Bear

Chapter 12: Birdie

Zeva makes idle conversation, and makes sure that my glass doesn't stay empty for long. After 3 drinks, I'm tempted to punch the blonde bitch at the other end of the bar.

Miss Mini Skirt has been leaning against the edge for a good five minutes, sizing me up over the rim of the beer bottle in her hand. I haven't looked her way, not interested in getting into a cat fight over a man who at the moment seriously has me questioning the decisions I've made over the last few weeks.

Then she opens her mouth, and my irritation grows tenfold.

"Why was Bear with you?" That sultry raspiness that she had reserved for Bear is replaced with a hostile edge.

I turn to her with a bored look, her eyes filled with suspicious scrutiny, trying to work me out like a maths equation. Whatever she sees she clearly isn't impressed. She doesn't even hide the disdain, her eyes travelling down my hoodie and jogging bottom ensemble with a mix of pity and mirth.

Oh, she definitely thinks she's better than me.

It's probably that thought, along with the added combination of alcohol and my own pride that has the sweetest, pettiest smirk curling up my lips. "Because he was screaming my name last night."

"Oh please, you think that makes you or your pussy special?" She rolls her eyes, flicking her straightened blonde hair away from her shoulder. "Bear fucking you means nothing. Just know he doesn't go back for seconds, well unless you're me."

Her piercing cat lined green eyes slice into me with a knowing look. I get the sudden feeling that she knows something that I don't, that I'm out of my depth playing a game that I don't know the rules of.

Her words cut through my confidence, but I don't let her see it. She asked a question and I answered, I never said anything about being special.

"I just answered the question you asked, sweetheart." I smile sweetly, the same boredom leaking into my tone. I work in A&E for goodness sakes, I have plenty of practice dealing with insecure and overly inflated egos.

At least here I'm not bound by 'professionalism.'

"Sounds like you're the one who thinks you have a special pussy. Though word of advice, if you have to go around telling everyone then..."

Zeva pinches her lips hiding her smile from behind the bar.

The other woman's face falls as I leave my words hanging, her scowl tightening as she takes a couple stomps towards me. I don't move an inch, unfazed by her attempt at intimidation.

"Look here bitch—"

"Oh give it a rest Lisa." Zeva cuts her off, rolling her eyes from her place behind the bar. Clearly she doesn't see her as a threat either; that sends a little relief through me, because for all my bravado, I'm chicken shit in a fight.

The blonde, Lisa's, face turns another shade of red when Zeva continues to call her out. I can't tell if it's anger or embarrassment but either way my vodka brain finds it kind of amusing.

"Honestly, you're just embarrassing yourself."

Lisa gives me a final stare, her lip curling into a nasty scowl, cutting her eyes at me as she turns to leave. For good measure she looks back over her shoulder, snarl stuck on her lips. "Just stay away from Bear."

Then Lisa turns and struts away, hips swinging dangerously in her mini skirt.

I don't bother to give her an answer. I refuse to let her get to me, especially thinking that she can control or scare me in any way.

Sure, after a little bit of liquid courage and that bullshit interrogation, my previous feelings of rejections have returned to sour my gut. So maybe I am a little bit pissed at Bear, and not exactly thrilled at the idea of anything happening between us again.