Present time.

I nod good-naturedly, but half-smirk and roll my eyes as I grab two menus, a pen, and my notebook paper. "Right. Such a good gay-dar, Greta. I'll go speak to them."

Greta smacks Danique's arm playfully, squealing in delight as they watch me leave the bar to go serve the new customers. Out on the balcony, a pair of guys are sitting across from each other, one dressed in a white button-up with jeans, and the other in a short sleeve Hawaiian-style button-up with cargo shorts. They both eye me up as I approach, the former with a small smile and the latter with a frown that makes me lose a little bravado. 

Unsettling face expression aside, he's fine as hell. His jawline is sharper than the butcherknife in the kitchen, and his hair and eyes alone could make me drunker than all the beers on tap. The white shirt clings to his bulging arms, and-- 

I refocus. I can't perve on my customers. Quickly breathing in and out, I look to the Hawaiian-shirted man and start my robotic waiter sequence.

"Welcome to the Golden Palace, where every hour is happy hour. Here are your menus--" I hand either of them a folded card, "---on one side is drinks, and the other has food. I'll come back in about five minutes to take your order."

Routinely, I smile, the Hawaiian-shirted man nodding before busying himself with the menu. The white-shirted guy simply nods. "Thanks," he says, his voice slightly nasally, but deeper than the ocean right outside our door. 

I feel something shudder down my back. Horniness? Anticipation? Lust? Ugh. Not again.

The feeling quickly fades as I turn on my heel to get back to the bar. Danique and Greta are both on their phones, the pair looking up as I reach them. 

"So, are they cute or what?" Greta says, her voice chipper as she glances at them. Danique rolls her eyes.

"You know, you have got to stop saying every random guy you see is cute. It was adorable and quirky at first, but now it's just annoying."

Greta dismisses her with a wave of her hand, making Danique smile and roll her eyes. "Don't say I didn't tell you so, then."

Pou reappears out of the kitchen, greeting me and the girls with a grin. "Thanks, Rith, for covering me. I got the bar. Can you go and glass? Thanks."

I nod, giving the girls a quick apologetic smile before setting off with my tray. Almost everyone's left now; the old ladies that were chatting up Pou had long gone, and most of the couples that were loitering with their half drinks had left. Only two couples were left; Hawaiian-shirt & White-Shirt and an old straight couple just a few tables down from them. 

White-Shirt's looking down at the beach again, ignoring what Hawaiian-shirt is saying. Then, almost imperceptibly, he turns his gaze towards the rest of the bar, his eyes meeting mine for a few fleeting moments before resettling on Hawaiian-shirt. I feel something spring down-under, and I quickly focus on glassing before something embarrassing happens.  

In a matter of moments, the boner fades, and I sigh in relief. God, I can't wait till I get home. I need to work off this sexual energy; maybe I'll write another chapter in my book. 

As I peel a few half-drunk wine glasses from an alcohol-soaked table, I overhear Hawaiian-shirt and white-shirt talking. Pretending to clear up a nearby table, I listen in, making sure it doesn't look like I'm eavesdropping. What? Glassing is boring as fuck. Half of bartender work is talking and listening to the customers; I swear I'm not being creepy. Just doin' my job.

"Look, we're gonna get a few drinks and then some nice curry to share, okay?" Hawaiian-shirt says. "You'll forget about Alyssa in no time, and soon you'll be back on track and in the right headspace."

Right, like alcohol's going to get you into the right headspace. Alcohol plus post-breakup-depression is a recipe for disaster. Has Hawaiian-shirt never read a shitty teen fiction novel before?

I lift up the tray and place the glasses next to the washing machine. Just as I'm about to leave and clear another table, the Hawaiian-shirt waves to me. Panicking for a second, I place the tray down and wander over to them, pulling out my pen and paper. 

"Hi! Are you two ready to order?"

Hawaiian-shirt nods enthusiastically. "Yep; can we please get the red beef curry? The super hot one? Thanks. That, with some rice and two pints of Heineken, please."

White-shirt lifts an eyebrow. "Two? Hugo, you're driving. You can't drink."

Purple shirt, who's name I've just learned is Hugo, smiles. Thank goodness; 'Hawaiian-shirt' was too long of a nickname. "I knew that. The two drinks were for you, dumbass."

Hugo looks to me, pretending to whisper to me. "Buddy here just went through a breakup. Wes needs as much alcohol as he can get."

I smirk. Wes. What a nice name; it suits him. 

Wes' face is as red as a beetroot. "Why would you tell a stranger that?"

Hugo goes to laugh but stops himself when he sees how irritated Wes is. He pipes down and says sorry, mumbling something that neither Wes or I hear. Wes looks at me. 

"Just one pint, thanks."

I scribble the order down and nod. The air feels awkward. Glad I'm not associated with either of them and can leave. "Thank you, your order will be done soon."

Hugo nods. Wes just mutters a 'thanks' before looking towards the murky beach again. 

Trudging towards the kitchen, I yell Order!, handing the paper to my mother. "More red curry? Damn, we have got to make it more expensive. We could make more money from it, I reckon."

Dad mutters something back to her in Khmer, making her face twist with rage. "What do you mean, I'm an idiot? I'm looking out for this restaurant!"

