Worth The Fight

Chapter 4

As the man who was causing trouble disappears into the crowd, I feel weird feeling of relief and unease washing over me.

"Well, thank you for saving me... again," I say, turning to the bartender, who just placed my drink in front of me. Taking a sip of my Cosmo, I try to roll the tension from my shoulders.

"You're welcome." I hear him say, and I let out an involuntary chuckle.

"Right." I take another sip of my drink, skipping a glance at him when he makes himself comfortable by my side.

"I was just coming by to say hi and see how you're doing when I realized that little piece of shit was bothering you. I was just trying to help." He frowns, and I hold the urge to roll my eyes just like Marcus does every time he feels I'm babysitting him.

"Because you think I'm a damsel in distress after yesterday." I raise my eyebrows, and I see a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"Well, actually–"

"Which I might be if you think about it, right? I can't believe I freaking froze yesterday. I should've run, screamed, or simply pulled the damn bottle of pepper spray out of my bag... But what did I do instead? I froze!" I close my eyes, a wave of embarrassment washing over me.

"You were taken by surprise. It was not your fault. Those guys were looking for trouble and you were caught in the middle." He shrugs as if things were that simple.

From my experience, a woman is always found guilty in these kinds of situations.

Because no matter how much we try to rationalize, society will find a way to blame us. They'd say I was wearing the wrong clothes. That I was walking late all by myself. Or even that I chose to be a bartender, so I had to accept this shit.

I've been to this rodeo and back. I know the drill.

Don't drink. Don't flirt. Don't walk home alone. Don't wear a short skirt. Don't use headphones, don't talk on the phone...

People will always find a way to blame the victim instead of telling men not to attack us.

Shaking my head, I look down. "I know you were just trying to help, and I'm grateful you were there yesterday. It's just super frustrating to live in a world where men can't understand what the word no means."

"True. Though I have to say not all men are like that," he says. "Some are as disgusted by this culture of victim-blaming as you are."

"Right. You're clearly the exception." I snort, a smirk leaving my lips as my eyes meet his.

"You..." He clears his throat. "You never told me your name."

"Oh, yeah. I'm Andrea, but my friends call me Andie." I awkwardly offer my hand, and the moment his strong, calloused hand touches mine, a jolt of electricity courses through my body, catching me off-guard.

"I'm Tyler. Nice to officially meet you, Andie. Can I buy you another drink?" His gaze falls to my now empty glass, as his hands linger a second too long clasped with mine.

Raising my hand to call the bartender's attention, I murmur, "I should be the one buying you a drink after yesterday... I owe you one after all."

"Sure." He lets out a chuckle, and I can't help the smile that leaves my face.

"Another Cosmo, please," I say when I catch the bartender's eyes.

"Sure thing." He nods, turning to Tyler. "Nice to see you around these parts, man. Can I get you anything?" he asks.

"Monkey Shoulders on the rocks, please," he orders, and my curiosity sparks.

Seeing all sorts of people at work daily, you learn a thing or two about what a customer's drink might say about someone. Of course, it's not always accurate, but you need to know what to expect and to be alert when a group of frat boys comes ordering shots after shots of vodka.