Bad Habit

Chapter One

❝alcohol; because no great story ever started with someone eating a salad.❞

- unknown

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         01.  Colton

FRIDAY NIGHTS; when the club would get really crowded and my work had to be twice as hard. Many underestimated the difficulty of my job–I also did, at the very beginning–but being a bartender wasn't easy.

It wasn't a dream I had decided to pursue, either. My dad worked as a lawyer, and wanted me to go to law school. Intending to make my old man happy, I tried to convince myself that I'd be a great lawyer. Tried.

Let me tell you, I did my best for as long as I could. But it became enough and I wasn't going anywhere. At first, I was scared to tell my dad I was going to drop out of college while I decided what I really wanted to be for the rest of my life. As soon as I grew a pair, though, a heavy weight was lifted off my shoulders. Dad was a little upset when I randomly barged in his office a certain day, asserting I wasn't going to study law or anything related anymore. Thankfully, he got over it and accepted the fact that I wasn't meant to follow his footsteps.

That, ladies and gentleman, was how I started hunting for a job, so I could at least make something of myself. I was easily accepted at Joey's–the current club we're talking about–, which made me very grateful and satisfied. However, the first months were hell. I couldn't mix a drink, clean a counter or even answer my phone without flailing my clumsy arms around and knocking over glasses.

To some who watched my embarrassing moments, it was entertaining. To others, it was annoying. I earned a lot of laughs, pity looks and angry scowls with my small, unfortunate disasters.

Most of the time, it was amusing working at Joey's. I'd deal with flirty women and talkative men during my shifts, some of them already familiar to me. Of course, there were the annoying, the impatient and the 'my-life-is-a-mess-so-I'm-going-to-cry-on-your-shoulder-and-wipe-my-nose-on-your-shirt' types, and I'm not going to lie and say that I got used to it, eventually. No. They'll always be annoying/impatient/overemotional to me, but that hasn't ever been enough to ruin my mood.

Fridays were the busiest days at the club. Many would come straight after work, still wearing fancy suits or dresses, and order a round of drinks for all their friends. Then, they'd go dance and meet new people and kiss and dance some more and drink again and go back to dancing, until their feet were killing and their sentences were too slurred to comprehend.

It was fairly normal this certain Friday–I sent home a high school junior who gave me his real ID instead of the fake one he meant to, rejected a very straightforward girl who batted  her eyelashes too much and wore too little, and chatted with a group who had too many shots.

Until–here's the cliché part–she came.

I missed her entering the club and coming through the mass of people until she reached the bar. Actually, I was too busy wiping the counter with my head held down to notice the amazing brunette sitting in front of me. And then, she spoke.

"What's this cologne you're wearing?"

Lifting my head up curiously, I threw the dirty cloth over my shoulder and crossed my arms. "People usually come here for a drink, not for a game of quickfire."

"Sorry," she smirked. "But take it as a compliment. I asked because it smells really good."

"I don't know the name of my cologne. Actually, I'm surprised you can smell anything. I've been working for hours and I'm all sweaty," I said, playfully smelling under my arms.

She grinned amusedly. "Maybe it's someone else's scent. By the way, that was the worst introduction ever. You probably think I'm very weird."

I grinned back at her. "That's alright. Quite quirky, but I like it. What's your name, pretty lady? You here for a drink?"

"Arabella. Arabella Hayes. Many people call me Bella, but you can call me whatever," she bit her lip before continuing. "And, yes, hand me a drink. Anything's good. Make me a cocktail or something."

"Arabella, that's nice. I won't give you a nickname, by the way. I'll just call you Arabella. Do you like Arctic Monkeys? They have a song with your name," I spoke, mentioning one of my favorite bands.

Arabella's eyes widened a bit. "Are you serious? They're great. I've liked their music for a while now–and not just because they have a song with my name."

I chuckled at her excited tone, while grabbing the things I'd need to make her cocktail. Watching as she hummed lowly to herself while fumbling with her fingers, I couldn't help but wonder about the green eyed girl sitting in front of me. She seemed witty and outgoing, someone really fun to talk to. So far, she was giving me a nice time.

"My name's Colton Grey, in case you're interested," I said, suddenly, breaking the short silence between us. Not many people were ordering for drinks, most of them busy on the dance floor, and I was glad for that. "So, why did you come here today? I don't think I've ever seen you around. Did one of your friends drag you here?"

"Well, Colton Grey, for your information, I was the one who dragged my friend to this club. She needed to get out tonight. It was difficult even for me to see her like the way she was," Arabella sighed.

I became curious. "What's wrong with your friend?"

She grimaced a bit. "Bad break-up."

"Oh, that sucks. How bad?"

"They were high school best friends and he was gay and she didn't know and he was using her as a cover up and she thinks he became gay because she traumatized him and she won't talk to him bad."

Baffled, I tried to gather the whole thing. Poor couple. "Wait, but was he really traumatized or was he already gay?"

"He was already gay," the brunette shook her head. "Honestly, I think everyone noticed, except her. She was really caught up in a fantasy about him. The worst part is that they lost a nice friendship."

"Yeah, but maybe she'll talk to him and they'll go back to normal sometime."

She shrugged, clearly not very comfortable about her friend's situation. I clicked my fingers as I suddenly remembered her cocktail. Finishing it as quick as possible, I placed it in front of her and watched as she grabbed the glass and took a small sip.

"Hmm, tastes nice," smirking, she got up from the stool she had been sitting, still holding the glass. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to go find my friend."

"But I do mind," I pouted. "You're nice to talk to."

Arabella chuckled. "Sorry, Colton. But I think you're quite the bartender, and this cocktail is nice. Maybe I'll come back another day to see what else you can do."

I smirked, feeling very enthusiastic about seeing her again. "So I should expect you here soon, right?"

"Maybe."

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hii, hope you liked it! feedback would be really nice.

i'm sorry if it seems boring, but give it a shot–it's only the first chapter.

what do you think about Colton and Arabella? and who here likes AM?

o/

thaaaanks, x