Page 10 of The Player in New Zealand
I couldn’t help the way hearing that made my skin crawl, my shoulders climb up to my ears. All I could think of were Devon’s words:But you’re so beautiful.As if that were the only thing that mattered, as if it were all he could see about me, even after years of being best friends and growing up together.
As the guy droned on about some “bird” he knew back in the seventies when “women were much less uptight,” I glanced over at Ron, who was on his phone.
Seemed like Ron was going to be useless once again.
The empty glass clinked as it was dropped on the bar. “Another, love.”
I raised an eyebrow at the speed at which the last drink had gone down. “Certainly,” I said, snatching up the glass.
This time I gave the glass a little “prewash,” leaving some water in it before I tossed in ice and spun away. I kept my body between the glass and the customer while I poured, watering down his whiskey.
When I turned back, I jumped. Tane stood next to the man, palms on the bar and empty glass in front of him. He was close to the older guy—too close, his arm clearly in the guy’s space, so close that I felt a sense of satisfaction over the discomfort on the man’s face.
“Another shout, Claire. And this one’s tab.” He cocked his head at the guy.
“Wh-what?” the older man sputtered. “I’m not done yet.”
“Well, I think you are.”
The man grabbed his drink like that would prevent Tane from kicking him out of the bar. “We’ve just been having a chat.”
“You’re not having a chat. You know it, I know it, even Ron at the door knows it”—Tane raised his voice—“even if he’s a right muppet about it.” Tane turned back to the guy while Ron lumbered to his feet. I tossed the receipt onto the bar.
He sneered. “Your generation thinks you’re so careful. You didn’t even ask her! What sexist bollocks.”
Tane turned to me. “Want him gone?”
“Yup.” I popped thep.
“Right, that’s enough of that.”
Amid much protesting and a few choice words, Ron and Tane managed to get the customer out the door. They stayed outside for longer than I expected, but the big carved wood doors kept me from seeing what was happening. With visions of violence and injuries, I slipped under the bar and gently pushed the door open.
Tane and Ron had their backs turned to me. The creep was nowhere to be seen, but Tane stood with his brow furrowed, his tongue sharp with forced patience.
“... need to be more proactive about this stuff. Just cause your mum’s friends with Nina, doesn’t mean you get to slack off. Nina will fire you if she has to.”
“If he’d hurt Claire, I could have taken care of him,” Ron said, a defensive note in his voice.
“I have no doubt Claire, or any of the other bartenders, could take care of themselves. But that’s not their job; it’s yours. I’m half pissed and I could tell it was time to move him on. You gotta pay attention, bro.”
I pulled back, letting the door close without calling attention to myself, and retreated to the bar. Tane’s glass sat by the taps, a pool of condensation underneath.
A few minutes later, Tane and Ron strode back in, Ron taking his seat and Tane making for the door to his apartment.
“Tane?”
He stalled mid-stride. “Yeah?”
I glanced around at the remaining customers, wondering what had really made me call out and stop him. My eyes fell to his glass again. “You want that beer?”
He stared at it for a moment, as if forgetting what it was. “Nah, ta though.”
“A water?”
A brow quirked in what might have been amusement. “Make it an L&P.”
He straddled the barstool while I poured him a glass of the carbonated lemony beverage touted on the bottle to be “World Famous in New Zealand.” I most often served it with Southern Comfort, a combination I found amusing.
