Beautiful Broken Mess (9 page)

A couple minutes later, we pull up in front of our new apartment. The white stucco walls and red tile roof still make me smile; this complex is beautiful and I commend Lane on a great choice. We live on the first floor, which is nice because I can let Chuck out easily and our neighbors don’t have to worry about a seventy-pound dog stomping around above them.

I walk beside Lane up to our door, but before he can push it open, a red blur comes dashing out and begins circling our legs. I scratch behind Chuck’s ears and ask him about his day.

Quickly, I run off to the bathroom to shower and get ready for my interview tonight. When I finish, I exit the steam-filled room and walk toward the kitchen in my bra and panties. I had forgotten my clothes were still in the dryer.

I hear Lane in the kitchen, pulling an assortment of vegetables out of the refrigerator. I swear he eats every thirty minutes. He’s also the health food police. Once, I brought home a package of Oreos and let’s just say… my delicious chocolate cookies went straight into the dumpster. Typically, I don’t mind though. It’s nice to eat healthy meals for a change. When I told him I basically survived off of ramen noodles and peanut butter sandwiches before moving to California, I think he about had a small heart attack.

He glances at me when I walk into the kitchen and does a double take. I pass right by him and walk into the laundry room to grab my clothes for tonight. With the pile in my arms, I make my way back through the kitchen.

“Doll, you know I’m not your
gay
best friend, right?”

“Lane, I’ve seen you with too many women to ever think that.”

“Just checking,” he smirks, while blatantly checking me out.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” I say and roll my eyes.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t appreciate the view,” he replies brazenly.

I stand in the middle of the kitchen and pull on my jeans and a white t-shirt. When I’m fully clothed again, I grin at him and turn to hunt down my own food.

“You really don’t need to work,” he says, and I know exactly where this is going. “I hate when you work the bar late at night, especially when it’s not necessary. You know I can take care of everything.”

“Not this discussion again, please. I like working and I like the atmosphere in bars. Usually it’s lively and upbeat, and I need to be around happy. Besides, it’s kind of empowering to cut off the drunks.”

“Fine, fine...let’s not fight.” He raises his hands in surrender. I walk around the counter and hug him around the waist.

“You know, for someone who fights as much as you do, you sure are sensitive about arguing,” I say and then add, “which we weren’t, by the way.” We actually
never
argue. He’s a beast in the ring, but outside of it, he’s probably the calmest person I know. I have no doubt I was meant to have him in my life, especially after the years of violence I endured while growing up. “I’m going to go finish getting ready.”

He kisses me on the top of my head and says, “I’ll drop you off on my way to the gym.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“So I’ll just let you get comfortable with the bar. Feel free to look around and start learning where everything is. Our other bartender should be here soon and she can start training you. Meanwhile, let’s head to the back and see if we can find a shirt that will fit you.”

I haven’t been to many interviews, but I’m pretty sure that was probably the easiest one a person can go to. Ed, the owner and manager, didn’t even ask me for my bartending license or past experience. I don’t know if I should be happy to have such a laid-back boss, or weary that he may be too lackadaisical and thus careless.

Ed walks me back to what looks like a storage room and tosses me a black shirt. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Change over and come out front,” he says in his retreat.

Walking back out to the bar, I tug on the uncomfortable shirt Ed gave me. If I pull it down to cover more of my waist, the V-neck shows too much of my chest, but if I pull it up, it shows my stomach. Screw it, I’d rather show a little stomach than my non-existent breasts. Feeling as uncomfortable as I probably look, I push open the doors.

“Here she is, Em. Train her up.” Ed scoots past me as he departs for his office.

“Ed, you numbskull...her name isn’t Aubrey, it’s Audrey,” Emerson states, enunciating the ‘d’ sound.

Well, dammit.

“Oh good, you two know each other,” he says over his shoulder.

“No, we actually don’t know each other at all,” I reply, knowing he didn’t hear me.

