Big Pickle: A Secret Boss Romantic Comedy - JJ Knight Page 0,50
I wash over with chagrin, like I should’ve stuck it out. Is he mad? Why is he leaving his car?
“This is Austin,” Jason says. “When in Austin, do like the Austinites.”
He peels off his fancy vest, and the moment we pass a trash can, he tosses it in.
“Jason! Your clothes!”
“Don’t need it. It was stupid anyway. Pretentious.”
“Your car?”
“It can stay there.”
We keep walking. “Where are we going now?”
“SoCo. You okay for a walk? Never mind. I’ll get a pedicab.”
When we arrive at the intersection, three pedicabs wait, their drivers perched on bicycles.
“Can you take us to SoCo?” Jason asks them.
“I will,” a woman says. “Hop in.”
We settle in the seat attached to the back of her bike, and she takes off down the street.
He puts his arm around me. “You up for some food trucks?”
My shoulders finally relax as we leave the towering hotel behind us. “I could totally go for some food trucks.”
Despite it being the middle of the week, the food truck park is packed. We grab a pair of gyros from Pitalicious and walk along the sidewalk while we eat, looking in the shops.
Unlike the deli’s part of downtown, South Congress is full of life. The doors to the costume shop Lucy in Disguise are thrown open, encouraging people to come in and look at their rooms full of costumes and vintage clothing.
We pass boutiques, gift shops, and tiny wine bars. Every place is crowded and full of energy.
As we approach the giant Mexican restaurant, Gueros, music spills out between the buildings.
“Aha,” Jason says. “That’s why it’s so crazy down here. There’s a concert tonight.”
We drop our empty pita wrappers into a trash can, and Jason takes my hand again. “You want to see if we can get in?”
My head buzzes with the things I always worry about when trying to walk into busy places. Cover charges. Outrageous drink prices. But while I’m fretting, Jason waltzes straight up to a burly man in a taco T-shirt who sits on a stool inside the iron fence.
“Is it full?” he asks.
“There’s room at the bar,” he says. “Can I see your IDs?”
We flash him proof that we’re old enough to drink and then, we’re in.
A rollicking Tejano rock band plays on stage. The outdoor patio is packed, every bench and table full.
But the man was right. There are several open stools along the bar.
We head toward them and sit down. The bartender, madly filling pints of beer with both hands, gives us a quick nod of acknowledgment but keeps working.
This is a completely different culture than the fancy hotel, but still a good vibe that gives us confidence in their customer service. I don’t know why I’ve never thought about this before.
I lean into Jason to say, “Why don’t they teach us about business culture in class? Did you get that where you went to school?”
Jason doesn’t answer for a moment, tapping his fingers to the beat on the scarred wood surface of the bar. “I think some things you need an instinct for. But once you see it, you’ll always notice it.”
The bartender heads our way, and we order a round of Shiners.
“At least you know what to drink in Austin,” I say.
“That’s one thing I miss when I’m up north. Shiner Bock. Austin Eastciders. But we have Tito’s at least.”
Our beers arrive, and I sip the Shiner. My belly is full of amazing pita. The air is cool but not cold. The beat of the music thumps through my body.
Jason scoots my stool closer to him and draws my back against his chest. He wraps his arms around me, and I let my head fall back onto his shoulder.
After everything that’s happened this evening—his car, the valet, the woman on the elevator—this feels right. Like we finally found a place where we can coexist comfortably.
The air gets chillier, and we snuggle closer. Jason and I don’t talk a lot, but we don’t need to, letting the music wash over us. Just being here, out in the world, away from the deli, has been an experience that binds us.
The crowd starts to dwindle, and I shiver against him.
“My condo is only four blocks from here,” he whispers in my ear. “You want to come?”
At last.
I turn on my stool to wrap my hands around his neck. “I think the real question is: How many times?”
23
Jace
I don’t even show her around my place. The evening has been torture, her body against mine at the bar, my arms around her.