Only a few men were sitting at the bar, none of them Josh. I sat on the middle stool, watching a new bartender washing a glass with a white cloth. He walked over to me, his pecs flexing under his tight black V-neck. His eyebrows were perfectly manicured, so when he leaned over, pretending to flirt, I didn’t take him seriously.
“You’re new,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Avery.”
He smiled. “Oh, you’re Avery. Happy birthday.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Thanks.”
“Jesse,” he said.
I placed a twenty-dollar bill flat on the counter. “Here’s your tip. I just want a Diet Coke.”
“Keep ’em coming?” he said with a smirk.
“Just the Coke, please. Oh, and …” My words trailed off when I noticed my favorite soft hoodie hanging from a hook behind the bar. At first, I sat up taller and looked around with a ridiculous smile, but it disappeared when I saw Michaels stumble out of the men’s bathroom, her lipstick smeared, her hair disheveled, tugging at her slutty skirt. She glanced around, wiping the sides of her mouth with the back of her hand.
I focused on the hoodie and then Michaels as my stomach twisted. “He wouldn’t,” I mumbled under my breath. The door opened again, and I froze. “Oh, fuck.” My mouth fell open. Relief and then disgust washed over me in waves.
Dr. Rosenberg tried to seem nonchalant as he made his way across the bar, his cheeks flushed and his fly down.
“Avery,” he said, stumbling to a stop. He smelled like whiskey and bad choices. “I didn’t think you came here anymore.”
“Looking for Josh.” I leaned away from him a tiny bit, unable to hide my revulsion. I looked away, hoping Josh would walk in at any moment and save me. He had been right about Dr. Rosenberg all along. Just because the doctor had a family didn’t automatically make him a good man. Josh didn’t try to hide his conquests, and the whole of St. Ann’s thought he was a player, an asshole. The real snake was the beautiful doctor with the wedding ring and the house in Alapocas.
“Avery?”
“What?” I snapped.
Dr. Rosenberg had the gall to act surprised. “Is something wrong?”
I looked down at his open fly, and then away. “No.”
“If you’re looking for Josh, he’s upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
“With Ginger. He’s drunk.” He eyed the lights hanging from the ceiling. “Drunk doesn’t adequately describe his state, actually. I tried to warn you about him.”
“Why would he be upstairs with Ginger?” He was a liar, and liars lie. I had already made one mistake by believing him. I wasn’t about to fall for it again.
He shrugged. “She lives above the bar.”
“Ugh. You would know. Zip up your pants and go home to your wife.”
Dr. Rosenberg stiffened and then looked down, quickly pulling up his zipper and then making a beeline for the door.
Jesse used his soda gun to fill my glass, pretending he hadn’t overheard our conversation.
“Where’s Ginger?” I asked.
“Upstairs,” Jesse said.
I nodded, wondering if I really wanted to ask my next question. “Is she alone?”
“Tell her, Jessepoo,” Michaels said, crawling onto the stool next to me.
I recoiled and then groaned in frustration. “For fuck’s sake, can this day get any worse?”
“Josh is up there. I was trying to take him home, but he wasn’t having it,” she said with no shame, slurring her words.
I snarled my lip, leaning back so she couldn’t breathe in my face.
“Ask him,” Michaels said, her drunken eyes slowly looking to the bartender.
Jesse shook his head. “Don’t put me in the middle. I need this job.”
I placed both palms on the bar, pressing my lips together in a hard line. “Jesse. You would want to know if you were me, wouldn’t you?”
Jesse looked up at me from under his long lashes and then shrugged one shoulder in concession.
“Is he up there with her?” I demanded.
Jesse wiped the counter with a rag in a large circle, trying to keep the guilty look off his face. That was all the answer I needed to know. I nodded once and then stood, my knees feeling like they may buckle under the weight of his silent confession.
“Don’t take it personal, honey,” Michaels said. “If it makes you feel better, he wasn’t interested in anyone until he could barely walk.”
Jesse reached across the bar. “He wasn’t interested in anyone at all. He asked for you at least a dozen times the first twenty minutes of my shift. I think he’s probably up there passed out. No man can get it up when he’s that wasted. If he’s not unconscious, he’s vomiting. Either way, he’s not doing what you think he’s doing.”
My head fell. “So, what? I go home and hope he’s not fucking her brains out?”
“If I were you,” Michaels said, swaying on her stool.
“Careful,” Jess said, pointing at her.
She waved him away. “If I were you, I’d go up there. But it’s the hair,” she said, pointing at the orange frizz piled on her head. “We do crazy shit like that.”
“If I were you, I’d close my legs for five minutes and invest in a decent bra,” I mumbled under my breath.
I left poor Jesse with Michaels and then passed the bar, pulling on a wide brown door.
“That’s storage,” Jesse said. He gestured to a gray door in the back next to the jukebox, painted to blend in with the wall. “That’s hers. Knock, please, and don’t cause a scene.”