes her back to her apartment, Brandy wants to give him thousands of points for his sexual dexterity because Negan did nothing less than fuck her into the mattress several times. He was blessed at sex, and Brandy was spoiled rotten with five orgasms. Or was it more? She lost count. Either way, when sleep finally found her, she was exhausted, as was Negan. The next morning when she woke up, he was still there and they flirted over breakfast and showered together before Negan finally left, looking very satisfied and promising to see her later. And Brandy thought nothing was wrong and genuinely forgot about the other waitresses until she went to work that night.

"Yeah, Brandy used to watch his eyes

When he told his sailor's story.

She could feel the ocean fall and rise.

She saw its ragin' glory.

But he had always told the truth, lord, he was an honest man,

And Brandy does her best to understand."

When she came into the work, Brandy had expected to see Amber, because Amber was scheduled to open with Simon. However, as soon as Brandy breezed through the door, Negan was waiting coolly on the other side of the bar, passing a bear to a man in a mullet who babbled away. There was only a brief pause from Brandy, before she rolled with it. If he wanted to spend more time with her, she was more than happy, too. And if Brandy wanted to hide the fact that she, too, was sleeping with Negan from the other waitresses, then so bit. It's a small town, and they'll find out eventually.

Brandy slid past Negan behind the bar, just barely brushing against him as she moved to the barflies Gary and Skinny Joey again. She glanced over her shoulder at Negan, tossing him a flirtatious and overly friendly smile. When she turned to the barflies, her smile died down to an appropriate level and she passed them their beers.

Negan surprised her when he pushed past her, jovially greeting a man, "Dr. Carson! Where the fuck have you been hiding, shithead?" Brandy's feelings were almost hurt, but then she felt the ghost of a hand sliding around her waist. At that she smiled, and immediately understood their little game of teasing.

The ball was in Brandy's court, and she tosses her hair at Negan when she knows he's watching. Deliberately, she turns her back and makes sure to put an extra swing to her hips as she moves away to another customer. Negan's act of retaliation is to tap her firmly on her rear rather than ask her to move aside so he can get to the whiskey. The knowing look she shoots at him is exchanged for one of fondness, and both of them still for a second as they remember last night – or rather that morning.

… "Fuck, fuck, Negan, harder!" Brandy gasps, and pushes her rear back into his hand, begging for more. She peeks over her shoulder at him, biting her bottom lip, but that does nothing to dim her smile.

His hands cracks down and he's smiling, too, having just as much fun. His other hand pressing down on the back of her thigh, gripping her hard with his long fingers, his fingertips dangerously high and close to her dripping cunt. Negan spreads her wider, and finally crawls on the bed, his knees pushing her legs further a part to make more room for himself. The thick, dark hair on his thighs is rough and ticklish on her skin, but she revels in it as much as she loved the burn of his beard when he kissed her or the sharp nip of his perfect smile when he pressed love-bites to her belly. Just like now as she revels the heat from his hand when he spanks her again, she can't get enough.

They'd been having fun for a while now, drinking each other in like they did the booze earlier. Negan's mouth tasted like beer and something sweet – as if he'd popped a mint in his mouth when she wasn't looking. His cum was a bit more bitter, but Brandy loved it. His skin was salty with sweat, his hair greasy with product, but she greedily raked her hands over as much of him as she could.

Of course, Negan was just as greedy, and left no part of her untouched by either his skillful hands or his sinful mouth. He was a passionate lover, and he laughed as much as he moaned, never silent. His mouth dripped with filthy words as equally as it did with sweet nothings, and Brandy's eardrums were humming, she was so in tune with his rumble.

They made sweet music together with his harsh grunts and her high-pitched keening intermixed with their too-quick heart beats thrumming together as one. Brandy had never met a man who made her feel this way and satisfied her every need. She had to have more of him over and over, again, forever…

"Hey, Negan, I need your help in the back with something," Simon interrupts their moment, and Brandy is jolted out of her reverie with a blush staining her cheeks. Immediately, she moves back to work, concentrating on how to steady her excited heart and quell the rising pulse of arousal settled low in her belly.

"Shit, Simon," Negan mutters, "I thought the whole point of me appointing you the fucking manager was so that you could handle this shit and let me have my damn fun."

Simon tilts his head to the side, hands on his hips. "This is important."

