Page 4 of The Keeper
“You look pretty when you blush.” An unwelcome drawl drew my attention to a nearby customer. He grinned, the smile more lecherous than friendly. “Whatcha thinking about, doll?”
I brushed the memory aside and slid back into work mode with a practiced smile. “Your drink,” I said. He wasn’t the first or last leering customer I’d have to deal with. “What can I get for you?”
He looked disappointed that I hadn’t taken his bait, but he and his friends placed their orders without further comment.
However, right as I turned to walk away, I felt a hand grab my ass.
I froze. My skin flushed hot again, this time for an entirely different reason.
The other female servers had warned me this might happen when I started this job. Handsy customers were sadly expected when you mixed men, alcohol, and sports, and my co-workers had advised me not to escalate. Just roll with it, they’d said. It’s safer that way.
That was what I’d planned to do. I was already on thin ice, and I couldn’t lose this job. Not when I was so close to my goal.
But then the guy who’d leered at me earlier laughed and said, “I think she wants me to grab her ass again.”
One of his friends made a lewd comment. The whole table burst into laughter, and something inside me snapped.
I spun around. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
The table went quiet.
Surprise crossed the guy’s face before he rolled his eyes and scoffed. “It’s a compliment, honey. Lighten up.”
“It is not a compliment. It’s sexual harassment.” It was my voice coming out of my mouth, but it was like someone else had taken over my body. I didn’t do stuff like this. I hated confrontation, and my parents had raised me to avoid making a scene in public at all costs. But it’d been a long day, and between the plumbing disaster, Lloyd’s lack of empathy, and these assholes, I was done. “Apologize.”
The guy glanced at his friends, who looked away or pretended to be fascinated by their drinks. They weren’t laughing anymore, but they weren’t holding their friend accountable either.
He faced me again, a smirk on his lips. “Apologize…or what?”
One of his friends had a full pint of beer. Heavy glass, easy reach.
My heart beat faster.
Don’t do it. You only have two months left.
But that stupid, smug smile tipped me over the edge.
So I did it.
And that was my last night working at Lloyd’s Pub.
“I can’t believe he fired you!” Brooklyn trembled with visible indignation. “That has to be a violation of employment law or something. We need to call a lawyer. We need—”
“It’s fine. Really.” I took a sip of my piña colada and grimaced. This is what I get for ordering a tropical cocktail at a pub. “It’s not worth the hassle for a shitty job. I’ll just find another gig. I’ve done it before.”
As expected, Lloyd had not taken kindly to me dumping beer over a customer’s head and kneeing them in the balls. The guy had originally wanted to press charges, but enough people had witnessed him grabbing my ass first. He’d backed down, but Lloyd had fired me on the spot and docked my wages for the night.
I could fight him for the money, but it wasn’t worth the legal fees. I was mostly glad to be done.
“On a brighter note, here’s to standing up for yourself and kicking assholes in the balls.” Scarlett raised her glass. “I’m proud of you. I only wish we could’ve been there to see his face.”
I laughed as Brooklyn and I clinked our glasses against hers. “It was pretty great. 10/10, worth it.”
It was Saturday, the night after my firing, and my friends and I were gathered at the Angry Boar to commiserate as well as to celebrate Blackcastle’s win over its opponent earlier that afternoon.
Brooklyn was dating Vincent DuBois, the team captain, and her father was none other than Blackcastle’s legendary coach, Frank Armstrong. Vincent was Scarlett’s brother, and she also happened to be engaged to Asher Donovan, the team’s star striker and one of the most famous footballers on the planet.
So even though I wasn’t a huge football fan, I always showed up to Blackcastle events. For me, it was a bonding thing, not a sports thing.
