"Shit, Shit Shit," I mouthed to myself as I pulled my beat up old Ford Taurus into the gravel parking lot of the bar. I was running late for the third time this week. I grabbed my backpack and ran for the back door. I quietly opened the employee entrance and made my way towards the small stock room that doubled as the changing area for waitresses. If I could just get into my uniform and out on the floor then I could play it off like I just forgot to clock in and pretend I had been here the whole time. I was feeling pretty good about myself as I turned a corner and came face to face with Ryan.
"You're late," he said dryly, "for the third time this week."
"That can't be right," I replied, giving him my best pout, "I mean I had car trouble on Monday and my last class ran a little long today-"
"I'm sure," Ryan cut me off with a sigh, "listen, Eve, you're a great employee and I appreciate the difficulties of going to school full time and holding down a job but you've got to get better at managing your time."
"I know, I know," I said, giving up the pity play, "I'm really trying, this week has just been a fluster-cluck, I'll do better, I promise." Ryan looked at me seriously for a minute and then let out a long breath.
"Please do, ok? I'm not going to fire you or anything but I've already covered for you with Billy once and if he comes in for one of his surprise visits again and you're not here then there's nothing I can do about it."
"Ugh," I said at the mention of the owner, "he is such a creep, nobody should have to work for a guy like that. I will do my best if for no other reason then to keep him off your back." I shot Ryan a friendly smile.
"Thanks," he replied with a chuckle, "now go get changed, things are already picking up and I need you out there."
"Yes sir," I said with a little salute before running off to change. I shut the door and locked it before making quick work of stripping out of my jeans and t-shirt. I took a moment to look at my mostly naked body in the mirror on the back of the door. I was attractive in the traditional sense but nothing special, in my opinion. I was average in both height and build but always wished I was a bit curvier in the hips. My breasts were decently large without being huge and I had bruenette hair. My eyes were probably my most striking feature as they were a vibrant green.
All in all I guess I don't really have much to complain about appearance wise but I'm really nothing special. I guess that's the root of my self esteem issues. As ridiculous as it may sound I have always felt like I'm just too average to really be anybody's type. At least if I was the skinny model type or a bigger girl then there would be guys into that. That's what my experience has born out anyway but maybe it's just my bad luck that guys never seem attracted to me beyond initial interactions. I was jarred from my thoughts by a knock at the door.
"Evie?" came the high pitched voice of Sarah, one of the other waitresses, "sorry to rush you but we just got slammed and really need you out here."
"Ok," I replied, jumping into my skimpy uniform shorts, "give me two seconds."
The bar was particularly packed tonight but nothing out of the ordinary considering it was college night. There was a multitude of young men and women dancing, flirting, and most importantly: imbibing alcohol. When I applied for the position the title in the ad was "cocktail waitress", which still makes me laugh at how classy Billy was trying to make it sound, but more often then not I'm called "hey you", "babe", "sweetheart", "gorgeous", and once "sugar tits" but I almost got fired over how I responded to that last one. I had to put up with a lot of bullshit in this job but the tips were usually pretty good and a girl's gotta pay the bills.
The uniforms were an unfortunate aspect of the job for me. When I had started the dress code was much more modest, requiring us to wear jeans and a white shirt. Of course, the waitresses were encouraged to dress more provocatively but it was an option and one that I never partook in. After a few months however, the original owner passed the bar down to his son, Billy, who is a class A creep. Billy immediately made some alterations to the dress code. We were now required to where daisy duke shorts that were just on this side of modesty and a skin tight tank top sporting the bar's logo.
The worst part about the uniform change was that it didn't change shit as far as my tips went. Turns out that the kind of guys who appreciate a scantily clad waitress weren't necessarily the most generous when it came to tipping, of course that might also have more to do with the fact that I refuse to flirt for money.
So far, it was a pretty standard college night. The regular assortment of 18 to 20 somethings with nothing better to do than to mix alcohol with music and strangers, hoping for the best. Unfortunately, the night wasn't the standard college night for long. About halfway through my shift, a group of guys came in that I knew were trouble.
"Not in my section, not in my section," I chanted to myself quietly like a mantra from across the bar. But, because my luck is shit this did nothing to sway them and they walked right over to plop themselves down in a booth at the back of my section.
I took a deep breath and put on my biggest fake grin before making my way over to their booth. As I came to a stop in front of the booth I was lucky not to be bowled over by the assault of pervy looks and cheap body spray. "Well, good evening boys, can I get you anything?"
