Worth Any Risk

Ch. 1 Alone in the Kokomo Bar

*Jordan

Alone in the semi-crowded Kokomo bar on a Thursday evening is exactly my brand—if I was worried about having such a thing. I sigh, my glistening beer bubbles with foam at the top of the glass. A bit of golden froth slides down the side and I lick it surreptitiously.

Damn, I'm wild.

This is as much excitement as I can afford. Not literally, since I finally have enough money to survive plus get a few extras these days, but this is all my reputation as 'trying to be a very good girl' or 'role-model citizen exhibit one' can afford.

Sharon grins at me from behind the spotless counter, a rag on her shoulder. She's the reason I'm here. As my oldest and possibly my only friend, I spend as much time with her as possible. Even if girl-time happened to be happy-hour on opposite sides of the bar. A man at the other end beckons, but she holds up a finger for him to wait.

She can afford to make men wait for her—no reputation to keep or save, and more power to her. In fact, she has them down on her knees for her.

I tell myself I'm not jealous, and it's true. I would hate to have men knocking on my door—the saints above know I don't need the temptation or heartbreak of sending them away.

"First, I want you to drink some of that, Jordan," Sharon says, breaking through my brooding thought. I stare blankly until she motions at the beer. "Drink. Second, I want you to farkin' enjoy yourself a little, because you deserve it. You work hard and you do good things for those kids at the center. But, you'd better agree with me, occupational therapist is your daytime job, not your entire persona. Relax. Have fun."

"You have no idea if I work hard for my day-time kids. I might be a major slacker when I go into work and just blow bubbles and build houses with wooden blocks." Actually, a lot of my time is spent blowing bubbles and stacking blocks. The kids love it. But she's right, it's still hard work and I deserve to relax when I'm done for the week. I pick up my glass to make her happy and take a long drink. I give another sigh, but this one for amber liquid running down my throat. It tastes like weekends, summer days, and freedom all dressed up in one. I have to savor this kind of feeling when I can get it. It doesn't last.

"Hey, honey," the man calls, getting impatient. "What does a man have to do to get your attention?"

"Wave a fifty in the air and I'll come running," she shouts over her shoulder. He laughs and she strolls away to ask him what he would like.

I go back to contemplating my drink. I do deserve it. I am dedicated to helping those kids grow and learn and develop their skills at life—the sweet, wide-eyed at-risk babies and toddlers who come to the center. I help them as much as I can, teaching them to move their bodies correctly and interact with each other. I love them, too. My heart swells just thinking about them. I give them the love I can't give—

A rag smacks the table in front of me, knocking me back out of my thoughts.

Sharon puts a hand on her hip. "I know that look. If you want to be depressed and sad, why do you have to come in here and do it in front of me when I can't give you hugs and redo your horrible, messy, broken nails? Good grief. Get thee to a salon, Jord."

She takes my hands in hers, the only person I let touch me, and inspects my non-manicured fingernails. Her own are impeccable. Everything about her is put together and coordinated—hair, jeans, tucked-in sweater, nails, and big, eighties jewelry. As the only female bartender at Kokomo, she raked in the tips and got all the hours she wanted. She was also the owner's daughter, but that wasn't her fault. Just luck of the draw.

Luck was something I did not have. Not even a little bit.

I pull my hand free to take another long drink of beer, despite telling myself I have to make it last. I can't drink a second one, since I'm driving myself home alone, as usual.