Page 61 of Vince
Sydney
As I driveto work the next day, I can’t scrub the smile from my face as I replay my afternoon. Even though we have hectic schedules, Vince and I make this work. My heart soars when I remember how naturally he just grabs my hand to walk to my apartment to pick up my car after class today, after asking me to dinner. It makes my heart race in the best of ways. I have to say—I love our new routine. Not only is Vince a great cook, but oddly enough, I find I want to spend as much time with him as possible.
Unfortunately, reality strikes, and I have to leave for work all too soon for my liking. But his taste lingers on my lips as I drive away. Julia had been playing in her room with Vanessa, so we may have gotten a little carried away after cleaning up from dinner.
Pressing a finger to my swollen lips, I relive the memory and how Vince is wrecking me for kissing all other men. He barely has to do anything, and I’m on the brink of no return when it comes to the sizzling chemistry between us. I have no idea how he does it—but I certainly don’t want it to stop anytime soon. If he can get me this worked up with our clothes on, I can only imagine what it will be like when we finally remove them completely.
When I arrive at the bar, I park in the overflow parking lot reserved for employees. I flow through my pre-shift routine on auto-pilot. I greet my co-workers but do little in terms of carrying a lengthy conversation. No—my mind’s too preoccupied with Vince.
We’re down one bartender tonight, so when the crowd picks up, I have zero time to contemplate anything but the next drink my customer needs. That’s why I don’t see him in line…
Fucking Brad.
The douche has the nerve to step up to my bar and expect me to wait on him.
“Hey, Sydney… long time no see.”
Trying to remain professional, I coldly ask, “What can I get for you?”
“How about another date? This time, I’ll even pay.”
Remembering what a cheapskate he was, I shudder in disbelief. The guy split the hors d’oeuvres by percentage of how many I ate—and don’t get me started at what a deadbeat dad he is. “Uh… no, thanks,” rolls from my lips before I give myself permission to speak my thoughts.
“Ah… come on, Syd. Seriously, I think you’ve got the wrong impression of me.”
“No… I’m sure I saw the real you,” I snark. “What do you want to drink?”
“But, Syd…” he starts, but I cut him off.
“Either order or move along. The line is long, and I don’t have time to talk to you at the moment.”
“Fine…” he grumbles. “I’ll have a Sam Adams.”
“Are you sure you want to afford that?” I grumble under my breath as I turn to fill his order. He has some nerve talking to me again. I thought I made it clear I wanted nothing to do with him when I left him high and dry abruptly.
Shoving his drink at him, I ask what’s required of me, “Anything else I can get you?”
“Only another chance with you.”
Seriously? What the fuck is he thinking? He’d have a better chance of a snowball surviving in the depths of hell before I’d consider breathing the same air as him—on purpose.
His eyes feign remorse, but I’m not buying it. This guy is in a class all to his own when it comes to his douchery. Yeah, I made that word up, but you get the point. There’s no fucking way I’d ever consider it—even if Vince weren’t in the picture.
“Uh… No… thanks,” I tack on when I see my boss step up next to us.
“Everything okay, Syd?” he asks more for Fucking Brad’s sake than mine. This is what happens when he realizes someone is giving his bartenders a hard time or they are unwelcome.
“No problem at all,” Brad mutters like the fucking douche-canoe he is as he grabs his beer from the bar.
“That’s what I thought.” Asher stands a bit taller and glares in Brad’s direction as he hastily retreats and disappears into the crowded bar.
Then his attention is on me. “Are you sure you’re okay, Syd?”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I assure him with a confident smile.
“Good. I’m here if you need anything,” he reminds me as he walks to help another customer at the end of the bar.
My next patron steps up to the bar and within minutes, Brad is out of sight and out of mind. The rest of the night goes by in a blur and the next thing I know, we’re making ‘last call,’ and my shift is almost over.
