The Wild One by Gemma Burgess Page B

twenty-one. My only work experience is as a preschool assistant, but how can bartending be any harder than running around after small children?”
    Bartending is much harder than looking after small children.
    I discover that pretty fast.
    But Joe helps me out. He shows me where the most frequently ordered drinks are, shows me how to work the register—though I screw that up more often than not—and where to stash my tips.
    After an hour, I decide working in a bar is awesome. It’s like a night out, without the stressful stuff. I get all the fun—Madeleine’s band, Pia and Angie riffing each other, Julia high-fiving anything with a pulse—but I don’t have to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing. In fact, I’m having more fun than I have on a night out, maybe ever.
    When Spector finishes its first set and takes a break, Pia, Angie, and Julia are still on their barstools, acting like they own the place, holding court with some too-cool bearded Brooklynites.
    â€œWhat is with the beards, you guys?” Angie is saying. “Are you aware that you all look like extras in a movie about the Gold Rush? I can’t tell you apart with those things.”
    â€œWhat about the man bun? Do you secretly want to be a ballerina?” asks Pia. “And what’s with all the plaid and the trapper hat? What do you call that, lumbersexual?”
    â€œMaybe they symbolize that you don’t work for ‘the man’,” says Angie, putting bunny ears around “the man.” “Wow, you’re all such independent thinkers. Except that you’re identical.”
    â€œHarsh,” mutters the guy with a beard and a man bun.
    â€œWay harsh,” agrees his buddy in the plaid and the trapper hat.
    â€œI work for the man,” says Julia, holding her drink up. “And I don’t give a rat’s ass—oops! Dropped my purse! Oh, thank you—” Julia meets eyes with a tall, cute, very clean-shaven guy in a suit who just picked up her purse. “Another corporate whore!” Jules holds her hand up. “Nice suit! What the hell are you doing in Brooklyn? Fivies!”
    â€œDouble fivies!” he replies, holding both hands up for a double high five.
    â€œHey!” Angie turns to Man Bun. “Being in touch with your feminine side doesn’t mean touching my ass. Get lost.”
    Joe glances up from his frantic lime chopping. “Everything okay? That guy bothering you?”
    â€œEverything is fine, Irish,” says Angie, turning away from him just as the crowd clears a path for Madeleine to get to the bar. Funny, she has a little celebrity glow even off the stage. People are staring at her, and a couple of guys move in closer, trying to stand next to her. Wow. Madeleine has groupies.
    â€œCan I get a Diet Coke, please, Joe?” Madeleine asks. “Coco? You’re working here now?”
    â€œYes indeedy,” I say.
    â€œShe’s the best emergency bartender ever,” says Joe. “So, Coco. You want to work here for real?”
    â€œYes.” My voice squeaks. Goddamnit.
    Joe frowns. “You sure you’re up to it? The hours are long, the work is hard, and the patrons are scum.” He grins at the crowd behind the bar, so charmingly that even calling them “scum” sounds like a compliment. “You need to be fearless. Are you fearless, Coco?”
    I open my mouth to say yes, but then I look over at the front door of the bar and suddenly lose my voice.
    Because Ethan, my boyfriend Ethan, my cheating boyfriend Ethan, has finally arrived.
    He is smiling congenially in his smug little way, green rucksack on his back, tan windbreaker zipped up tight to the neck, hair fluffy as ever. As though nothing is wrong. As though he didn’t cheat on me less than a week ago.
    Forgetting to reply to Joe, I spin 180 degrees so my back is to the bar, and try to catch my breath. All week, while I’ve been