“What the f*ck’s that supposed to mean?”
“She—”
“Shut up, Maggs,” he said, although his tone wasn’t mean. “She can’t talk for herself, she’s got no place in my bar. So what’s the story, you belong to someone or not?”
There was a sudden flurry of activity between the fighters, a series of fast blows that I couldn’t quite follow in my peripheral vision. Based on the crowd’s reaction, things were getting interesting.
“You this slow takin’ drink orders?” Buck asked. “’Cause I don’t need a slow waitress.”
“Sorry,” I said, gathering myself. “Boris is my son’s uncle.”
“He give you that ring around your neck?”
“Um, yeah,” I said, grimacing. “And I live with him. Nothing between us, though. I just really need a job.”
Buck eyed me speculatively, then glanced at Maggs. She smirked and rolled