I slowly walk behind the bar and then decide to backtrack a few steps. Still tugging down on my shirt and then pulling it back up, I say, “I should… go…”

Before I can push the doors open to go and grab my stuff, she calls out, “Audrey, wait.” I spin on my heel to look at her. “We can make this work. You obviously need a job and I need someone to pick up more shifts for me.”

“It’ll be weird. Really, really weird…and uncomfortable.”

“Yes, it probably will,” she acknowledges with a sigh. “Why
are
you here, by the way? Don’t you live in Texas?”

“I haven’t lived there since I graduated high school.”

“I thought Jaxon said...” she starts to say.

I quickly interrupt, “Jaxon doesn’t know anything about me. And to answer your other question, I was just accepted into graduate school here.” I don’t elaborate further and she doesn’t push for more.

We work through the next hour and it’s anything but enjoyable. Emerson points out all the buttons on the register and shows me their protocol for starting a tab for customers. She demonstrates how to open a table and where to put everything when I’m done with it. She points out the black recipe book, but I doubt I’ll need that.

After talking for an hour straight, she finally takes a deep breath in and out. She must be the type to ramble when she’s uncomfortable. The more I think about this situation, the less I feel like this is a good idea. There are plenty of other options for me out there, so there’s no need for me to torture myself here. I wanted to be around happy, and I can tell that would be the last word used to describe how she feels working with me.

“I really do appreciate you showing me all of this, Emerson…”

“Call me Em.”

“Em, I appreciate it, I really do. But I just don’t think this will work out.”

“Why not?” she asks, and I have to stop myself from laughing at the asinine question.

“Frankly, there’s just no reason for me to work somewhere every day where I know I’ll be despised. I’ve had enough of that in the past to last a lifetime.” Thankfully, we don’t have any customers yet, because this conversation is not work-appropriate.

“Audrey, I don’t hate you. I don’t even know you,” she says in a softer voice. I raise an eyebrow at her, silently telling her to be honest with herself and me. “Okay… okay. I’ll admit, I’m not your biggest fan, but I don’t
hate
you.”

Feeling like I need to busy my hands, I grab a lime and begin slicing wedges. I don’t know what kind of crowd this place draws, but limes are always necessary in a bar. I slice three before I begin talking to her again.

“Okay, so you don’t hate me. But you have to admit you wouldn’t choose to work with someone who holds distorted notions about you,” I mumble, while continuing to look down at the knife and fruit in my hands.

I hear glasses clinking behind me and then see her move on to scrub down the bar top. I don’t budge from my spot. I’ve never enjoyed confrontation, and I’m still hoping to slip out of here gracefully without causing a scene. A full five minutes pass before she decides to speak again.

“When you say distorted… are you implying that Jaxon lied?” she questions, leaning against the counter next to me.

“I don’t know if I would call it lying because I don’t know what he’s said exactly, but I do think he’s an asshole that couldn’t even give me two seconds to speak,” I ground out between clenched teeth. I take a deep breath and let it out long and slow like Lane taught me to do when I work myself up. I finally turn to face her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, especially to his girlfriend. Sometimes I get carried away and say exactly what’s on my mind without a filter.”

“Do you still love him?” she asks candidly.

“Jaxon?”

Her eyebrows scrunch in confusion when she says, “Yes, of course.”

“I’ve never loved him.” I turn and walk to the opposite bar top, but she follows right behind me.

“Okay, now you have to tell me everything.” I’m confused by the one-eighty in the tone of her voice. It doesn’t sound demanding or mean, more like a best friend asking for the latest juicy gossip. I turn to look at her expression and see that she has a tiny smirk at the edge of her lips.

It takes me a moment to respond and in the meantime, I stand there and observe her. We couldn’t be more opposite, she and I. I’m a brunette and she’s blonde. I consider myself tall and lanky, whereas Em is on the shorter side with curves in all the right places. Lucky bitch. In this moment, I wonder if Jace has ever been attracted to her and then I try to recant that thought. Looking at her, it’s hard to imagine who wouldn’t be.