The ones who hadn't been leering at me swiftly began to do so and one of them sniffed the air in my direction like an animal. 'What the fuck were these guys on' I thought to myself as I handed out menus and willed my smile not to falter. "Oh you can get my a nice taste of that- umph" the creep who was speaking had the breath knocked out of him by the elbow of the man who seemed to be the leader of these lost boys wannabes before he could finish the lewd comment that would've led to me getting them thrown out.
"I apologize for my friend here," said the leader with a kind of charm that gave me goosebumps, and not in a good way, "we will have four pitchers of whatever you have on tap and I will give a partial tip in advance as recompense for this moron." He held out a fifty as he delivered this line. 'Ugh, recompense? This guy might actually be worse than the obvious creep. Serious predator vibes here' my internal commentary continued of it's own accord.
"I'll accept the recompense but try to control these guys because the manager won't be as forgiving as me," I said, taking the fifty and tucking it into my apron, "and I'll get those pitchers right out." I didn't let the smile slip until I had turned my back on the group, and I stifled a shiver on the way back to the bar. I leaned over the bar and waved to get the bartender's attention. "Hey Joan, can I get four pitchers of the cheap shit for table twelve?" She shot me a chastising look for my language but nodded and started filling pitchers.
"I'd be careful with those lads if I were you," came an accented voice to my right. I looked to see that it was attached to a tall, attractive man dressed in a crisp dress shirt and pants that were both black and looked tailored. He wasn't wearing a tie and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. 'Sure would be nice to see what noises he makes when I kiss that collarbone' the thought came unbidden into my brain and I was glad the low light and heavy makeup hid my blush, where had that come from?
"Thanks, but I think I can handle that kind of trouble," I told him, "I've dealt with worse than them, you wouldn't believe the assholes who think I'm just waiting to swoon over whatever line they've cooked up." I gestured towards him and he grasped his heart in a dramatic fashion as if I had wounded him.
"That was no line, love," he replied while I actively avoided thinking about that Irish accent whispering in my ear; maybe biting my neck; running his hand down my back; what the hell is wrong with me tonight? I barely managed to catch the next sentence, "It was a legitimate warning. I know trouble when I see it and that crew," he nodded towards the boisterous table for emphasis, "is quite a bit more than a little trouble."
"I appreciate the warning, if they start getting handsy I'll have them thrown out right away. What brings you in here? No offense but it doesn't really seem like your type of place."
"My type of place is any place that serves decent whiskey," he said tipping the glass of amber liquid he was holding in my direction, "and I guess you could say that I'm in town for work."
"What type of work?" I asked as I situated pitchers on trays.
"The mysterious kind," he said with a waggling of his eyebrows before downing the rest of his whiskey and adding, "and the type of work I should probably get back to but I'll be in town for a little bit. Give me a call if your in the mood for handling some more trouble," He slid a business card towards me across the bar and added, "now, that was a line."
"Oh my, I just can't contain the swoon," I said as sarcastically as I could to cover my racing heart. I wanted to tear his clothes off and throw him on the bar right there, what was coming over me?
He chuckled and gave a nonchalant wave as he turned to walk away. He paused for a second and turned his head to say "Also love, it's not their hands you should worry about. Watch the teeth," when he said the last part he bared his teeth, "just some friendly advice," then he disappeared into the crowd on his way to the door.
I grabbed the card as soon as he wasn't looking. Glancing at it, I had to look again to make sure I hadn't read it wrong. It had his name, which was apparently Sean Doyle, as well as a phone number, but there was also an interesting seal or emblem in the corner that looked to be a stylized pentagram as well as his "job title" which was the part I had to reread. Apparently he was a wizard.
"The guy's got jokes," I said to myself with a chuckle, bet he got some looks having those printed up. I pocketed the card, telling myself it couldn't hurt to keep the option open. After all, how often was a tall good looking Irishman going to come into my life, and I could use the distraction. I was brought back to the present by Sarah popping up next to me.
"Hey," came the tiny blonde's perky voice, "need a hand with those pitchers?" I nearly jumped from shock, she had a habit of appearing out of nowhere though, probably thanks to her diminutive height, and I was used to it. Sarah was new, but she was a hard worker and an excruciatingly nice person. I was half convinced that singing birds dressed her every morning.
"Sure, thanks," I said and we each took a tray with two pitchers and glasses. As we made our way towards the table, I could tell it wasn't going to go well by the looks they were giving both Sarah and I now. These creeps weren't just leering at us, they looked
hungry
