Page 95 of King of Omen

The place was dark-lit yet bustling with patrons, chatting and drinking, oblivious to my turmoil.

I squeezed through the throng to the wooden bar scarred by age, thousands of bottle scourges and soaked with years of spirits.

Working around a group of giggling girls, I leaned onto the counter and spotted a familiar face behind it.

Spencer, the barman and owner that Linda had introduced me to once, was a friendly sandy-haired man with a quick wit and a perpetual twinkle in his eye.

‘Hey, Mia,’ he greeted, peppy and happy as always. ‘What’ll it be?’

‘Just a glass of wine, please,’ I replied, leaning on the counter. ‘Your pick.’

He was a connoisseur; his pours had been ‘chef’s kiss’ so far.

He opened a new bottle with a flourish and presented me with a moody, ruby-red Cabernet Merlot, which matched my mood.

‘Thank you,’ I said, indulging in a grateful sip. The warmth of the alcohol spread through me, taking the edge off my nerves.

‘Spence, I’ll also have your Mighty Hot Burger Special.’

‘Spicy patty, loaded fries, side of salad, got it,’ he grinned.

With a nod, I found a corner booth and sat down, nursing my drink and trying to make sense of the past few hours.

I took a few big swallows of my wine to drown my sorrows, but not even its buzz lifted my spirits.

My food arrived, and I chewed on a fry absentmindedly, mulling over Lorenzo.

All my mind replayed was our heated lovers’ quarrel and how much it hurt.

‘Hell,’ I cursed, irritated that I was pining for the man whose possessiveness set my teeth on edge.

A voice broke through my reverie. ‘What’s a gorgeous girl like you cursing alone in a bar like this?’

I glanced up to tag a sketchy, surfer-type himbo grinning at me.

He had a friend with him who was also cut out of a similar mould - sun-kissed, with a bronzed complexion and salt-white greasy locks, with a sleazy grin that made my skin crawl.

They exuded the charm of washed-up beach boys with bleached mullets, eshay moustaches and perpetual smirks. I bet they favoured gaudy sports brands and electronic dance music, not that there was anything wrong with the subculture.

It just wasn’t my jam.

In return, I bestowed them an uneasy smile, trying on a cloak of disinterest.

‘I’m enjoying a solo night, guys,’ I replied, eager to dissuade them.

They both laughed, disregarding my pointed dismissal.

The first surfer guy leaned in closer. ‘You seem a tad down on your feelings, beautiful. We’re the best remedy for it.’

He eyed me, waggling his brows. ‘How about joining us for a few drinks?’

I lifted my hand with a slight wave. ‘No, I’m good. I want a quiet one tonight,’ I said, hoping to deter them and that they’d receive the message and leave me alone.

But they didn’t appear to take the hint.

‘You seem to need a friend,’ the sketchy one continued, sliding onto the bench beside me. ‘My bud and me, we’re the best listeners. We’ll keep your secrets.’

I eyed them with a wary side-eye, sensing their ulterior motives. They were after more than just a conversation, and I wasn’t interested.

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