“We look nothing alike.” The words spill out of my mouth involuntarily.

She smiles and says, “Yeah, I don’t think he has a certain type.”

“Who, Jaxon?” I really need to snap out of it, because while she must think I have Jaxon on the brain, it’s actually Jace that haunts my thoughts. “No, I wasn’t even thinking about him.” I should leave it at that.

She eyes me and says, “I don’t know what it is, but I think I like you. Even though I feel like I shouldn’t. It also makes it easier knowing you aren’t in love with my boyfriend.”

“Um… thanks?” What am I supposed to say to that? She shrugs her shoulders unapologetically and I decide to give her a little bit. “I met Jax on accident. After a big mistake, he and I ended up…” How do I say this to someone’s girlfriend?

“Having sex,” she suggests, nodding her head. “Go on…” She laughs as if it’s no big deal to talk about her boyfriend’s past sex life. Em is easy to talk to and I don’t want to like her, but I do. Kennedy is the only female friend I’ve ever had, but she lives all the way on the East Coast.

“Yeah, that. Soon after, Jax asked me to date him, purely as a buffer for his mom and brother. I guess he was going through a rebellious stage and they were always on his case. When he first asked, I said no. But after realizing I never had a chance with the guy I actually wanted, I latched onto him as an escape from my…um, less than ideal home life.”

Before Emerson can ask any more questions, the music cranks up and customers begin to pack the bar and pool tables. We work smoothly around each other. She cashes out the pool tables and I fill drinks. She doesn’t have to give me much direction because I already know my way around a bar. Occasionally, we get slammed and work as a team. Rum and Coke? She pours the rum and I dispense the Coke. Seven and Seven? She pours the whiskey and I top it off with 7-up. When a table of eight orders a round of beer, I grab the bottles out of the fridge and line them up. Em comes up from behind and pops all the tops. Somewhere along the way, we became a fully functioning team without even talking.

At one point, things cool down for a moment and a cute, little old man perches up on a barstool. “Hey Em, who’s this lovely lady you’ve got back here?” he asks.

“Hi Joe,” she smiles at him, while pulling clean glasses from the dishwasher. “This is Audrey, she works here now.” I can feel her eyes on me, probably wondering if I’ll refute her statement. “Make sure you tell your wild crew over there to be nice to her.” When she shakes her finger back and forth at him, I can’t contain the giggle.

Em hands him a Sprite and he winks at me on his way back to his table. “Nice to meet you, Miss Audrey.”

“Joe’s here all the time,” she tells me. “He’s great. If you have family issues, he’s the man to talk to. He lays it out straight, no bullshitting around. I’ve gone to him more times than I can count.”

“I might actually take advantage of that…” I say as I stare after the kind, old man.

I’ve never had grandparents. When I was younger, I use to daydream up these wonderful, make-believe families. A dad who came home from work with open arms, wanting hugs from his whole family. A mom who would help me get dressed for school dances and one day, my wedding. A grandpa who would let me sit in his lap while we drank sweet tea on the porch. I even had a grandma who pinched my cheeks and made the best peach cobbler. I’ve had these fantasies for so many years now, they almost feel real.

The night begins to wind down and our bouncer, Mark, begins to escort out the stragglers as the bar closes. Em and I walk by all the tables and pick up any glasses we missed during our earlier cleanup.

“Can I ask about your home life? Or is that rude?” Em asks while I’m scrubbing glasses.

“Are you asking for yourself, or do you plan on sharing this with a certain boyfriend?”

“He doesn’t know?” she asks, sounding shocked.

“You guys don’t talk about past relationships, do you?”

She laughs, “Well, this is my first relationship, so there wasn’t much for me to talk about. Jax skimmed over his past and I never really felt the need to know details.” We finish our closing duties and decide to sit down on the barstools and continue our conversation.