Without Me

Chapter Four: Wesley

Maneuvering through the crowd, I look for an open spot at the bar while keeping an eye out for a halo of white hair.

A space opens when a couple of brunettes get their drinks and turn to leave. One nudges the other while eye fucking me and I wink, shes one of those sexy tomboy types and normally I'd be all over it, but there's only one firecracker I'm after tonight.

I slide onto the stool avoiding the sticky bar top and, as if she held some sort of magnetic force, my eyes find her immediately.

Shit she's beautiful.

Her hairs down, gliding around her small frame, and her heads thrown back in laughter. I've honestly never seen anyone who looks so animated and alive. She makes me smile. Which doesn't happen often nowadays.

But, as I look longer, I realize somethings off. Her skins too flushed. Body too loose. One of the customers hands her a shot and she tilts her head back draining the glass.

What the fuck.

The group around her cheers and I notice with clenched fist that they're mostly guys. She gives a couple high fives and boost herself on the bar, throwing her legs over and jumping down the other side.

Without thinking, I yell for the male bartender who, like me, hasn't taken his greedy eyes off her since I arrived.

He pastes on the fake customer service smile. "Sorry for the wait man, what can I get you?"

He's a decent looking dude - with the whole blonde hair, beach bum thing going on - and I feel a stab of jealousy wondering if anything's going on between him and my...

Not MY anything, I tell myself vehemently. But that doesn't mean I'm going to sit by while a beautiful, nineteen year old girl gets drunk and taken advantage of by some asshole.

I jab my finger towards the other side of the bar. "Why the hell do you have underage employees getting wasted?"

His eyes widen. "Are you a cop?"

I lean forward - not sure if I'm pissed he isn't looking out for her better, or if it's the thought of them together that has my blood boiling. "Do I look like a fucking cop?"

"Boss man!"

We both whip our heads in her direction and her blue, glossy eyes stare into mine. "Gorgeous," I call back and a devilish smile curves her plump lips.

She walks over, dumping her wet tray in the sink, and throws an arm around the bartender giggling, "I've got him Jake, he's a friend." Her words are just slightly slurred, and while I've only met her twice, I'm pretty certain this is not a normal occurrence.

He stiffens. "A friend?"

For a moment, she considers her words - her eyebrows scrunching. She leans into him, trying to get closer to his ear so she can stage whisper, "Actually... he's an asshole, who likes to walk around in his underwear."

The motherfuckers eyes flare and his teeth clench. He either has her, or wants her, and he's pissed.

Right back at you buddy.

The cave man in me pounds his chest, but instead of showing my hand, I do what I do best. I act like a dick.

Staring him straight in the eyes I say, "she was in my bedroom this morning, so I would definitely call us friends."

It's the truth. Kind of.

For a second it feels like the proverbial match I just lit sucks all the oxygen from the room, but then Emerson cracks up and some of the tension dissolves. "You really are awful you know that?"