London born Gigi Lastra is struggling to make ends meet let alone make it big in the music business and make a name for herself. Working two jobs to keep her life afloat and provide for her family she's haunted by her past. That's until she meets t...
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The bar is surrounded by body's; chatting, laughing and swaying along to the artist strumming his acoustic up on the stage at the front of the stifling room.
The atmosphere, now calmer but there's still an apparent buzz of energy circulating around the venue. I slide a tray of tequila shots across the bar to a girl who barely looks legal to sit in the front seat of her mum car let alone drink, she gets slightly offended when I ask to see her ID, after an apparent death stare she stumbles away from the bar with the tray tipping slightly in her hands, I watch her saunter through the crowd and back to the group of friends sat at their high-rise table near the stage, as I pull my phone out of the pocket of my apron secretly, whipping my head around to make sure I can't see Niki.
Niki hates seeing any mobiles out when we're working. Although for a woman who spends most of her life updating her socials its shocking when she calls them the 'devils distractors'. I glance my eyes over my lock screen and up to the top of my phone to read the time display. It had just gone one AM.
I sigh tipping my head towards the ceiling blowing the leftover oxygen out of my lungs. Tonight had been tedious and tiring, way too many drunk teenagers and handsy men, I'm ready to collapse into a ball on the floor. My feet hurt, I have a headache foreboding and my frustration is about to tip my level-headed scale. I pinch the bridge of my nose feeling Sammy wrap his arm around my waist and pull me into his side. I take in his familiar scent of lemon and marshmallow.
"One more hour babe. Just one more hour" he whispers into my ear.
I smile at him half-heartedly as he wanders back to the end of the bar where a brunette had just placed her satin black heels on the bar top. She was jumping up and down using the ledge of the bar for support, so she didn't topple back into the group of men behind her, very possibly admiring the view of her ass.
'Shots! Shots! Shots!" She screams in Sammy's face before placing a black AmEx card into his hand. He begins to fill her a tray as she continues screaming out the names of the liquor she wants in the shot glasses. I bite the inside of my cheek projecting all my willpower into my molars so I don't scream at her to calm the fuck down and throw water over her face. I'm more than ready for this nightmare to be over.
I walk back to the centre of the bar to serve two slightly older men who looked just as aloof with the amount of highly intoxicated teenagers that are straddling the bar stools around them. They were dressed in a slightly more modest attire than the rest of the crowd, consisting of evening jacket and normal black slacks. The one on the left gave me a sympathetic smile as I begin pulling on the tap of Fosters, filling their cold glasses and waiting for the small mass of bubbles to settle before sliding them across the bar and into their hands.
In the corner of my eye, I see Jacob, waddling up to a recently vacated stool, Sofia slung half across his torso with his arm clinging to the waistline of her red bodycon dress.
