You’ve lived on Kildare your entire life. It wasn’t easy, considering you were what they called a Pogue. You were poor, and that was that. You had a job, and it supported you well enough.

Most of your days were spent running around with your friends, the (other) Pogues. The ones that weren’t as free, or fun were the days spent at your job. You worked at the country club in figure 8. Yes, you were poor and you spent your days around the rich. It was both aggravating, and also enlightening.

You may hate the people — the Kooks — and most of them may hate you, but they spend money like it grows on trees. Granted for most of them it does.

During one of these particularly unruly days, you had a lot of customers. You worked behind the bar, and mixed the drinks. Sometimes you’d even be a runner if there was a lot of traffic. Your shift started an hour and a half ago and you had already made 37 drinks. 38 if you count the one you spilled on your legs when another bartender ran into you.

All you could think about was ‘how long until your break?’. Someone sits down at the end of the bar, you walk over and notice who it is by the smell of his cologne.

Sometimes when you serve the Kooks, you come across the worst of them all. Rafe Cameron. He’s an incredibly entitled, overconfident manchild. He’s hot, but that doesn’t excuse his behavior. At least not in your books. The other girls of Kildare will let it go if they can get even three seconds of his attention. Unlike them, you actually hold him accountable to the way he treats the people around him. Maybe that’s why he hates you so much more than the other Pogues.

“Whiskey, on the rocks.” He hadn’t even bothered to see who he was speaking to. His hand was hung, and you could see his phone screen lit up in his hand. Whatever messages he was receiving were making his resting sour mood even more intense.