Relenting, Negan sighs, "Fuck, okay. Show me then." He follows Simon into the back, shooting a naughty look at Brandy before he leaves.

Brandy finds herself smiling at the air, and then she forces her hands to move and finish pouring the glass of wine for the mullet man who asked for it. "Here you go, handsome." She greets him kindly, though she can't help herself from adding, "I thought you weren't supposed to mix beer and wine ever."

"Beer before wine, you'll feel fine. Wine before beer, you're sick for a year," the man corrects her matter-of-factly. He takes a dainty sip of his wine. "Or there's the other saying for it. Beer before liquor, never been sicker; liquor before beer, you're in the clear."

"So, what you're saying is, that it's a lot easier to pick your poison and stick to it."

"I suppose I should but the way I figure it is if variety is the spice of life, then the only variety I have would be my alcoholic intake, not women like Negan." He takes another sip, a little bigger than the first, and Brandy takes a step back at the insinuation. "Not that I'm jealous, ma'am. I am not jealous or bitter at all. I am envious." Again, Brandy gave him an affronted look. "You see," he begins to explain, "Jealousy would be if I was afraid of him taking something from me. It's a relationship between three things – say a couple and a mistress. Envy is wanting something you lack, say, in my case, a woman as pretty as you."

"Gee, thanks." This man is confusing – is he already drunk? He had hiccupped, and while he also had a strong accent, it was slurred. Certainly, he wasn't making any sense. "Sir, I think I'm going to have to cut you off."

Protectively, his hands cup around his glass and hug it closer to him. "I can assure you that that is not necessary ma'am. I am not yet intoxicated. A little buzzed, but it takes a bit more for a Texan of my size to get truly drunk." He takes another swallow of his wine, taking the time to roll it around in his mouth appreciatively. "I understand why you might think that I'm drunk, ma'am. Allow me to introduce myself: I'm Eugene Porter, a scientist." He sticks out his hand, and Brandy stares at it or a second, trying to comprehend what the hell this man was getting at. Sure, a few of the drunks had flirted with her, but their seduction methods were a lot more straightforward such as, 'Hey baby, let me show you a good time' or 'Hey, you wanna meet my little friend?'

Eugene suddenly said, "It's a hand, ma'am, you're supposed to shake it and introduce yourself."

"My name is Brandy," and she reluctantly takes his hand and shakes it. He seems harmless enough and if he gets too rowdy, she'll just ask Negan to throw him out. Simon has already had to do it for her once. "Listen, Eugene, I don't know what you're getting at here, but I got to get back to work."

Before she could turn away, Eugene stopped her. "Brandy, you're a smart girl. Not as smart as me, or maybe not as smart as I think, but surely you can see everyone else here is fine. And you need to hear what I've got to say to this."

Pausing, Brandy looks over her shoulder at the door that leads to the back. Negan should be back soon, hopefully. Meanwhile, Brandy would try not to take anything he says seriously, considering how he had a mullet and was clearly a little full of himself. Why should she give a shit, as Negan would probably say. "Okay, Eugene, you can talk to me."

And Eugene talked to her, and talked to her. The more he drank, the looser his lips got and he told Brandy everything, and she stayed and listened to all of it.

Apparently, Negan and Eugene had worked together at the high school, though Eugene hadn't been hired until after Brandy had already graduated. That's how Eugene knew Negan, and sometimes Eugene would come around the bar to see how Negan was doing. They hadn't been friends, but Eugene felt bad for Negan in a way.

Not only did Negan sleep with all the waitresses here, but he had a wife before. She was Lucille, and she was beautiful, kind, an amazing woman. As unfair as life is sometimes, Lucille had been diagnosed with cancer, and it was terminal. They discovered it too late, so late in fact that any treatments she would've undergone would have only made her suffer more. The doctors had given her 6 months at the most. Rather than stay by Lucille's bedside, Negan came to the bar – Simon's, because at the time Simon had owned it – and drank his troubles away.

Here at Simon's, Negan started his affairs with Tanya and Frankie, who had been waitresses. He met Sherry and Amber, too, though neither woman had worked here. They would just come to drink on ladies' night. All the women knew that he was with Lucille – Eugene knew this for sure, he had talked to each other them and asked. That didn't stop any of them from still being with Negan, though.

