Rich Player (The Dirty Thirty Pledge 3)

1

Glenn

It’s barely mid-afternoon and First Shot is already packed with people. That’s what you get on Labor Day weekend, I guess. There are so many people that every employee I have is in the building and we’re still short-staffed. I really shouldn’t leave. No matter what plans I have.

Grabbing another glass from behind the bar, I pour a beer from one of the taps and slide it to the waiting customer, who gives me a nod. He’s a regular, and I put the beer on his tab. He always clears it by the end of the night. As he walks away from the bar, it feels like three more people take his place. The crowd is a hydra monster clamoring for drinks.

I could call Frankie and Wallace, but they have plans, and even though I know they would come at a moment’s notice, I’m not really sure that I want to see them right now. Because they would give me a hard time for what I’m about to do. About what they couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do.

Besides, they just don’t spend as much time here as they used to. Now that they’re married and not single. I mean, it’s not part of our owner’s agreement that they have to be here, but it used to be a given that they’d be here hanging out, the visible faces of First Shot. Help out when they needed to, hang out with me when there wasn’t a need. Now that just doesn’t happen as much.

It’s not like I don’t see them at all, but things have changed.

My birthday was three days ago. The five of us—Frankie, Annabelle, Wallace, Tia, and me, had a nice dinner. Well, as nice as it can be when you know that the women are judging you. But I don’t care. The Dirty Thirty pledge is a point of pride for me. It was the thing that held us together when we were all doing separate things. It’s the thing we could connect over when we’d been apart, like when Wallace was in fucking Afghanistan. I’m not going to bail on it just because my friends didn’t have the balls to follow through.

I haven’t started it yet. Since I’m the only one doing it, I can take my time, and the plan is to start tonight. I’m going to Nashville, getting myself a nice hotel room, and partying till I can’t see straight. I’m sure that I’ll end up with someone in my bed. If I’m lucky, I’ll end up with more than one someone in bed with me.

But now I’m thinking I should postpone the trip, because this is insane. Granted, First Shot has had crazy crowds ever since we opened. Even with the concept and the business plan, none of the three of us could have anticipated the speed at which we would expand or how its popularity would grow.

But this is probably the biggest crowd I’ve ever seen. I called in back-up, and even had to call the back-up’s back-up. Behind the bar is so crowded with people slinging drinks that we’re practically stepping on each other. The dance floor is packed, and I think we’re probably at our capacity. I haven’t checked, but the line is probably around the block.

I catch eyes with a couple leaning over the bar and lean over to hear their orders. He has to yell for me to here. “Can I get what’s on tap and she wants a vodka cranberry.”

“Coming right up.”

They slide their IDs and cash for the drinks across the bar, and I take both, sliding the IDs back with their drinks. I’m turning to serve the next customer when a hand falls on my shoulder. It’s Brennan, my head bartender. “Get out of here, boss.”

I give him a look. “Are you fucking kidding? I can’t leave with this kind of crowd here. We’re already drowning.”

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “We all know you’ve been planning to take a few days off, and I don’t think you’ve actually taken a day off since this place opened.”

“I have.”

“Holidays don’t count.”

I sigh, glaring at him. “You can’t kick me out Brennan, I’m your boss.”

He laughs and slaps me on the shoulder. “Respectfully, get the hell out of here. Boss. We got this.”

I’m about to protest that the trip can wait, and that maybe this isn’t the best time to take a vacation when Leah, another bartender, turns around and points to the door. “Go. Get the fuck out and enjoy your birthday vacation.”

I laugh, “Fine, I’ll go. Please call me if something goes wrong.”

It’s Leah’s turn to roll her eyes. “Sure.”

I make my way behind the rest of the bartenders to the exit. The bar is in the center of First Shot and it’s circular. That was an important choice when we were designing it, to be equidistant from every part of the bar. I’ve found that people are more likely to buy drinks if they don’t have to fight their way all the way across a crowded room. It’s been good for business.