Page 7 of Nemesis

She shakes her head once. Too fast. She’s wide-eyed, for the first time showing a speck of fear.

“Stand up straight,” I order.

She’s all dolled up to work the VIP floor. Short dress, dark makeup. Her stance is even on both feet—in heeled boots—and steady.

I grab a pack of mints from under the bar and toss it at her. “If I see you drinking on the job again, you’re done. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

Who would’ve thought I’d get ma’amed at twenty-five? Almost twenty-five. Even more fucking disgruntled, I wave her away and focus on the man sitting alone at the bar.

“What can I get for you?” I ask, stopping in front of him.

He looks up from his phone and… glitches? He stops moving for a long moment, just staring at me.

And I stare back. Because, one, he’s hot as fuck. And two… he seems familiar—but not in a normal Sterling Falls way, wherethe locals all recognize each other on a certain level. This is different.

The more I stare, though, the less I can narrow downhowhe’s familiar. Greenish eyes, maybe hazel, and blond hair, muscular… Where do I know him from?

“Fireball,” he says. “And Dr. Pepper.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Really?”

He frowns. “I thought bartenders weren’t supposed to judge drink orders.”

“I couldn’t help myself with that one.”

He laughs. It bursts out of him, and I don’t know how to react for a moment. Until he stops and returns to watching me.

I just weirded out a customer.

“Coming right up.” I clear my throat and turn away.Coming right up.

Ice. Shot of fireball whiskey. I fill the rest with Dr. Pepper from a can and set it down on a napkin in front of him.

He slides me a credit card.

“You want to close out now or open a tab?”

“Tab. Why’d they bring up the big guns?”

I tag his card and put it with the few others, then stop back in front of him. “Am I the big guns?”

“You seem like you’re in charge.”

I smirk.

Mel catches my eye at the edge of the bar. When I give her my attention, she nods toward a new incoming group. It seems almost automatic to take stock. They appear to be a bachelorette party, a single girl in a skimpy white dress and pink sash surrounded by equally dressed-up girls wearing black sashes across their chests. There are a few guys in the group, too.

“Want me to take them?” Mel asks me.

I don’t have time to respond—they come straight to the bar.

And in less time than it takes to get their drink order, the rest of the bar is packed.

It’s good, though. It keeps me busy, and my mind just kind of goes staticky. It’s exactly what I need, and three hours later, I’m sweating, my feet hurt, and all I want is to sit down.

“Last call in ten,” Antonio says over my shoulder. He pats my back and moves past me.

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