Everyone in town knew about Negan's sexual promiscuity, and how not only did he cheat on his dying wife, but he was a homewrecker for Sherry and Amber's relationships as well. For that, Negan lost his job at the high school and devoted himself full-time to being selling used cars, but the business obviously suffered.

As did, Lucille. No one told Lucille, because who wants to tell a dying woman that their husband was moving on. The only one who would have told her – who should have told her – was Negan. She died after three months, though there was still a discussion of whether it was from her cancer or a broken heart. Eugene still didn't know if Negan told Lucille – Negan refused to answer, claiming it was no one's damn business.

After she passed, Negan sold his used-car business and used the money to buy the bar from Simon. He made minimal changes: the name obviously, the addition of the ping pong table, updates to the menu by hiring Fat Joey, and just cosmetic changes. Lucille's was pretty successful despite Negan being a black sheep at the Sanctuary.

When Brandy finally asked Eugen why he was telling her this, he just claimed that she deserved to know, and she needed a heads-up because once people realize that she and Negan were together, they would treat her differently. It gave Brandy a pause, and she had to think on if she'd want to be with Negan then.

"Also," Eugene tried not slur with a very conscious effort, "I heard you singing the other night. The school could use a music teacher if you want."

Brandy snorted, "So everything you said just means you don't me want me to work here." She straightened, nervously checking over her shoulder for Negan, but he was still busy with Simon because he hadn't come back. "Look, Eugene, thank you for telling me this, but I'm sure I would've found out eventually. I've got other customers to attend to." She pushed herself off the bar top, intending to get back to work. "And Eugene? You're cut off."

Despite not being allowed anything more to drink, he stuck around, watching the TV and tapping his fingers on the bar top. The only other time he spoke to Brandy was to ask for a pickle from the kitchen. Meanwhile, Brandy kept busy serving the rapidly filling bar, and it wasn't until she a moment to breathe again did Negan come back out, looking pleased with himself.

Brandy was bent over the bar top, surveying all the happy patrons when Negan came up beside her and leaned his hip against the bar top. "Have a got a proposition for you, Brandy, girl."

She looked up at him as he towered over her, smirking, and innocently batted her eyelashes. "If it has anything to do with you sticking your cock in me in front of all these people, it's not happening. Your fingers, however," Brandy meaningfully trailed off and smirked right back at him.

Negan whistled and immediately turned his back to the bar to hide his burgeoning erection. "Damn, Brandy, you naughty girl. Don't tempt me." He turned his head to the side, chin tilted down and jutting out as he continued, "I was actually being serious if you can fucking believe it."

"You're right, I can't believe it," Brandy quipped smartly. She knew that later she would pay handsomely for teasing him like this, but that was what she was looking forward to. Both she and Negan shared a love for punishment, though while he always doled it out, Brandy preferred to receive it.

"Uh-huh," Negan hummed, also knowing the game that they played since they roleplayed a Coach fantasy last night. "Actually, I wanted to ask you if you'd consider getting up there and singing some sweet shit for me?"

A little surprised, Brandy hesitated. "I thought only Friday was karaoke night."

"It is, but for you, I'll make a fucking exception." Negan grinned at her rakishly, looking exactly like a shark. "Come on, Simon told me about how fucking great you are and you have a BA in music. You wanna make a fucking living on it? Show me what you got, girl, and I'll fucking pay you extra for singing."

Immediately, Brandy sat up. "You're serious? You can't be serious."

"'Course, I'm fucking serious. Simon and I just fucking discussed it. You want to make beautiful fucking music and still have Daddy Negan pay your bills? You get up there and fucking do it."

Brandy was just able to peek around Negan's lean figure to see Eugene on the opposite end of the bar, munching on his pickle. He'd offered her a respectable job, but teaching. She'd stay stuck here in this small town, probably meet a guy and marry him. But with Negan, Brandy felt like she could live. She could be with him and still have her music. "Okay, Negan, I'll sing for you. Any requests?"

Negan smiled at her, like the cat that ate the canary, like the cat that got the cream, like he did last night after she came on his tongue. "Oh, I've got fucking plenty. You thirsty, Brandy, girl?"

Looking him up and down, eyes lingering on his noticeable erection, Brandy licks her lips. "Very, Daddy."

""Brandy, you're a fine girl." (You're a fine girl).

"What a good wife you would be." (Such a fine girl).

"But my life, my love, and my lady is the sea.""