Page 41 of Broken Mercy
Which means doing this stupid task, even though it makes no sense and I don’t get why it matters.
I sit there feeling awkward, out of place, confused, and more than a little angry as I drink. The vodka swells and calms my nerves enough that I start to try thinking strategically. Like, why might a patron need their bartender’s name? For some light banter? To make their alcohol experience personalized?
Or maybe because I find him attractive.
The idea clicks into place and I shift my weight on the stool. I’ve never been good in situations like this where I need to lean into charm and looks, but I do know someone who’s exceptional at it.
So what would Annie do?
I picture her in my mind, fixed on the melting ice in my glass. I see her sitting confidently, legs crossed, no shame, discomfort, or hesitation in her. I taste her lipstick, smell her perfume. Her spine’s straight and every time the bartender walks past, she meets his gaze without lowering her own, like she’s challenginghim to come back over to chat with her despite how busy he is right now.
I lift my glass in my hands as this Annie-character takes over and I let the little straw slip between my lips. The next time the bartender looks my way, he’ll see a confident, attractive woman with something between her lips. And he’s a man, isn’t he? Aren’t all men walking dicks?
It takes a few prolonged glances before the bartender returns. I meet his eyes, a small smile on my lips, embodying confidence and grace. Being Annie the best I can.
“You need another one?”
“I haven’t decided yet. It’s pretty busy in here.”
“You’re not kidding. That time of day.”
“You’re keeping up though, it’s kind of impressive.”
His smile is charming. I bet it gets him a lot of tips. “You’re watching me, huh?”
“Nothing else interesting around here.”
There’s a beat where he considers me. This man’s probably been hit on a thousand times since he started working here by all sorts of men and women. The idea that he might not be interested in me doesn’t even compute. This Annie-character can’t imagine a man who doesn’t want to fuck her.
I lean forward. His eyes drop to my chest like I knew they would. I don’t mind, not at all. I’m almost begging him to look. When he meets my gaze again, he sees a woman who likes the attention.
That seals it.
“Let me get you another. On the house.”
“That’s really nice of you, thanks.” I bite back the temptation to ask his name. Annie would be more patient. I watch as he makes the drink and brings it back.
“Justin,” he says, sliding it over. “What’s your name?”
From the corner of my eye, I spot him, like a flower unfolding in moonlight. Brenden’s there leaning across the bar, watching me with a massive smirk. It takes a lot of self-control not to jolt in shocked recognition, but instead I stay in character, only barely.
“I’m Annie. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You work around here?”
“I’m a CPA at a firm nearby. I’ve never been in here before.”
“Stick around. The crowd thins in about an hour.” He gives me another lingering look before moving off to take more orders. Brenden pulls back and nobody acts like they noticed anything out of the ordinary at all.
Vindication floods me.
For some reason I thought this would be a lot harder. I’m glowing with joy, excited that I passed his test and did it on my terms with no help at all. I had to do some light flirting, but so what? It worked, and that’s all I care about.
I’m beaming as I finish off my drink and walk casually from the bar. I wonder if Justin even noticed me leaving? Not that it matters, but a part of me liked the way he looked at me, or at least it made me feel like I could play the role if I had to. I don’t think I’d want to be like Annie all the time, but for a few hours? Maybe a whole night? I could handle that.
I step out onto the sidewalk and breathe the fresh air. I don’t remember the last time I pulled off something like that. Maybe not since school. There aren’t many opportunities to feel useful in my family, especially when they treat girls like we’re just bodies to be sold off.
And now that I’ve been bought, what good am I?
