Worth Billions (Worth It 1)

“You good?” I asked.

“Oh yeah. Just some shit at home. Michy will cool down eventually.”

“Michy?” I asked.

“The girlfriend. She followed me here after I lost my job in North Dakota. I’m still not quite sure why I asked her to come sometimes.”

“

You don’t sound too fond of her.”

“She’s warm. Pretty. Doesn’t ride me too much about my music which is nice.”

“High standards.”

“Hey, no one’s perfect,” he said, as he grabbed another beer. “So, are we hanging out or not?”

I leaned back in my chair, trying to put some space between myself and his toxicity.

“I’m not here to stay,” I said. “Just dealing with the estate, then I’m out of here.”

Andy’s eyebrows shot up like a rocket before he started laughing. I sipped on my beer, watching him curiously as his laughter filled the bar. He took his feet off the table and stood up, then came around and slapped me on the back.

A little too hard for my liking.

I had a sudden flashback of the first time my father hit me.

“That takes some balls, let me tell you,” he said.

“What does?” I asked.

“Selling off that old man’s estate! You inherited it, right? And I don’t blame you. Why stick around this shithole of a town when you can take your newfound riches and go somewhere better. You got a place in mind? Need a roommate perhaps?”

“Don’t you already have a roommate?” I asked.

“Ah, she’ll be good. She can afford that place on her own. You know, where we’re living.”

The man I was looking at was a ghost of the boy I’d known in high school. But I didn’t bother correcting him on the details of my stay. He wreaked of someone that would use someone else for their money. It sounded like he was doing that with his poor girlfriend. The woman must not have any sort of self-esteem to stay with this pathetic excuse for a human being that Andy had turned into.

I’d moved beyond high school, but Andy seemed to be stuck in his immature ways.

He sat back down at the table and continued to throw back drinks. I nursed my third beer, trying to pace myself and not overdo it. But Andy seemed to be the very definition. He was hollering across the bar for more beers, and slapping waitresses on their asses. Even though he had someone else at home. She was probably sitting there waiting for him, the poor thing. I wanted to punch Andy in his fucking face. What the hell was this guy doing anyway? Harassing the waitresses and pulling this shit was bad enough, but doing it with a girl at home was pathetic.

That was what this town did to people. It turned them into carcasses of their former youth. It sucked the life out of them and replaced it with a putrid, ill-fitted definition of sub-par.

“Oh, that ass bounced nicely,” Andy said. “Hey, sweet cheeks! I got a friend over here you’re gonna wanna talk to.”

“No thanks, I’m good,” I said.

“Oh come on. The pussy in here’s actually decent.”

“About that girlfriend?”

“It’s not like she gives it up. Not for want of me trying, though. Crazy bitch always has ‘no’ on the tip of her tongue and is quick to grab a baseball bat to make sure I heard. Believe that shit?”

My hand was gripping my beer bottle so hard I thought it was going to burst.

This was who Andy had turned into.