Wyrd: Book One of the Witch War Trilogy - WATTYS 2018 WINNER!

Chapter 13: When Rowan Gets a Little ... Day Tipsy

Given that it wasn't quite midday yet, The Empty Tankard was uncharacteristically empty. The only people there were the redheaded bartender and a shaggy man in the back who was asleep and cradling a half-empty flagon, rather possessively, snoring as if he'd been there all night. In the light of day, the place felt shabby. It was a far cry from the lively and inviting pub Rowan was used to. She sighed heavily, pulled out two barstools – one for herself and one for Joel – and slumped down. Joel hadn't managed to catch up with her and would likely come running through the door in three... two... o–

"Damn, Rowan," he huffed, bending over and trying to catch his breath. "It's not a race. Ever consider taking the streets at a leisurely stroll? Gods forbid, you let me take the lead for once. You afraid you might end up enjoying the view?" He winked at her, as he straightened up.

Rowan leveled a glare at him. He had a nice ass, but she sure as hell wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing she thought so. His head was big enough as it was.

"Loser buys the round. And I hate to lose." Rowan turned to the taps to survey her options, realizing that what she wanted was something stronger, something that burned all the way down. It was afternoon somewhere, she reasoned. And, she'd already had one hell of a long day.

Joel sat beside Rowan as he eyed the pretty bartender, wiping down a table, with interest. She gave him a coquettish grin in return. Joel leaned over and whispered into Rowan's ear, "Actually, I think we'll be getting this round for free."

Rowan gave him her most exasperated sigh in response. "Focus, Grasshopper," she snapped her fingers in his face. "We're here because I'm in crisis mode, not so that you can find your next conquest."

"But I'm so good at multitasking," he fake-pouted at her, his lip quivering, his eyes pleading.

Which was exactly when the big-bosomed, big-haired babe sauntered over to them, gave Joel her most sultry come-hither look, and leaned her elbows down on the bar so her favourite patron got an ample view of her goods. "What can I get you?" she asked in a husky voice, smiling sweetly up at Joel with big blue eyes. She wore a white peasant-sleeved top that gave way to a tartan skirt, the deep V in the front cut low, her boobs pushed up and her teeny waste emphasized by a corseted bodice. Her lips were painted red.

Rowan decided then and there that she wasn't going to tip well if the girl kept up this flagrant game, especially with Rowan sitting right there.

"Well ... I mean..." Joel started, smiling and holding eye contact.

Rowan's mood grew even darker.

Rowan kicked Joel in the shins, hard. "For the record, Joel, you've always sucked at multitasking." She shot a sweet and dangerous smile at the amber-haired beauty, conveying with her most scathing look that if the girl tried to flirt with Joel again while Rowan was around, the redhead might not live much longer. Rowan took a golden hilted knife from her belt and played with it, twirling it through her fingers, as she made a show of considering her beverage options. "Give us both a triple of the Zordon Whiskey, neat, please." She gave the girl a great big grin, baring her teeth and fluttering her eyelashes threateningly.

The girl backed away quickly. "Right away, Miss." She scampered off.

"Spoilsport."

"Slut," Rowan shot back, losing whatever little humour she normally had.

Joel was infuriating. Joel and his women. And she was already in a bad mood.