Bite Me Tender: A Monster Romantic Comedy by Zora Black

Author:Zora Black [Black, Zora]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-05-25T16:00:00+00:00

17

CHRIS

I absorb Sarah’s words, but I can’t dwell on them. I have so many conflicting emotions warring inside me right now I don’t even know what I’d say. My love for my son is flooding through me, making my chest hurt. I never knew I was capable of so much love.

We reach the bar, and I can hear loud laughter and thumping sounds going on inside. I hurry up to the doors, expecting to find the place in total chaos.

To my surprise, there is a large crowd around the bar. I know Mark is a good bartender, but he generally just pours drinks quietly and gets on with things. The only reason for a crowd like that to pile up is if the drinks aren’t getting out quick enough.

But no one is complaining. Everyone is laughing. Is there a comedy show I wasn’t aware of? As I approach, I pray to all the hell gods that Mr. Murphy isn’t up to something dastardly.

“Okay, I’m here!” I announce, pausing at the end of the bar. I’ve almost forgotten about Sarah. I know I’ve left her behind in my hurry to check out the bar, and I’ve left her hanging by not answering her question. I don’t feel that badly about it, it’s not like she’s been completely open with me.

To my surprise, Mark is leaning on the counter, just watching the crowd. I come through into the bar section and give him a shove. “What’s the deal, here?”

“Just watch the master work,” Mark says, shaking his head.

He gestures towards the center of the bar and that’s when I see Fred. “Oh, sweet holy mother of mercy,” I mutter. “How did this happen?”

“Just watch,” Mark says. His expression is mixed, amusement and disbelief painted across his features.

“Pour me a whisky!” an older man yells. The crowd laughs.

“You want it fancy?” asks Fred. The crowd roars their approval.

Fred picks up the bottle and lifts it high. He’s obviously going for the total showboat, toss and pour. For all of five seconds, I think he’s going to pull it off without a hitch.

Then, one of his fingers buckles. Fred gasps in shock as the tip of another finger actually falls off. The bottle spins out of his hands and shatters across the bar in a spectacle of glass flecks and amber droplets.

“My good booze,” I moan.

“I know,” Mark says. “That’s like the fourth bottle.”

“What the hell?” I snap. “Why aren’t you putting a stop to this?”

“I tried, boss. I got shouted out of the bar. The patrons don’t want me.”

Groaning, I watch as Fred tries again to pour the whiskey. This time he does it very slowly and carefully, finally handing the drink to the patron. Fred then pulls out some duct tape, hunts down the part of his finger that fell off and starts sticking it back on.

“You still pouring, old mate?” someone yells.

“Yes, yes,” Fred confirms. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to tape your own finger back together?”

“He is literally falling apart,” I mutter.

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