Connor
"Orange juice, please," I said.
The music in the pub picked up again like someone hit play. The DJ went back to it. Conversations restarted in pieces, everyone pretending they hadn't just watched me order juice at a bar on a Friday night.
It wasn't like I couldn't feel their eyes on me, though. I knew they'd clocked me. Sizing me up. Deciding if I was really Connor, back from Scotland, surprisingly sober, in a pub. But no one said anything.
They had better sense.
Aaron's guards that kept a watchful eye over Gabe made sure of that. Two of them at the end of the bar. Black suits. No pints. Eyes sweeping the room like it was a job interview and everyone was failing. They weren't subtle about it. And they didn't need to be.
"Want milk and cookies with that?" The barman laughed, actually laughing, as he turned to grab my juice. He almost doubled over on his way to the fridge.
I rolled my eyes at his back and stared at the small bowl of peanuts between us instead.
