Ride or Cry

The⁠ First Pour Hurts the Mos‌t

RIDE OR CRY

"You just poured beer on a customer and he tipped you," Jesse said, staring at the crumpled bill in Maya's hand like it was a holy relic. "That's either talent or witchcraft. I haven't decided which yet. I'm leaning toward witchcraft, honestly. No normal person gets tipped for assaulting someone with alcohol. That's not how the universe works. That's like getting a promotion after setting the office on fire. That's like winning the lottery after losing your wallet."

Maya stared at the five-dollar bill like it was a mirage in the desert. "He tipped me? I soaked his hat. I practically baptized him in cheap beer. I committed a crime against that man's headwear and he rewarded me for it. That's not normal. That's not how the world works. That's like getting a promotion after setting the office on fire."

"Earl's been coming here for twenty years. He's seen worse." Jesse leaned against the counter, grinning like a man who'd just witnessed his favorite show. "You should have seen the time Tank accidentally set a customer's jacket on fire. Now that was a show. Flames everywhere. The guy screaming like a banshee. Tank just standing there like, 'Oops.' Like he'd accidentally spilled a drink instead of committing arson. Like it was just another Tuesday."

"Set a customer on fire?"

"Accidentally. Mostly. The guy was being an asshole, so Tank was probably a little less careful than he could have been." He shrugged, completely unbothered by the casual admission of near-murder. "Point is, you survived your first pour. That's more than most people can say. Most people run away crying after their first shift. They take one look at the crowd and bolt. You just stood there and took it like a champ."

"I survived. Barely."

"Surviving is the first step to thriving." He patted her shoulder with mock solemnity, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Now get ready. The night crowd's about to roll in. And they're a lot less forgiving than Earl. They'll eat you alive if you show weakness. They can smell fear like sharks smell blood. It's like a sixth sense for them."

---

The night crowd was exactly as terrifying as Maya had feared.

By eight o'clock, the bar was packed. Truckers, bikers, locals, and a few people who looked like they'd wandered in by accident and decided to stay for the chaos. The jukebox was blaring something loud and twangy, some song about a woman leaving and a dog dying and a truck breaking down and the singer's heart shattering into a million pieces. The pool table was surrounded by a crowd of men who looked like they'd rather fight than play, their eyes hard and their hands ready. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of spilled beer and testosterone and something that might have been violence waiting to happen.

Maya was behind the counter, moving as fast as she could. Pours. Orders. Cash. Repeat. Her feet ached. Her arms were tired. Her smile was held together by sheer willpower and the knowledge that quitting wasn't an option. She'd survived worse. She'd survived Derek. She'd survived the betrayal. She'd survived the drive across the country with nothing but hope and a dying car. She could survive a bar full of drunk bikers. She could survive anything.

"You're doing good," Knox said, appearing beside her like a ghost. He was so close she could feel the heat of his body, could smell the leather and cedar that seemed to cling to him like a second skin. His voice was low, meant only for her, a private intimacy in the chaos. "Keep it up."

"I'm doing okay," she corrected, not looking up from the glass she was filling. Her hands were steady, even if her heart wasn't.

"You're doing good." His hand brushed her lower back, and she felt it like a brand. A jolt of electricity that shot straight to her core, making her breath catch. "Keep it up."

She didn't have time to respond. Another customer was calling for a beer, and she was already reaching for the tap. But she could still feel the ghost of his touch on her skin, burning through the fabric of her shirt, lingering like a promise. Like a warning. Like a claim.

---

By midnight, Maya was running on fumes. The crowd had thinned out, but there were still enough people to keep her busy. Her feet were screaming. Her back was aching. Her smile was long gone, replaced by a grimace of exhaustion. She was wiping down the counter, her arms heavy, when a woman slid onto a stool. Blonde. Sharp. Dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with violence. She was wearing too much eyeliner and a smile that said trouble with a capital T.

"You're new," the woman said, her eyes scanning Maya like she was assessing a competitor. Cataloging her weaknesses. Filing them away for later use.

"So I've been told."

"I'm Lacey." She leaned forward, her smile sharp as a blade. "How long have you known Knox?"

Maya's stomach tightened. "About a day."

"And he's already got you behind the bar?" Lacey's smile didn't waver, but her eyes were cold. "Interesting."

"What's interesting about it?"

"Nothing." Lacey shrugged, but her eyes were hard as flint. "I just find it funny. He's usually so picky about who he lets in. Must be nice to be special."

"Maybe I am special."

"Maybe you are." Lacey's eyes flicked to Knox, who was at the other end of the bar, talking to Tank. "Or maybe you're just another stray he's collected. Another broken thing he thinks he can fix. Another project to keep him busy."

"I'm not a stray."

"Aren't you?" Lacey slid off the stool, her heels clicking on the floor like a countdown. "Watch your back, new girl. This town eats people like you for breakfast."

She walked away, leaving Maya staring after her, her heart pounding.

"She's just jealous," Jesse said, appearing beside her like he had a sixth sense for drama. "She's been trying to get Knox's attention for two years. He's not interested. Trust me, I've seen him shut her down more times than I can count. It's almost sad, really. Almost."

"How do you know?"

"Because he's never put his hand on her back." He grinned, nose ring glinting in the dim light. "You're special. Remember that."

Maya didn't feel special. She felt exhausted, confused, and a little bit terrified. But she also felt something else. Something that felt a lot like hope. And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

End of Chapter 5