Page 11 of Cuffed to my Roomies
“I can handle it. Thank you, Ben. I can’t wait.”
“Let’s hope you’re better at slinging drinks than you are at showing up on time,” he said sarcastically.
I smiled, gritting my teeth only a little.
Then I ran to the bathroom because wetting my pants wouldn’t make a good impression on the people at my first table. I got a chance to tell Gloria, the lead waitress that I was trying to change over to bartending. She looked at my v-neck shirt and smiled.
“You’ll do great. You’re smart and fast. You just need a push up bra,” she said. I laughed. She didn’t. She was serious.
“Oh. Okay,” I said with a weak smile and hustled some Diet Cokes back to a table of women sharing barbecued chicken nachos with extra jalapeños. I loved their loud laughter, and their giant orders of appetizers with their small diet sodas. Just being around them made me feel happy. I found myself missing my college friends.
I finished out my shift and went over to the bar to talk with Jason, the lead bartender.
“Ben tells me you’re training tomorrow.”
“Yes, I’m really looking forward to it. I tended bar at an Irish pub near campus last year, but I have a lot to learn when it comes to more upscale, specialty drinks. Is that your primary crowd?”
“That’s our female after work crowd. Otherwise, we do a lot of craft beer and we run a lot of G&Ts.”
“I do a make a great lemon shandy, but that’s more of a summer drink.”
“It’s more of a tequila crowd than a vodka one, when it comes to mixed drinks. We’ll put you through the paces, see how you keep up,” he said.
“Thanks,” I told him.
I headed for my bus stop, hoping that both guys were home or neither, because that kiss with Brett had left a lot of unanswered questions. I felt kind of weird about it, about trying to walk the tightrope between being platonic roommates and wanting more. I was definitely better off staying just friends with both guys. I didn’t want hard feelings, uncomfortable silences, a rift between them even. So I decided I’d just try to quit being so nervous about it and act like nothing happened. I’d be casual, relaxed, not touch him at all. Ever. Not even if there was a giant spider on him and he was asleep on the recliner. That way I’d never have to worry about that zing I felt when my skin touched his.
Brett was on the phone, Derek was doing pushups, and I waved at them as I headed for the shower. I didn’t even stop to speak. I wondered who he was talking to, and I wouldn’t let myself ask or eavesdrop or generally act like a teenager. I turned in early, barely even Snapchatting Ainsley before bed.
Bartending turned out to be fantastic. Jason and Cammie, the two non-drummer bartenders who were staying on, were total pros and lots of fun. They were dating each other, so their flirting and their sarcasm were always targeted at one another, both sweetly and hilariously. When it came to instructing me, Cammie was a genius mixologist who had me tasting different types of sugar for rimming sweet drinks and comparing salts as well for margaritas. She asked me my favorite drink, then showed me how to make an even better version of it, so I was sipping a blood orange margarita with a rim of superfine vanilla sugar while I made notes on proportions and which infused vodkas and flavored simple syrups to add to make standard drinks into something special. A few days training with Cammie made me a much more creative and thoughtful bartender, learning to ask a patron if she liked black currant or cranberry, if she’d like to try something different or if she wanted the comfort of a familiar favorite. Those simple questions turned into conversations, and I started to learn the names of people who came in most evenings.
By the fifth day on bartending shift, I was confident that my trial period was going to turn into a full-time position. I was on time. I was making better tips than I had waiting tables, and I liked joking around with the customers, trying to get Mitch to try something other than his usual three Guinesses, hoping to make a drink that Jasmine couldn’t name every flavor instantly—she even picked out a splash of blackberry liqueur in a Singapore Sling.
One night, Jason made pitchers of his special white peach sangria with a swirl of local honey and some colorful berries. Brett and Derek came in to have a drink after their shift and see how I was doing. I promptly served them both wineglasses of sweet sangria garnished with a sliver of sugared peach on the rim. Brett grimaced at it and asked for a beer. Derek drank a huge gulp and said it was delicious.
