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Well maybe I'm just thinking that the rooms are all on fire
Everytime that you walk in the room
Well there is magic all around you, if I do say so myself

**

Saturdays. Most people love Saturdays right?

I hate Saturdays.

When you own a bar, it's that one particular night of the week that's the busiest and brings out the biggest idiots,  there's no weekends off when you're running a bar, I knew that getting into this but I wish this particular day of the week would die in a fire.

I wish I could say this bar was my dream, that it's my baby and it means the world to me - but it's not.

I never thought I'd go into the family business, owning bars and pubs, I promised myself I never would, but sometimes that's just how life works out, just stick to what you know, we can't always get what we want.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me" I grumble, still trying to scrub this nuclear grade gelatinous substance stuck to the countertop. I have absolutely no idea what it is, and frankly I'd like to keep it that way.

This is exactly why I need help, this should have been cleaned up last night when we closed before it had the chance to solidify into this gooey cement crusted on the bar like it pays rent here.

I can't seem to find anyone reliable, I tried giving Emma a chance and that lasted a week before she started a fire in the office - don't ask me how, I still have no idea.

Dylan was meant to be the one helping me here, like she promised, but just like with everything else, what she needs comes first. Everything with her comes first.

Throwing the towel down, I fold my arms on the bar leaning down to bury my face in them. "I shouldn't think like that" I mumble to myself.

Dylan is working on her career, it means everything to her, I need to be supportive, I can't be selfish.

It's what you do when you love someone.

You love her, I remind myself.

I just wish I could feel like I was important to her for once, I wish I could mean as much to her as everything else in her life seems to.

Startling me out of my thoughts there's that deep British voice again "You okay love?"

I scream, jumping nearly ten feet off the ground, clutching my hand to my heart and crying out "Jesus fucking christ! You scared the crap out of me!"

I lean against the bar, still clutching my chest trying to calm my heavy breathing from having the soul scared out of my body.

I don't have the bladder control for this.

I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to settle my nerves "What are you? Some kind of creeping Ninja? I nearly had a god damn heart attack"  I rant

When I lift my eyes up to him, he's standing on  the other side of the bar in front of me, his hand clasped over his mouth to hold in the laugh he wants to let out.

I do have to hand it to Emma, she has good taste. Even my gay ass can appreciate how handsome he is, he somehow manages even in a simple black t-shirt and ripped jeans to look effortlessly serene.

Now that's just unfair.

Jerk.

Why the hell am I thinking about how attractive he is? I literally nearly just shit my pants - this is not the time to be thinking about that.

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