I know Cade and Xander are convinced that I’ve slept with her, and I can’t blame them for thinking that, because that’s my usual MO but it kind of pisses me off at the same time that they can’t see that she’s different.
That we’re different.
I shrug my leather jacket on and call out, “See you later.”
I hear something fall on the floor in the bathroom and she curses. I shake my head, fighting an amused smile.
Grabbing my keys off the console table, I head out. I don’t pass anyone in the hall or elevator, and, for that, I’m thankful.
I fucking hate small talk.
Outside, I head down the street, smoking a cigarette as I go.
The bar where I work is just down the street from the apartment so driving is stupid. One of the perks of living in the city is that I don’t have to drive most places. I like getting out and walking. It gives me time to think.
The front of the building comes into focus, and like always, I can’t help but be amused.
W.T.F.
What the fork?
(Did you think we meant something else)
Restaurant & Bar
Est. 2013
Yeah, I work at a restaurant/bar called W.T.F.
The owner, Eli, can only be described as flamboyant. He’s young, a little crazy, but a whole lot of smart.
W.T.F. has become one of the hottest restaurants and bars in the Denver area, and I’m lucky enough to be the head bartender.
Four years of studying music in college and I work at a bar. It’s not ideal, but as far as jobs go, it’s not the worst. Eli is cool and so is everyone else I work with.
I finish my cigarette and toss the butt on the ground, extinguishing it with the toe of my boot.
Inside, chaos ensues. It’s loud, packed, and fucking insane. Just a typical night at the bar.
I head straight to the back and clock in before heading behind the bar.
The bar is a giant wood U-shape in the middle of the restaurant. Eli had it built that way on purpose so that, in his words, it makes a statement.
The whole place is nice but not stuffy—so, thankfully, that means I get to wear jeans and t-shirts to work.
My favorite part of the whole place, though, is the stage straight across from the bar. It’s fairly large—large enough for a whole band to fit on it—with stage lights. On the wall above it hangs a cartoonish-looking fork.
Forks are a recurring theme in the whole restaurant.
Like above the bar, thousands of forks hang from the ceiling. Okay, so it’s probably more like a couple hundred and not thousands, but it looks cool.
“Hey, Jacen,” my co-worker Matilda slurs from behind the bar as I join her.
“Matilda,” I say curtly.
She’s been bitter ever since a month ago when she tried to hook up with me and I turned her down.
I don’t know why she took it so personally. So what, I didn’t want to fuck her—big fucking deal. There are plenty of other guys in the world she can fuck. We work together, and I don’t fuck my co-workers, even though she tried her hardest to get me to break that rule.