Page 1 of Worth the Want
“C’mon, Knox, one little drink won’t kill you.” Slurring, with a shot glass clutched in each hand, Allen attempts to convince me to take one with him. Only, there won’t be much of the clear liquor left in the small glasses after he’s done waving them around in the air at me. Grabbing one from him, I set it on the table in front of me and watch as he downs his, then reaches for the same one he offered me just seconds ago.
“I think you’ve had enough for the both of us,” I tell my colleague. His response is a respectableboofollowed by flipping me the bird. “You know what? After that charming display, I think I’ll go get us another round,” I announce, placing my palms on the table and standing.
“Hell yeah! That’s what I’m talking about. Let loose a little, Holloway.” He throws his hands up in victory, tossing the rest of the shot of tequila behind him.
“Of water,” I deadpan. A few of our coworkers chuckle, but I see them nod in agreement. “It’s Tuesday, Allen, you’ll have anew case on your desk in the morning, and you have that meeting with the partners to look forward to.”
“Yeah, yeah. Always the buzzkill,” he accuses, casting an arm in my direction.
I drum my hands over the tabletop. “Guilty as charged. I’ll be back with the waters.” More boos follow me as I walk toward the bar, contemplating pulling an Irish goodbye. Only if I order a car for them, I don’t trust them to get into it, not without force. I don’t get out much, but when I do, it always seems to fall to me to make sure everyone makes it home safe.
A few years ago, I might have joined in on the festivities. Hell, maybe even a few months ago I would’ve, but lately I’ve been doing my best to cut all the shit out that doesn’t serve me. I guess that’s what happens when you’re thirty-seven, and despite making all the right career moves—making all the appropriate connections—none of them make you feel fulfilled.
In a few years, when my contract is up, I’ll move back to Silverthorne to open my own law firm. Family law isn’t something I’ve been able to practice here in the city, but it’s something I’m looking forward to offering to the community back home.Home.I miss the mountains and everything that comes with them. Hiking in upstate New York has its charms, but it isn’t Colorado. Colorado holds more for me. The peaceful evenings and the stars on a clear night. Nothing beats a quiet night in the mountains.
Staying in the city was never the plan for me, it’s just where I ended up after law school. When I was offered this job, unsure if it was the best fit—it's not—I knew it would allow me to put money away while getting the experience I know will be beneficial in the long run. Being away from family and friends back home has been challenging though.
Making friends doesn’t come easily for me, and when I do manage, it’s a struggle to keep up with them. I’ve been lucky to go home for all the major holidays, except for the Christmas my whole family made the journey here. Seeing as it was my first year at the firm, I wasn’t able to take the time off, but the picture I have of us all in Times Square has been a treasured memento while away from them.
Now it’s been six months since I’ve been home—and that visit wasn’t myfinestmoment. Drinking too much, I ended up doing some things I knew better than. Vague memories of a woman on my lap in the bar, an unfamiliar bedroom, and the smell of too-sweet perfume cloud my brain. Shaking off the memory, my feet carry me to the bar where I hold up a couple fingers to catch the bartender's eye.
“And who do we have here?” a sultry voice drawls at my side. Turning, I’m met with a practiced, self-assured smirk of a young woman, her eyes already grazing over my body like I’m what she ordered for dinner. She’s propped against the bar, leaning on her elbow. The shirt she has on ties behind her delicate neck, which is left exposed with her hair pulled up into a ponytail.She’s beautiful.
Looking into her heart-shaped face, I can see what she’s trying to put off—confidence radiates from her. I can also tell by the innocence in her light-brown eyes that she’s young. Really young. Too fucking young for me. Believing she’s twenty-one is a stretch, and I’m not that limber.
“Not happening,” I tell her before turning back to the bar.
“Hey!” She laughs. “You didn’t even give me a chance.”
Sighing, I turn back to her. “Nothing personal. I just don’t entertain girls with daddy issues.” At that, her mouth fallsopen, but it’s only delighted shock that I find in her expression; not a hint of outrage in sight.
“You know, that would feel pretty fucking personal if I didn’t happen to have agreatrelationship with my father,” she tells me, placing a hand on her cocked hip. “I really think you should buy me a drink now. It only seems right after that unprovoked insult.” She flutters her long lashes at me, making me grin. She’s funny, but still entirely too young for me—and possibly to even be drinking. I’m preparing to say just that when I’m startled by another woman’s voice shouting beside me—practically in my ear.
“What the fuck, Han?! You said you were going to the bathroom. I’ve now been to three different bars!” Glancing over my shoulder, I see her profile. Upturned nose adorned with a thin gold hoop, dark-brown hair just to her collarbone, scowling brown eyes, and glossy pink, pursed lips. She’s staggeringly beautiful—and small. It’s not uncommon for women to be shorter than me, but this one is tiny.
“Ididgo to the bathroom…I just alsoleftthe bathroom and ended up here. The hotel bar was so stuffy. You know that’s not reallyme,” the younger woman—Hawn—answers.
“You’re eighteen years old, you don’t knowwhoyou are,” Tiny deadpans, pinching the bridge of her nose. A laugh escapes me, and I try to smother it with a cough. She sounds like me when I’m talking to my little sister. I also find the fact thatHawnis eighteen humorous but quickly figure out that I shouldn’t.
Tiny turns the full scope of her fury on me then.I hold my hands up, ready to surrender. She may be small, but I have a feeling she makes up for it with attitude.
At the sight of her, I forget what I’m about to say, only ableto take her in now that she’s fully facing me. Looking into those big, brown eyes; they’re dark, almost black in color, I’m momentarily stunned until I realize she’s speakingto me, and she does not look happy. “Yeah, buddy. She’seighteen.” She stresses the word. “So go find someone else to be your sugar baby.” She casts her arms as wide as they’ll go, encouraging me to leave. My lips twitch. She can’t be much older than her friend.
“Oh my god! Please stop it, you are so embarrassing. I am not a child in need of mothering—or fathering.” Eighteen-year-old—Hawn—throws the last word at me. This is none of my business, and I’m happy to butt out immediately, but this woman, this tiny woman has ensnared me. I can’t look away.
“Then maybe don’t run off—alone—in the murder capital of the world, trying to end up on an episode of60 minutes, and I’ll start believing you. You never think about anyone but yourself, and you’re not exactly doing a good job of that either.” Her hands are like a second voice, ghosting through the air, echoing her words.
I hear a surprised gasp, looking between them. “That’s not true, and you know it. I shared my lunch with Cecily Armstrong in fifth grade when her mom packed her a tuna sandwich, and she was too embarrassed to eat it,”Hawncounters, and Tiny lets out a startled laugh before an adorable snort slips free.
“Han. Please just tell me when you want to leave somewhere, or go somewhere, I’ll go with you. We’re supposed to be scouting the areatogether.Mom and Dad will kill me if something happens to their baby before she moves here.”So she’s her sister.Oldersister.
“You’re exaggerating, and I repeat, I amnota child. I can handle myself.”
Tiny sighs. “You wouldn’t say that if it were true. Can we go now?” she asks.
The con artist faces me then.
“Any chance you’re still buying me a drink?” she asks.
