Bad Boy Hero - Tanglewood Academy

“Do you think he’s into that?” Sara arches an eyebrow.

She shrugs, looking unapologetic. “Only one way to find out if he likes forward girls, right?”

“Oh, stop.” Leah catches Yvette’s sleeve to tug her back down before she even makes it halfway out of her chair. “Besides, I heard he’s dating someone. Some girl he went out with for half of junior year, who he just got back together with.”

I try to hide my flinch behind a broad smile. What does it matter if he’s dating someone? Even better. It means he definitely won’t care to pay any more attention to me, if he ever does come by the bar again. Which, of course, I hope he never does. It would make my life a hell of a lot easier if I just never ran into Keanen Kross in close quarters ever again.

“So, who are the other eligible bachelors on campus?” I ask, trying to steer this conversation away from murky waters.

Leah leans forward, always eager to talk about cute guys, and I match her, grinning. At least, if nothing else, these budding friends of mine are always ready with a quick distraction.

That night I wind up stuck at the bar even later than usual. I agreed to work the closing shift because it’s Friday night and I know the tips will be better than usual. Henry’s here too, but he’s flooded with orders, both of us working as fast as we can in unison to keep with the demand.

Everyone needs to take the edge off after their own shifts, it seems.

By 1:30 in the morning, I’m exhausted, my feet throbbing and I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open. I’m still pouring out Jack and cokes by the half-dozen. Eventually, as the clock ticks closer to the end of my shift, Henry nudges my side.

“If you want to take off,” he says, “I can finish up here.”

I want to protest. But the full week of balancing schoolwork, socializing, homework, and late nights working here, is finally starting to catch up to me. All I want to do is collapse face-first into bed, somehow skip over the two mile walk back to campus—maybe teleport if possible.

Since it doesn’t look like I’m going to magically be gifted teleportation abilities any time soon, I count out my tips under the bar and pass my open tabs over to Henry with a grateful nod.

“See you tomorrow night?” he says, reminding me that I agreed to do this all over again tomorrow night, too.

“Can’t wait,” I reply with a salute that I hope looks a lot less sarcastic than I feel. Then I duck under the bar and weave through the crowd of increasingly drunk men. There are a handful of women who come in here, usually with partners who have clearly been frequenting this place since long before they got together. But usually I’m one of only a couple female faces in the packed pub.

Normally I don’t even notice. I’m safely tucked away behind the bar with Henry, and besides, a lot of these guys I see here every night. If they’re a little flirty or jokey at times, I’ve gotten used to their senses of humor, and I know they don’t mean anything by it.

But tonight, as I slip out the side door and into the alley that butts up next to the pub, I’m more aware than usual of eyes on the back of my neck. I take a few steps up the alley, toward the dumpsters that hide us from view of the main street. Usually I love how isolated the pub is, how it’s kind of hard to find. Not only does it remind me a bit of the speakeasy era, of people sneaking out to drink in dingy little hideaways like this, defying the laws of the era, but it also performs the handy trick of disguising this bar from anyone I wouldn’t want finding it. Like other Tanglewood students.

Tonight, however, I realize for the first time the other problem with not being able to see anyone on the street from the pub’s exit door. Nobody on the street can see me, either.

And right now, the alley’s empty save for me, and one other person stumbling out of the bar door behind me, then slamming it loudly behind them.

“Bartenderrrr,” slurs a deep man’s voice. An unfamiliar one.

I glance behind me, and tense. The man following me is a lot older, gray hair on his head. And he’s staring at me with a leer I don’t like one bit.

“That’s you, right? The new bartenderrrr. Henry found a pretty one this time.”

I take a step backward, my eyes locked on his. I don’t want to turn around and have my back to him. But I don’t want to give away that I’m nervous right now, either. Small steps, I tell myself. He’s drunk, you can outrun him if you need to. “That’s me.” I try to keep my voice bright and steady. “Hope you have a good night.”