Page 32 of Stupid Dirty

She doesn’t look judgy anymore. Now she looks sympathetic, which is so much worse.

“What? Silas drove me here and I’m not working tomorrow. I’m allowed to have a drink. You drink all the time. One shot on a Friday night does not mean I’m following in my parents’ footsteps.”

“I know.” She’s being uncharacteristically quiet, and it’s freaking me out even more.

“Then tell your face. What’s wrong?”

Instead of answering, she gives me a weird half-hug as she stands up from the stool.

“I think this is one of those things you have to figure out for yourself. I’m gonna leave you to it, but maybe Silas isn’t the only person here who could stand to make some new friends. Or get laid.”

She doesn’t give me the chance to answer before turning around and heading over to talk to someone on the other side of the bar.

Ugh. Getting laid sounds like so much effort. Even the idea of it is exhausting.

Instead, I sit by myself, powering through the first beer in about four minutes, and then two more, all while watching Silas and Cassidy out of the corner of my eye. While trying not to look like a crazy stalker.

I’m protective. It’s not my worst quality. And Silas has been dicked over enough for one lifetime.

But the night drags on, and he never shows any signs of being uncomfortable around her. In fact, he seems to really relax. He and Cassidy talk, with other people drifting in and out of the conversation. Silas is laughing and smiling, Cassidy is throwing back cocktails as quickly as I’m throwing back shots, and the whole thing is making me uneasy.

I turn back to order another beer, but the woman who was serving me has been replaced by a guy. I feel like I should recognize him from the times I’ve been here before. He’s one of those guys that could be almost any age. Handsome, with olive skin, thick dark hair and a neat dark beard with a little salt and pepper in it.

Also well put-together enough that words like ‘distinguished’ come to mind, especially in a town named after a trash-eating marsupial. He’s wearing neatly pressed slacks, a white button-down and a waistcoat that makes him stand out in the sea of jeans and ball caps that surround him. If a guy like this is from around here, I should know who he is. Even if he’s a decade or two older.

I suddenly feel very young, and very disheveled, just by sitting near him. But I still need a drink, so I smile up at him and try not to look as drunk as I feel. “Hi.”

The bartender smiles back. There’s a warmth to his expression, like he can definitely tell that I’m drunk, but finds it more adorable than offensive.

Which is my wheelhouse. Getting away with shit by being adorable. My smile gets bigger and a little sloppier.

“Hey,” he says. “What can I get you?”

“Can I get another Bud Light and….” The world is tilting slightly on its axis as I’m watching the man smile at me, and itmakes me reevaluate what I was about to say next. “And a water. A giant glass of water, please.”

He snorts, and the naked disdain on his face as he reaches to pull my Bud pushes his whole vibe from classy to pretentious.

“What? It’s cheap, and I’m not a snob.”

His cool gaze returns to mine as he slides over my beer and fills a second glass with water. “I didn’t say anything. But a word of warning: if you’re determined to keep getting shit-faced, the hangover will be a lot easier tomorrow if you stick with a higher-quality booze. Although my actual advice is that you switch to water altogether for the night. But that’s your choice.”

I shrug, but I keep leaning towards him, even though our interaction is technically over. Something about his face is drawing me in. Plus, it feels nice to have something to look at other than stupid Silas and Cassidy flirting all night.

“Do they teach you that in bartender school?” I do my best to keep a charming expression on my face, because the last thing I need is this guy cutting me off and making a scene.

He chuckles, holding eye contact as he speaks to me and casually wiping the bar down like we’re in an old western.

“No, that one comes from extensive life experience. You should learn from your elders, kid.”

Now it’s my turn to snort. “I’m not a kid. And you’re not that old. Trust me, I have plenty of life experience.”

I can’t help but look over my shoulder and check on Silas. He’s in the same spot as before, and Cassidy is still hanging off his arm. My stomach churns a little from the cheap beer, but I’ll be damned if I let Pretentious Bartender know he was right, so I take an obnoxiously large gulp and lean back in towards him.

“What do you do for fun when you’re not dispensing life advice, oh wise one?”

“Gunnar,” he introduces himself. But then there’s a pause, and he studies me for a minute, making me feel more exposed thanI like. “And you’re cute and everything, but you really are too young for me. Sorry.”

It takes a minute for my bourbon-soaked brain to process the words. Did he think I was hitting on him?