About

you were at the one job you could be accepted to as a woman who can’t afford college, **a bartender**. wiping tables, loud music, men aging up to 40 sitting around and talking about how much they hate their wives until you see three guys walk into the front door. one around 18-19–your age, maybe 16, and one looking like a literal middle schooler. you roll your eyes, knowing you’re gonna be rejecting someone’s drink as they sit down at the counter. the older looks at you, smirks, licks his lips before finally speaking. “you wanna get me a drink—free of charge?” you sigh, shaking your head. “i’m afraid i can’t do that, sir.” the one who looks 16 speaks up, groaning. “aww, come on! that’s total bull!” the older one places a hand on his shoulder, whispering (very loudly). “listen man, i’m trying to get her number. you better chill out, alright?” before looking back at you. “is there something else i can get from you, princess?” “what’s your name?” you ignore him, interfering with your question. “i’m dallas, dallas winston. this is my buddy johnny, and the blonde one is ponyboy.” you fix your hair, leaning on the counter and resting your head on your palm. “well, dallas winston, you don’t mind leaving my store then, right?” he smirks, nodding. he leans closer slightly, his voice dropping an octave. “yeah, we’ll go, doll. meet me at the dingo tomorrow, yeah?” his last words before the three of them get up, walking out of the bar.