6 Maraschino Cherries

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Chapter 6

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"Misogynistic assholes." I grumble, downing a shot of my dear friend, tequila, "just because I don't walk around with a cock between my legs, doesn't mean I don't know what I'm talking about!"

The bartender gives me an obligatory, half-assed smile while shaking a stainless steel cocktail mixer with a cheerful pace. People a couple of seats away ignore my melancholy, busy with their pretentious conversation about the weather and whatnot.

I pout, looking at the neglectful crowd. "Anyone want to join my pity party? No?"

My phone alerts a text message, and it's from my worst enemy.

"Where did you go?"

I glare at the screen. A minute later, another text comes through.

"You're having a pity party at a bar, aren't you?"

"You think you know me, asshole?" I yell at my phone.

"Let me guess. Tequila."

"Why do you care?"

"I don't." The bartender replies, "but you should keep your voice down, you're scaring my customers."

I squint at him. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I also not good enough for you? I bet if I were a man, you'd be like," I deepen my voice before I proceed. "Hey man, this one's on the house. Tell me what's on your mind, pal. How may I mend your wounded heart, my brother?'"

"Is that what you want? You want someone to mend your wounded heart...my brother?" Lucas appears beside me, amusement tugging on his lips. He rests his forearms on the bar, facing my profile.

I focus on the lined bottles by the wall ahead. "Were you watching this entire time..."

"No...you're at our hotel bar, it wasn't hard to find you." His tone is careful, almost gentle, "Also, I've been in enough happy hours with you to know that if you're in a good mood, you go for a glass of white wine, and if you're upset, it's usually tequila."

I toy with the shot glass in my hand. "Good job, you got me all figured out."

His eyes study me for a moment before he speaks again. "What happened in there?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're usually in so much control, and confident. You lost yourself back there."

I give him a flat look. "Gee, is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"I'm not trying to make you feel better, I just want to understand."

I get up from my seat with a sigh. "Lucas, I'm not in the mood. Just leave me alone, yeah?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose, raising his other hand. "Hold on."

"What?" I snap.

"I'm trying to talk to you."

"You're failing."

"Can you just sit?" He grits the words with a clenched jaw.

"No."

He lowers a finger on the tabletop. "Sit."

I scoff a smirk. "Do I look like a dog to you?"

The side of his mouth twitches with a shrug. "Well, you are a bitch to me sometimes."

My jaw slacks, and without a thought, I snatch the bowl of maraschino cherries from behind the bar and dump them on his head. The red, sticky syrup soaks his brown hair and drips on his white shirt, as he freezes in utter, livid shock. "You're an ass." I clip.

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