Page 10 of Whiskey Sour
“No, yeah, I’m totally sure,” Max rushes out, waving his hands so wildly, he spills a glass of water. “Oh, shit! Shit, I just cursed. Fuck, I did it again! Oh, jeez. This is not going well.”
Even though he’s making an utter idiot out of himself, I laugh. “You can relax. I’m, like, the least intimidating person in the world, and Butch…” I lean in close, dropping my voice to a stage whisper. “He’s just a big softie.”
“I heard that,” Butch snaps.
“You were supposed to,” I sing-song, giving him a nudge with my elbow as I turn back to Max. “Just…I don’t know? Tell us about yourself. Give us a fun fact.”
“I can do that.” He lets out a deep breath as he thinks. When it comes to him, his eyes widen, and he snaps his fingers. “Oh! You know Juan Diego Fernandez and Dalton Cross?”
“Who?”
“Yes.”
I give Butch a look at his immediate and almost enthusiastic answer. “Who are they?”
“Only two of the most famous soccer players in the world,” Butch answers, eyes uncharacteristically wide. “Why do you bring them up?”
“My best friend is dating them,” he says proudly. “Well, Bryson wouldn’t say dating. They’re, like, ridiculously in love. All three of them. Like, they each love the other two and everyone loves everybody equally.”
“Aw,” I coo, planting my hands over my cheeks. “That’s so cute. Are you dating anyone?”
“Well, I sucked a dick in college and really liked it. Bryson says it makes me bi-curious, but I don’t know. Haven’t really experimented to find out.” Then his eyes widen, and he clears his throat. “You didn’t need to know that.”
Grinning, I tap my finger against my chin. “Can you give us a second, Max?”
“Oh, of course, little dude,” he says, then awkwardly stands, like his body is too big and bulky to be anything remotely resembling graceful. “I’ll just be—uh—over there.”
I don’t know if he realizes he’s just pointed at the ceiling.
Once he’s out of earshot, I turn to Butch, giving him my best pout. “I want one.”
“Are you kidding?” he asks, shaking his head. “The kid is dumb as shit.”
I shake my head stubbornly. “No. I think he’s just nervous. He seems really genuine and sweet.”
“Skylar…”
But I continue pouting despite his warning. We’ve been looking for a new bartender formonths, and sure, part of it is my fault that the temp workers never pan out. I know I’m being picky, but this person is going to be a part of our family, and they need to click. Max, while…interesting, seems like he’d be a good fit. God knows, we already have three brooding assholes; we don’t have to add another.
Butch calls out to Max. “Kid! Do you know how to bartend?”
“Nope!”
“Nope,” Butch repeats under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re not thinking him through. He can be your bestie and not actually work here.”
I’m relentless as I shake my head again. “No, Butch. I’m putting my foot down.”
“Oh, you’re putting your foot down?” he mocks, raising both eyebrows comically. “Well, I didn’t know you were in charge.”
“Davis put me in charge of this because he trusts my judgment.” I cross my arms over my chest in an attempt to look intimidating. “Now it’s your turn to trust me.”
“Hey, kid!” Butch calls out to Max again. “Know how to make a French 75?”
“A what?”
“Skylar,” Butch deadpans. “Seriously?”
“Max!” I yell, waving my fingers at him. “You’re hired, you beautiful himbo!”
