Beta Santos

Angela:

The man at the far end of the bar had been drinking for hours, and I couldn’t decide whether he was trying to forget something or simply didn’t care what happened to him. Either way, I had a feeling I’d be helping carry him outside before the night was over.

I’d been keeping an eye on him for almost three hours. He barely spoke to anyone, and the other customers seemed happy to leave him alone.

He was handsome, I’d give him that. His dark hair looked like he’d been running his fingers through it all evening, and his expensive black shirt fit snugly across his broad shoulders. Between that and the sharp jaw, he wasn’t exactly easy to overlook.

What bothered me was the look in his eyes.

They were dark, and he looked angry enough that I didn’t want to ask what had happened. Every few minutes, he checked his phone, stared at the screen, then put it facedown again. Whatever he was waiting for, checking wasn’t helping.

After dealing with enough drunk customers, I’d learned not to assume someone was harmless just because he was quiet.

This one looked like he could become my problem before closing.

“Another one,” he ordered when I approached his table.

I looked at the empty glasses in front of him, then back at his face.

“You know another drink isn’t going to fix whatever’s bothering you, right?”

His gaze lifted slowly to mine. “Did I ask for your opinion?”

“No, but you’re getting it anyway.” I loaded the empty glasses onto my tray. “You’ve been here for hours. Are you planning to go home at some point?”

“Then bring me another drink.”

I almost refused. But his words were still clear, and he seemed wide awake despite everything he’d drunk.

I couldn’t work out how he was holding up so well.

I’d seen customers carried out after drinking half as much.

I went back to the counter, had a quick word with the bartender, and brought him one last glass. He could argue all he liked after this. I wasn’t bringing another.

I set it down in front of him. “Keep this up and you’ll be out cold before you reach the door.”

He reacted before I could move my hand away.

His jaw tightened as he grabbed the glass and slammed it against the table. The crack cut through the bar, stopping most of the conversations around us.

I flinched and tightened my grip on the tray. Several customers turned to look, which only made me more determined not to back away.

For a second, I thought the glass might come flying at me.

But he stayed in his chair, staring at his drink and breathing hard through his nose.

“Watch your mouth,” he said quietly.

I waited a moment, then rolled my eyes. Apparently, I was supposed to be impressed by that.

He wasn’t the first customer who’d tried to scare me into doing what he wanted.

I was tired of people taking a bad night out on whoever happened to be serving them.

I leaned closer and held his gaze. “No.”

His eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. No, I’m not giving you another drink after this one.”

He frowned at me as if being refused was something he hadn’t prepared for.

“Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?”

I gave him a small smile. “Yes. A customer who’s had enough to drink.”

“Careful.”

“Or what?” I straightened and folded my arms. “You’ll slam the glass down again? Break it and it goes on your bill.”

Someone at a nearby table laughed.

The stranger turned his head toward the sound, and the laughter died immediately.

I glanced at the table, surprised by how quickly everyone went quiet.

Usually, it took more than a look to stop a table full of customers from laughing.

When he looked back at me, he seemed even less amused.

“You’re brave. I’ll give you that. But you should know when to stop talking.”

“And you could try being nicer to someone who might have to help you get home.”

He opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of whatever he’d been about to say.

I thought I might finally get back to work, but he leaned back in his chair and studied me. I couldn’t tell whether he was still angry or trying to figure me out.

“What’s your name?”

I glanced at the name tag pinned to my shirt. “Can you read?”

His gaze dropped to it.

“Angela,” he said slowly.

The way he said my name made me think he intended to remember it. My stomach tightened, but I pushed the feeling aside.

“Good. Now that we’ve sorted that out, do you want something to eat? The kitchen closes in twenty minutes.”

“I don’t want food.”

“Water, then.”

“I don’t want water either.”

“Then you’re all set. Let me know if you change your mind about the food.”

I gathered the remaining glasses and turned away.

“Angela.”

I stopped with my back still turned. “What?”

“I wasn’t finished talking to you. Who said you could walk away?”

I turned to face him. He looked serious, which somehow made the question worse.

“Are you always this rude, or have I caught you on a particularly bad night?”

His face tightened, and for a moment I thought he would answer.

Instead, he looked away and reached for his drink, leaving me standing there with the tray.

Whatever had happened to him, I wasn’t going to pry. He could finish his drink and sit there until closing if he wanted, provided he stopped taking his mood out on me and everyone else in the bar.

I went back to work, hoping that would be the end of it.

But even as I walked away, I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was watching me.

I glanced over my shoulder. His drink sat untouched in front of him.

He was watching me, and even when I caught him, he didn’t look away.

And it was then that I realized that stepping out of this was going to be easier said than done…