Page 19 of A Stop in Time
Yeah, yeah, I get his curiosity. It’s warranted because I never stop by here unless it’s on the weekend, and I’m a stickler for routine. But I’m only here on a Thursday because after the week I’ve had, I’m all out of fucks to give and am in dire need of a stiff drink.
Benny slides my glass of whiskey in front of me where I’m seated at the far end of the bar. It’s a wonder this glass doesn’t stick to the lacquered surface that begs for a thorough wipe-down.
“What can I say, Benny?” I wrap my fingers around my drink and release a whimsical sigh. “I just couldn’t stay away from the handsomest bartender around.”
He only harrumphs, because the man never smiles. At most, he raises those bushy gray brows that cry out desperately to be groomed. Shaking his head, he mutters, “Smartass.”
“Better than being a dumbass, though, don’t you think?” I raise my glass to him in salute, but of course he only snorts and walks off.
There’s no suppressing my smirk as I take a sip of my drink, but when the whiskey’s flavor hits my tongue, a long exhale spills out of me. What a weird fucking week it’s been—and it’s not even over yet.
Booted footsteps approach, and I tense for a moment before he steps up beside my barstool.
Hayden greets me with a smile that borders on shy. The twenty-five-year-old’s blond hair sweeps artfully to the side, covering much of his forehead and falling over one eyebrow. “Hey, Mac. How’s it goin’?”
“It’s goin’.” When I bring my drink to my lips, the whiskey’s caramel scent fills my senses. The initial burst of flavor on my tongue is sweet and rich with a hint of saltiness. Damn, that’s good. “What’s up?”
He leans against the side of the bar, shoving his other hand in his pocket. As usual, his eyes hastily flit away from the left side of my face, not veering in that direction again.
His expression turns bashful. “I’m in need of a clutch for my mom’s truck.”
“Ah.” I smirk. That woman desperately needs to learn how to drive stick properly. “She wore it out again, huh?”
He chuckles. “Yeah. You know how she drives.”
Sadly, I do. Every time I’ve spotted her driving, I knew she had a foot on the damn clutch, wearing it out.
I think back on the new inventory I’ve recently added and what vehicles I expect to be towed in tomorrow before nodding. “Stop by on Monday, and I should be able to hook you up with one.”
“Great.” He grins wider now, more relaxed. “Thanks, Mac. I’ll see you on Monday, then.”
His tone is hopeful, as though he’s anticipating more on Monday than just picking up a part, and damn if I don’t wish, yet again, that circumstances were different. If the left side of my face and body were exactly like the right. If I weren’t some freak with a strange ability.
I offer a curt nod. “Sounds good.” When his smile dims from my less than lackluster response, I grit my teeth at his crestfallen expression. It’s better this way, though. Leading the poor guy on would be wrong on so many levels.
He straightens and glances at his boots before backing away a step. “Well, uh, I’ll see you then.”
I raise my glass. “See you then.” He shuffles away, on his way to rejoin his buddy at the pool table.
A weary sigh falls from my lips as I stare down at my whiskey. Damn, I need this stuff to block out at least a tiny fraction of my loneliness.
Bringing the glass to my lips again, I lose myself in the decadent alcohol.
Of course, someone has to ruin my moment.
“Betcha I can get her this time, boys.” From the opposite end of the bar, an asshole gloats in an I’ve had far too much to drink way, his voice reverberating through the bar.
This particular asshole’s voice belongs to Randy Lowe. You see, Randy’s always run a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but his family has history in these parts. Not brains or money, but history. Meaning, at one point in time, it’s quite possible one of his ancestors actually had some intelligence and did something to earn notoriety.
The Lowe family has been riding that glory ever since, and Randy carries himself around town like he deserves accolades for simply breathing.
So much charm to be had there.
Two of Randy’s friends laugh at him while the other three egg him on. “Go getchu some!”
Randy’s been trying his damndest to fuck me, and while I’m not exactly looking for a love connection, I’d never hook up with this douchebag. Even if it meant the human race would die. Sorry, world, but…not sorry. Like, at all.
The silver lining is that only a few of the locals here try to sleep with me to gain some stupid fucking clout that they banged “the scarred chick.” The rest of them don’t bother me because they see me as just one of the guys.