"Special's not up yet," Ryan said to Avery, watching as Anton downed her vile concoction and demanded more. Ryan just shook his head and put the whole bottle on the counter for her. "Southern Fireballs at two-for-five tonight. Russian Reuben sandwiches for six bucks, just as bad as always."

Ryan gave Avery a wide berth as she moved across the bar. It was hard enough being a waitress at a place that [i]didn't[/i] serve alcohol. Her tips might be a little higher here, but sooner or later someone became a drunk asshole and the nights got interesting.

Speaking of assholes, he pulled his phone out as it vibrated in his pocket.

[i]Heading to studio. Call tmrw?[/i]

"Hey Avery, what do you buy someone when you need to say 'Sorry I've been an asshole lately?'"

But Ryan didn't stick around to hear the answer to that one. Anton had already plowed through the potato-based jet fuel he'd given her and was making for the ladies room.

"Oh fuckberries." Ryan slipped out from behind the bar, following in Anton's wake until she went into the ladies room. And he dared not cross that threshold.

"Anton," Ryan yelled, pounding the door. "Anton, I can hear you puking in there! Flush the damn toilet this time, all right?"