The Fire We Make

chapter six

It was a different day, but the same dull routine.

Brayden ignored me this morning. I went into the kitchen to make some coffee before I took my morning shower and asked him what he was going to do today, but there was no response from him. Not only that, but he stole my car keys, leaving me to ride the metro. When I realized I was going to walk home after my shift at the bar tonight I cringed. It wasn't safe to walk alone during the night, especially in Chicago. Mila wasn't working tonight, and even if she was she probably wouldn't have dropped me home anyways.

"You okay there?" A voice asked me.

I jolted my head, trying to clear away my thoughts. In front of me stood the same guy who apologized for the jerk the other night. He looked different than from the other night. For starters, he wasn't wearing a hat.

Golden blonde hair was messily placed on top of his head. He had sparkling blue eyes that were shining brightly at me. He had some blonde stubble growing around his chin and I wanted to shave it right off. Either you have a full beard or you don't. I hated the in-between stage. His lips were spread into a boyish, lopsided grin, but everything about him screamed he wasn't a boy. His arms were huge, making me believe he worked out every single day, maybe more than once a day. There was also a single tattoo with the name Rosie on his bicep.

"I'm assuming that's a no?" He continued, raising an eyebrow as he took a short swing from his beer.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, pulling my short hair back. "My mind is all over the place. But I'm fine. Everything is just fine."

"You don't seem too sure of that," he accused. I looked around and saw it was pretty dead.

Tuesday's were usually slow. I glanced at the clock and saw my shift was over in the next ten minutes; nobody would mind if I took off now. Besides, it was my night to lock up. I was in no rush, considering I didn't have a car to use.

"Hold that thought," I told him, flashing him a smile.

I rummaged around the bar, finding one of the oldest and finest vodka. Once I found it I couldn't help the electric tingling feeling I was enduring. I held up the bottle to the friendly guy and I could hear him blow out a breath, sounding impressed.

"What are you trying to do, get me drunk?" He joked as I slid into the seat next to him with two shot glasses.

I snorted as I poured the two shot glasses. "I'm trying to get myself drunk."

I downed the first shot glass with no hesitation. I scrunched up my nose as the liquor burned my throat. Though I hated the beginning feeling of when I drank any alcohol beverage, I loved the feeling that followed it; pure numbness. I could see the guy about to reach for the second shot glass, but I took that as well and let the alcohol burn my throat for the second time.

"I can see that," he finally said, sliding the bottle of vodka away from me.

"Hey, bring that back," I pouted.

"I'm sorry. Can't do that Hollyn."

I frowned when he said my name. He tried to mimic my confused expression before enter interrupted into fits of laughter. I couldn't help but laugh too, at his failed attempt to mimic me. I was still creeped out by the fact that he knew my name.

"Don't worry I'm not a stalker or anything. I overheard one of your coworkers calling your name while I've been sulking on this barstool," he explained, finishing off his beer.

Though I was still uncomfortable with his fishy behavior, I was slightly buzzed and was willing to take that status to drunk. I was also curious about him. His appearance, the way he talks, hell why he's back at the bar, had me intrigued.