A DEAL WITH THE CAPTAIN

7.UNBOTHERED

CHAPTER SEVEN

LISA’S POV

UNBOTHERED?

I'm so ready to clock out that I can practically taste freedom. More than anything, I'm looking forward to tomorrow because Sundays are usually my only free days. Although, calling them free is a bit generous. I spend most of the day doing laundry, cleaning my apartment, changing my sheets, and stocking the fridge with enough meal-prepped food to survive the week. My schedule is too demanding to come home every night and start cooking from scratch, especially when half the time I'm too exhausted to do anything beyond showering and collapsing into bed. So Sunday is less of a day off and more of a maintenance day. You know, a chance to put my life back together before Monday inevitably tears it apart again.

By ten p.m, Ray's has become ridiculously loud, as usual. The Saturday-night crowd seems to have multiplied rather than thin out, with the music pounding through the speakers and drunken students shouting over one another as they celebrate the hockey team's semifinal victory. Why are they even still celebrating that? Didn’t they do enough of that yesterday? Every table is occupied, the bar is three people deep, and the waiting staff look like they're one spilled drink away from walking out and never coming back. And can you blame them?

Luckily for Cassie and me, we get to leave early; actually in about an hour. Ray insists on it. His reasoning is that we're college students and shouldn't be spending every Saturday night working while everyone else is out having fun. According to him, we should be living it up while we're young. She he always lets us clock out by eleven p.m every Saturday night.

Cassie actually listens to him. Me? Not so much. I'd much rather go home, shower, crawl into bed, and attempt to watch a movie while convincing myself I'm going to stay awake until the ending. Nine times out of ten, I don't make it past the opening credits. There's something incredibly satisfying about being unconscious by midnight while everyone else is stumbling home at four in the morning. I'm wiping down the counter when Cassie's voice suddenly cuts through the noise.

"Oh-oh."

I glance up, "What?"

She doesn't answer immediately. Instead, she tilts her chin toward the far side of the pub, her expression suddenly suspicious, "Since when does Bill sit at Hunter's table?"

I follow her gaze before I can stop myself and sure enough, Bill is sitting at Hunter's table, right next to him. I stare for a second, trying to remember whether I've somehow missed something obvious. Hunter is surrounded by several of his teammates, and now Bill is apparently part of the group, laughing at something Darren says as though he's been sitting there all night. You know what’s hypocritical? He used to complain about Hunter when he was picked to be captain. Now what? They are buddies.

"When did he even get here?" Cassie asks.

I force myself to look away, "Well, they're all on the same hockey team."

"That's not what I mean."

"I know."

She studies me carefully. I pretend to be extremely interested in the stack of glasses in front of me. It isn't strange at all. So why does my stomach feel like I've just swallowed a handful of ice?

"Don't look," Cassie says quietly.

"I'm not."

"You are literally looking at him."

"I was looking at the table."

"Lisa."

"Fine."

I grab another glass and start polishing it, deliberately keeping my eyes down. But curiosity is a cruel thing. And so is the part of me that still wants to know what Bill is doing, who he's with, and whether he's looking at me. I hate that part of myself. I hate it even more when I realize that, despite my best efforts, I already know the answer to the last question. Because when I finally risk a glance across the room, Bill is already looking straight at me with that same intensity that always makes me forget the reason why we broke up.

I tried pretending that I’m unbothered. That looking at him doesn't make me feel the butterflies anymore. But deep down I know the truth. That he affects me more than I care to admit. I look away first, very much grateful when a customer beckoned for some shots.

Fucking Bill Turner.

I hate that Cassie is right. I have to do something about these left over feelings for Bill before I find myself forgiving that piece of s**t and taking him back. Or even worse, having these same feelings consume me completely. I need to get a grip on my life. That relationship already took too much from me. Why should I let it take more? But sleeping with Hunter is definately not on my list.