Grace for Drowning(3)

I know, I know, getting work in bar wasn't exactly the smartest decision after I'd managed to drink myself out of my last job, but the truth was, I didn't have much of a choice. Nowhere else was hiring, or at least they weren't hiring me. I must have left resumes at every restaurant, department store and cafe in town. But Vegas is a city that runs on disposable income, so the financial crisis hit it harder than most places. Everyone was tightening the purse strings and hanging onto what they had right now. It had been a little over a month since I'd been let go, and my credit card was already maxed. Another week and I wasn't going to be able to pony up my rent. I had to take what I could get. Besides, that whole drinking thing had just been a temporary lapse. A little grief induced meltdown. I'd been sober a week. Not a drop since I heard I had this job. This was a new beginning for me, and I could handle whatever curve balls it threw my way. I had to.

The evening ground on. At some point, during one of my brief reprieves, I happened to glance up and found a pair of fierce blue eyes looking back at me. I froze. The guy was leaning against the wall next to the front door, about ten feet away. Most of his body was cast in shadow, but I could tell by the bulging darkness that he was huge. Like, bench pressed Buicks in his spare time kind of huge.

I glanced around, figuring maybe that look was for someone else, but the area around me was empty. When he was still staring thirty seconds later, I sidled up to Joy. "Is that something I should be worried about?" I asked, nodding subtly in his direction.

She glanced over and gave a little laugh. "That depends on if you have a weakness for six packs and ink." The way she said that made it abundantly clear how she felt on the matter. "His name is Logan," she continued. "He works the door here most nights. Kind of intense, right?"

I nodded. "That's one way to put it." He'd looked away now, his eyes systematically scanning the room, but the memory of that gaze still lingered in my mind. "He was staring at me."

"Probably just wondering who you are. He's been here a while — longer than me, anyway. He and Charlie go way back. He used to be in the army or something. For all his scary cavemanness though, he seems like a nice guy."

"Seems?"

She shrugged. "He's pretty quiet. Doesn't give much away. We've worked together for over a year, but I wouldn't really say that I know him."

For the next hour, I kept a discreet eye on my new friend. Most of the time he simply surveyed the crowd, but occasionally I caught him watching me. I didn't know what to make of it. It wasn't the look of someone just sizing up a new colleague. It had a weight to it, like a tangible presence against my skin.

The bar was busy for a Thursday night, and the later it got, the more the booze began to take its toll. A couple of guys were ejected before their shoving match could escalate into something more dangerous, with Logan and another man rushing into the crowd and pulling them away from each other and toward the exit. Joy glanced over at me and gave a good-natured roll of her eyes, as if to say "business as usual."

Which probably should have prepared me for what came about ten minutes later.

"Two bourbons and cokes," mumbled the man who'd just staggered up to the bar.

It only took one look to work out that this guy was well past the "good time" part of his night. Glazed eyes, red cheeks, swaying stance, he checked all the boxes. This was one part of the job I'd been dreading. In my previous life I'd been a chef, and when you work in a kitchen, you never have to deal directly with customers. All of that, both the compliments and the nastiness, goes through the diplomatic filter of the wait staff. But working behind a bar, you're the filter, and that wasn't a role I had any experience with.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I think you've had enough." It was bar policy not to serve anyone who was clearly drunk.

He blinked a few times, his eyes slowly focusing on me. "Excuse me?"

"I can't serve you if you're already drunk, sir."

"Drunk? I've barely had nothing."

"Well I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

His face twisted into a scowl and he leaned down on the bar so he was looming over me. Not that that was particularly difficult to do. You know that saying "she weighed a hundred and twenty pounds dripping wet?" Well that's me to a T. I can hit five foot three if you get me the right heels, but I was wearing flats tonight, and so even though this guy wasn't particularly large, he towered over me.

"Now listen here," he slurred, dousing me in rank alcohol breath. "You don't get to tell me when I can and can't drink. This is America! I do what I damn well want, and what I want is to have another bourbon." I began to move to the other end of the bar, hoping that would end it, but he reached out and caught my wrist. "Now where are you going? I'm talking to you. Look, all..." He trailed off as a huge hand fell on his shoulder.