“Thanks, Gigi,” Sawyer says, shoving a ten-dollar bill into the tip jar.
When I turn back toward the door, I catch Sebastian. Another of their defenseman, Duke Fletcher, is at his back, and he’s pushing Sebastian toward the table, pointing.
Sebastian’s features are tight and he looks worn down. It’s one glance I give him, a moment, where I watch him but as I catch him turning to look at me, I quickly glance away.
I’m here to work, not worry about how a guy I barely know is doing.
I head to my dad’s friends. “Hey Steve, Tom. Need anything?”
Steve lifts his almost empty glass. “One more round, I think, butterfly, then it might be time for Tom and me here to take off.”
“You got it,” I say, but my dad’s hand on my shoulder stops me.
“I’ve got Steve and Tom. You go see if Duke and Sebastian need anything.”
“I think they’re covered.” They’re already at the table where Jason and Jude have full pitchers of beer and the bourbon.
Sebastian is untwisting the bottle while Jason says something to him, and then he stops. Scowls at Jason. The bottle.
He turns and faces me, one brow arched.
I have no idea what he’s trying to silently communicate but I give a quick shake of my head. No. I didn’t tell them anything. Promise.
He dips his chin, opens the bottle and takes a long pull straight from it while Jason watches him.
Worry is stamped all over his handsome, but not nearly as sexy as Sebastian’s, face.
“Damn,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone.
This isn’t good. It’s also none of my business so I check my inappropriate curiosity, shove it into a box in the far corners of my mind and make my way across the bar, grabbing a few emptied bottles on my way and stopping to say hello to the guys.
By the time I reach Sebastian’s table, he’s at least two shots in, sitting back on the booth bench across from Jason. Both are scowling at each other.
Odd how it wasn’t that many months ago I saw these two men in a similar position, except that night, Sebastian had been smirking and doing most of the talking while it was Jason who was scowling.
Now, you couldn’t smash the tension between these two by dropping an anvil on the table.
I power through the thick fog of fury wafting between them and put on my happy smile. “Anything else I can get for either of you?”
“Nope.” Sebastian doesn’t look at me as he talks, but he slams another shot and clunks it back to the table.
He’s no longer slouched, but ramrod straight. The stupid part of me wishes he grew tense from me or is at least reacting to my presence.
The smart girl inside me kicks that girl in the butt and turns to Jason.
“Jason?”
He graces me with a smile I’m sure sends his girlfriend Tessa into fits of lust right before she jumps him, but fortunately, does nothing for me. “No, Gigi. I’m good.”
“You sure?”
I scan both of them. Sebastian hasn’t once looked at me and that hurts.
It’s not like I expect him to be besties with me after spending a night in my bed—alone—but to all out ignore me?
Whatever.
“Fine,” I grumble. “Enjoy your night.”
The stupid, insignificant moment has cast a pall on my mood through the night. The guys didn’t show up until eleven, and it’s growing closer to last call. Some of them have left, but it appears that the Taylor brothers are in absolutely no rush to leave without Sebastian, so the three of them along with Klaus and Duke have still been piled around a table. I can tell from where I’ve planted myself behind the bar that none of them are exactly having a blast. There’s been no more pool playing, no more brotherly teasing.
As far as Sebastian, his rigid posture and steely gaze directed at the men across from him have given me enough of a clue as to how his night is going. Fortunately, the bottle is only half-gone, so at least he’s not getting smashed out of his mind again.
I also hate I’ve been paying attention, looking for any indication of that smile I like so much, or the hungover, but slightly amused expression he gave me that morning in my apartment.
“Hey Dad?”
“Yeah, butterfly?”
His back is to the bar and his eyes are glued to a basketball game. Since I don’t give a flying fig about basketball, I’m busying myself with cleaning up the bar, putting away the clean glasses, Kollin, our dishwasher, completed before he clocked out an hour ago.
“Go home.” He has dark circles under his eyes and I hate how the late nights here have seemed to make him more rundown in the last few months. We’re not rolling in it enough to hire a large staff, but we have enough set aside to at least hire another bartender. We have Dom, but since he’s a college student in Charlotte, his schedule is erratic and he’s unable to work a lot during the school year.
“I’m closing down.”
Stubborn old fool. “No. You’re not.” As I scold him, he hides a yawn behind his fist and shakes his head. “Go home, Dad. You’re tired. I’ve got this.”
“Hate this for you,” he says and turns, finally facing me.
“What?”
“This.” He swings out an arm. “Hate this for you. This was the bar I wanted because I always wanted a bar. This isn’t you. You’re here because you’re worried about me and you should be scaling Mt. Everest or something equally crazy.”
“Dad. We’ve talked about this.” He scowls at me and to erase it, I quickly add, “I hate the snow and cold.”
His responding eye roll couldn’t be any more exaggerated. “If I wouldn’t have had that scare last year, would you be here?”
I’m not sure what’s brought on this argument we’ve had a half-dozen times since I’ve been back, but between the already difficult night and this, I’m raring for a fight.
“Maybe. Maybe not. But I am here, and I like being here. I like being with you. If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t.”
“You say that, but—”
“No buts.”
He sighs, thick shoulders heave with the weight of it. “Your momma. You’re so much like your momma. Stubborn to the core, beautiful to the soul. Don’t know what I’d do without you, butterfly.”
My eyes burn, like they do every time my dad mentions my mom. Linda Barnes was beautiful. Taller than me, but I have most of her looks. Sometimes my dad gets a sad smile on his face when he looks at me, and I know as much as he loves me, he still misses her a thousand times more.
“I like being here. And I don’t want to have this conversation again. If, or when, I decide to take off again, or go find something different, I promise you I won’t hesitate.”
“You haven’t seen old friends since you been back.”
That’s mostly because I’ve been busy working. With very little staff, I do most of the late shifts, kicking my dad home before it gets too late and he gets too tired. Tonight’s one of the rare ones where he’s stayed.
“Evan got the friends in the divorce.” I flip my towel in his direction. “Now go home. Stop worrying about me and start worrying about your health. I’m good. Promise.”