I sigh, knowing that this will result in another pointless argument. They dissolve into unintelligible Khmer bickering, my Pou casting them a withering glare. Groaning in frustration, he picks up the order and begins making the red curry, my parents still arguing. 

Swinging the kitchen doors open, I leave, a very confused Danique and Greta looking at me and toward the sounds of Asian screaming. 

"It sounds like a soap opera in there," Danique says, making Greta giggle. "What's going on?"

I shrug, grabbing a single pint glass from the pint glass fridge. "Just some restaurant politics, the usual. Do either of you want another drink?"

Greta shakes her head no, but Danique nods, tapping her chin. "Can you make me that cocktail you made me a few days ago? The one with pink gin?"

Fishing the bottle of pink gin out from the shelf, I nod, smirking. "One pint of Heineken, and a Pink Gin Spritz, coming right up."

#

It's not that I hate working here because I'm bad. I hate working here because I hate the people working in the back. I'm good at mixing drinks, I (sometimes) enjoy talking to customers, and on the odd occasion I like making food in the back, but what makes this job so insufferably painful are my relatives. They've been screaming for ten minutes straight, and neither haven't stopped at all to consider that the entire restaurant can hear them. As I serve Wes his pint and Danique her cocktail, Pou comes out with the bowl of red curry. He looks to me as he places the bowl next to the register, along with the two serves of steamed rice. 

"Here, can you take this to the customer? Your mum threw an egg at your dad and I've gotta clean it up before one of them slips on the whites and dies."

I smirk, picking up the food. "You should let them fall. Less headache."

Uncle smirks, shaking his head. "Tempting, but unless you want me or yourself to run this bar, I'd suggest otherwise."

He leaves me and the girls and heads back inside the kitchen, the swinging kitchen doors letting out muffles of louder and softer screams before coming to a close. Greta's happily sipping on water while Danique marvels at the taste of the pink cocktail, the little ice cubes and strawberry slices bobbing up and down in the liquid. I mutter a quick I'll be back before making my way towards the boys, curry and rice serves in both hands. 

I nearly trip over a chair when I see that Wes has unbuttoned half of his shirt. My knees buckle as my eyes trail over his exposed chest, the moonlight and the flourescent light from the restaurant catching his white skin in a way that makes it almost glow. Think of Robert Pattinson in Twilight, but much less twinkle and much more twink. No, wait, Wes looks much more like a Twunk than a Twink. 

Anyway, I digress.

I steel myself, and rebalance. Phew, that was close. If I actually tripped, it would have gone flying and splattered all over Wes. Thank goodness--

At that moment, a drunken man bumps into my back, making me lurch forward. Panicking, I stumble forward, quickly catching my momentum with the steps, but my foot gets snagged under another chair leg, making me throw the food in the air. I helplessly watch in apparent slow motion as the rice flies towards Wes, as well as the curry. 

My hands fly out in a vain attempt to stop it, but it obviously doesn't work. In a matter of seconds, Wes is coated head-to-waist in spicy-hot Cambodian cuisine. 

"Shit! Shit, I'm so sorry, it was an accident I swear--" I say, rushing towards a nearby table, grabbing their napkins and almost throwing them on the not-so-white-shirted man. Wes is standing up, wiping off chunks of beef and rice, Hugo trying to stifle a laugh next to him. The entire bar has gone silent. Pou and other family members peer out, some gobsmacked, some silently fuming with rage at my actions. 

I'm a fucking idiot. 

"Get off me!" Wes shouts, shoving me back, making me drop the tissues. His voice quivers, either filled with embarrassment, anger, or both. "This is the worst fucking restaurant! Hugo, let's go!"

Hugo stands up, ushering Wes out of the building's front doors, narrowly avoiding stepping on any falling pieces of food. Greta, Danique, Pou, and my parents are still staring at me, unsure of what to say or do. I drag my hand down my face, feeling the embarrassment of the accident creeping up my spine and stomach. The drunken idiot that bumped into me muttered a shameful apology before resuming his conversation with his wife. 

Pou shakes his head, disappointed probably, and fetches a dustpan and paper towels. Mum storms off to the kitchen, while dad walks closer to me, his face contorted with anger. 

"How dare you waste that food. You know how much they would have paid? Fifty fucking dollars, at least. But no. They're gone. They drank our beer and left. That's coming out of your pay." 

He didn't give me a second to respond; he simply went back into the kitchen, leaving me and uncle to clean it up. Uncle hands me the dustpan and towels with an apologetic smile. 

"Sorry that my brother in law is an asshole.  Go clean up the mess and I'll start getting the bar ready for close."

I turn to leave, but he catches my shoulder, spinning me back around. He apologetically smiles, looking toward the kitchen. 

"It wasn't your fault. Trust me, it'll blow over, promise."

==============

A/N: Woo, 1920 words! New record!

How did you all find this chapter? Love the drama, and god I really love writing this. Rith and Wes are so fun to write, and writing Hugo's, Danique's and Greta's interactions with either main character is equally as fun!

Let me know what you think. I also changed the name of the book, and the book cover. What are your thoughts? Let me know :D

With all my love,
J.S xx