I blowdry my hair. The hot air is the most pleasant thing I felt during these two days.

The image of my blonde roots making a comeback while the rest of my hair is dyed black disgusts me. I look like a mutated zebra.

After beating my face with a beauty blender for minutes I finally move on to drawing dramatic wings on my eyes - using a siamese cat as a reference picture. Slowly but surely I start gaining some confidence. I haven't looked this good in ages.

One more thing I need to do before going out is to find the bottle of my favorite perfume in one of the bags or suitcases. I have zero idea where I put it, but I have a faint memory of packing it. That task alone takes me half an hour, so it's not a surprise that by the time I'm ready to leave, the holy trinity that's living in my house rent-free finally comes back.

Because George apparently had his keys, I didn't hear how they entered the house. I get to find out about it the hard way, by opening the door of my room and bumping into the one and only asshole who was trying to enter my room.

My heels are too high for me to be able to keep my balance, but luckily I feel my body falling back and not towards him. I'd much rather break a few ass bones than fall on an asshole.

I had already accepted my fate of falling on my ass, but surprisingly he was nice enough to grab me by my wrist and pull me back in the most aggressive, non-romantic way possible. His grip is so rough that I think falling would be less painful. And he knows it too, even though his face is not showing any emotion, I'm sure he's trying to let go of his grudge with physical force.

I roll my eyes as he looks at my face and frees my wrist in a way that made it look like he was disgusted to touch me. Even with all that, I take my time to thank him and give him a smile, which makes him sigh - or even groan in annoyance. He doesn't even say a word to acknowledge any of what just happened. Just walks past me as if I don't exist. And I do the same, going to the living room as if he doesn't exist.

I didn't even notice Nick on the couch before he spoke.

"Holy fuck, you look good," his words were much needed.

"Thank you," I smile, "would you give me a tip if I were to sell you a drink?"

Nick's a bit confused by my question. I'm not sure if his brain processes it correctly, but his answer is to die for.

"I'd give you more than just a tip."

I can't choose between being grossed out or laughing, but that was kind of clever and funny and I should give him credit for it.

"That'll do," I laugh and realize that he's still confused. He doesn't ask where I'm going though, and I don't bother to explain. If I tell him that I'm going to a bar for a job interview, he'll probably ask for the name of the bar or the age of it. As far as I could see throughout these hours we shared together, that's his limit.

I'm confused that George is nowhere to be seen, but I do hear the shower running so that explains it I guess. I wonder if he's showering with cold water too.

Anyways, as much as I wanted George to see me (cause I'm finally hot), I don't want to wait. So I leave the house, definitely dressed to impress, yet not dressed to protect my organs from the cold. We only die once, so I better look good while doing so.

The flashbacks of sweaty drunk men resurface as I enter the bar and my senses get overwhelmed by the smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol. It's still early in the morning, but people are getting wasted already. More people equals more money, so I'm not complaining.

I don't really know where to go, so I approach one of the bartenders. And suddenly the three clients that are waiting for her to make them a drink are looking at me. The bartender, an attractive red-haired girl, doesn't even acknowledge my presence. She gets straight to the business.

"ID?" She asks, shaking a drink and looking unimpressed.

"No," I answer, realize that was an idiotic answer, and continue, "I'm here for the job."

She finally makes proper eye contact and stops shaking the goddamn drink which is probably already close to turning into a slushy.

"What job?" She raises her pierced eyebrow.

"Your job."

I hope it didn't come out as me saying that I want to steal her job. Judging by her facial expression, I think it did.

"I don't work here," she gives me something close to an eyeroll, "Mommm~ someone's here for the job!"

I awkwardly sit with the company of drunk men grinning at me, waiting for "mom" to finally show up. And when she does eventually show up, I agree with this girl. She's indeed a mommy.

The woman inspects all four of us - the three drunk guys and me. When finally her eyes land on me, she narrows them.

"You're here for the job?" Her voice is full of disbelief.

I nod, nervously chewing on my bottom lip and probably eating half of my lipstick.

"Stand up for me real quick," she instructs and I obey.

Looking at me up and down, her next question seems more professional than everything that just happened.

"Have you worked as a bartender before?"

"Yeah, on and off for about two years," I nod, "in Orlando."

Maybe she's impressed by the fact that I dealt with drunk Floridians for two years and I'm still alive, or they're desperately looking for employees. Either way, after she asks for my age, name, and other basic stuff, I'm suddenly taken to a room to sign a contract.

The bar's not even half bad, it's nicely decorated, I see that it has high-quality alcohol on the shelves, and the equipment is also pretty impressive.

I don't see what's the catch. So when I leave the room, I look at the redhead for answers.

"She wanted a female bartender specifically," she smirks, "we're better for the business than our male workers," she lowers her voice for the last part, even though I don't think the other bartenders were close enough to hear.

I hope she didn't mean that in a creepy way, though. I'm already risking a lot signing these papers and agreeing to work nightshift cause it pays better.