“I hear you, Bandita, but you know my two night rule. I don’t know how you can spend months with a guy then dump him like that.”

I’m quickly preparing all the drink orders behind the bar. I’m trying to work fast because we have some pissed off customers who’ve been waiting while I was having my backroom tryst. Anna is leaning on the bar, waiting for the orders to be ready. It’s nice that we get to work together like this because sometimes it’s the only chance we have to talk. Unless Mickey’s around and then we keep the girl talk to a minimum.

I turn around and place all of the drinks on Anna’s tray. “You know I only dump them when they get attached. I don’t do attachment.”

Anna throws back her head, laughing. “Phew, I thought you were ready to settle down. I would be lost without you, my friend.”

I wink. “Come on, Anna. I’m only twenty-four years old. I have plenty of time to get soft, if I ever will.” I scoot her away with my hand. If she doesn’t get those drinks to the table soon, our tips tonight will be crap.

Anna walks away from the bar, holding her drink tray with one hand. She’s wearing a pair of tight skinny jeans and the same boob-bearing Mickey’s tank top that I’ve got on. She turns around, her long dark hair flying across her lightly tanned shoulder. “One day, someone is going to knock your socks off, then you’re going to fall hard.” She grins at me and walks away.

She’s probably right, and I’m not going to lie. That thought has crossed my mind, and it terrifies the living daylights out of me. But you would never get me to admit that out loud.

“Don’t be ridiculous! I’m not the falling type. I’ve fallen too much in my life already, and I’ve learned how to stay on track. It works for me.”

I hope that Anna has heard my last words. I will never fall for anyone again. The problem is she got too far away and didn’t hear a thing I said. I feel the need to repeat myself so I do. When Anna walks back up to the bar, I tell her straight up. “You know I’m not the falling type so get any ideas of that ever happening out of your head.”

She nods, but I can tell she doesn’t believe a word. I don’t know if I believe me.

“‘Kay,‘kay, fine. But you realize that screwing guys in the backroom of a bar is just messed up?”

The truth is I don’t even know what’s gotten into her tonight. She screws a different guy every two nights. With irritation scratching my throat, I say, “Whatever. So I don’t like to show guys where I live. It’s my private space, and I like to keep it that way.” Anna waves me off, then walks over to the tables to serve more drinks. She obviously senses my sensitivity to the issue and knows it’s better to be silent sometimes.

Mickey’s is right next to the University of Toronto, where I go to school. A lot of students hang out here in the evenings and start their alcohol-infused nights by picking up their girl or guy of choice. It’s not your typical fancy bar that you’d find downtown. It’s more on the rustic side, made completely out of wood. There are a lot of pool tables at the back, beer signs lit with neon lights hang everywhere, and a ton of tables are scattered around where patrons order some of Mickey’s famous dishes, like a bacon double cheeseburger or curly fries. There’s also a stage, and about once a week Mickey brings in different talent to play live music, mostly rock. Mickey’s is popular, jam-packed every night. Which is good because I need to pay off my student loans.

Anna is a sister to me in every sense of the word. We’ve spent the last seven years attached at the hip. We both wanted to apply for law school, so we were in a lot of the same classes. We got to talking and realized we had a lot in common. I had told Anna about my difficult relationship with my mother, and being my roomie, she quickly saw the scars on my back from the physical abuse my mom dished out during her drunken rages.

Of course having an alcoholic mom isn’t something I advertise. It’s not often I think about those awful days, but when I do, I’m filled with the will to survive in the best way I can. What I do at Mickey’s helps me push my memories to the backroom of my mind.Dylan is harder to stop thinking about. We had been neighbors since birth. Our mothers were pregnant at the same time and bonded instantly. We were put into pre-school and grade school together and were good friends. Once my parents divorced, our parents no longer hung around each other. I became quiet and withdrawn at school. Being one of the most popular boys, Dylan had a lot of friends, and girlfriends. We lived very different lives. I need to bury his memory with the rest of my bad ones.

Back home it was hard to tell my story. University was different; a weight had been lifted. Anna got it because she’d had a difficult childhood, too. She was adopted by a couple, but when she was four years old, they’d divorced. Her father had no interest in her from day one and her mother was mentally ill. She spent most of her life in and out of foster care while her adoptive mother was in and out of mental institutions. With histories like ours, we instantly bonded. I had her back; she had mine. We were also both virgins in undergrad, which was a little odd at the age of eighteen. So we came up with relationship rules. We’d both been burned too many times.

I had told Anna how my father had cheated on my mother with his secretary and how messed up things had become with Dylan. His betrayal hurt the most because he was the only constant in my life. He gave me the love and support I never got from my parents, or anyone for that matter. That’s why losing him hurt more than anything I’ve ever experienced. My chest constricts at the thought. Anna’s never experienced love. She simply doesn’t trust men.

Our rules were simple from the beginning. Don’t get attached — just have fun. This led me to create a few more rules. Don’t bring a guy back to my apartment; don’t let a guy tell you he likes you. If he does, he’s out the door. Anna set up her rules differently. She likes to have men come back to our apartment. I’m seriously scared she’s going to end up with an STD one day, but she always assures me she’s protected. Our life is school, partying, hooking up with hot guys, and working at Mickey’s.

Why am I even thinking about any of this? I look over to Anna, who’s standing beside me behind the bar. She has a bit of an annoyed look on her face like she’s been talking and I haven’t heard a word she’s said.

“So are you coming to that frat party with me after work or what?” she asks with her hands planted on her hips.

“I don’t know. Which one?” I ask, finally focusing on her.

She knows I’m waiting for her to respond, but I think she wants my complete attention, and I’m still wiping the bar. “Beta Phi, why?” She cocks her head to the side.

I’m a little shocked she has energy for a party like that after such a busy night at work. “Because their parties are insane, and I don’t think I’m up to it. I’ve been feeling a little tired. I must be getting my period.”

Anna drapes her hand over my shoulder. “All the more reason to come out now and get laid before red arrives.”

I look at her wide-eyed. “You do realize I was just getting laid in the backroom, right?”

She’s not fazed at all and waves her hand at me. “Whatever. Let’s go get laid. It’s a Thursday night.”

I inhale a deep breath. I’m miffed, but she knows I’ll give in to her. “Och, fine. Are we heading out right after the shift? Because I don’t feel like going home and changing.”

Anna looks under the bar where her purse is stored and with a wicked smirk on her face, she says, “Sure. I have a dress in my purse.”

I’m about to prepare a rum and Coke, but I stop when I realize what she’s said. “You’re kidding me, right?”

She laughs hysterically. “I don’t kid about fashion, Bandita. I have a dress and a hot red thong waiting for me.”