A Flighty Fake Boyfriend (Men of St. Nachos #2) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,5
asking. You out here partying?”
He nodded. “I worked this morning so I have tonight off.”
“Thanks for the drink you gave me earlier,” I said. “I felt a hundred percent better after drinking it.”
“I told you.” He winked. “Mango lassi’s my grandmother’s cure for everything. But maybe don’t get hungover again.”
“I’ll try not to.” I glanced over at his friends; three men and two women. They stared and whispered amongst themselves. They were probably still in college and they were obviously checking me out. Awkward. “Thanks again.”
“We dine.” Daniel drew me toward the restaurant’s door. I waved a limp goodbye and went with him.
“You know him?” I asked.
Daniel glanced back at the knot of kids. “Epic? Everyone knows him.”
“So, his name isn’t Bob?” I asked dryly. “Or Jeremy or Muse?”
Daniel laughed. “Was he wearing the Muse name tag at Bistro this morning? You can’t go by that. He just picks up whatever badge he feels like from some box. His name is actually Epic. Nice kid.”
“Epic.” I’d met a ton of kids with street names over the years. Epic fit him brilliantly.
Daniel opened the door and let me precede him. “I met his parents once at some charity thing. Very straightlaced but nice.”
“With a kid like Epic?” I barely knew him, and I couldn’t picture him in a straightlaced family. He was flamboyant. Or no, maybe just buoyant. He seemed lighter than air. And that smile of his…“That can’t be.”
“Guess rebellion is still a thing.” Daniel walked to the hostess station and asked for a table by the window.
A woman about halfway between Epic’s age and ours smiled brightly as soon as she saw Daniel. “Sure thing, Mr. Livingston. Follow me.”
“Hi, Espie.” Daniel talked to the hostess as we walked. “How’re Brandon and June?”
“Doing great. They always love the start of summer vacation, but they’ll be bored soon, and I don’t know how we’ll make it through until fall.”
“They can come and see the animals anytime.” Dan offered. “Just call ahead.”
“Oh, thank you. That’s great. I’ll save it for a last resort though. In case of emergency, visit the Livingstons.” She waved us to a table in front of floor-to-ceiling windows. During the day the view must be spectacular, but there was little moonlight, and beyond the boardwalk the ocean was a vast void, faint light barely shimmering over inky blackness.
There was plenty to see on the boardwalk though. People biked, jogged, walked with strollers and dogs on leashes. Moths hovered around the old-fashioned electric streetlamps. Between the salsa music playing in the bar and the bustle outside, it was hard to reconcile this place with the quiet I’d sensed earlier.
Since I’d been there, we’d mostly eaten at Bistro and done our drinking at Nacho’s Bar. Falling into the lovely lassitude of life in St. Nacho’s had proved ridiculously easy.
“St. Nacho’s nightlife, such as it is,” Daniel murmured, eyes sparkling. “The cantina is the beating heart of downtown Santo Ignacio.”
“Downtown,” I said doubtfully.
“Yep. This is where the magic happens.”
“Okay.” Beyond the beach area, St. Nacho’s felt more like Mayberry. “Do you even have to lock your cars?”
“Sure. Lots of transients pass through here.” Daniel picked up his menu. “We have all the usual crime.”
Sad. Even in a town where everyone seemed to know Daniel by name, there was crime.
“What are you having tonight?”
“Carnitas. They’re a specialty. It’s good for people who drink too much.”
“I’ll have that then. Just to be proactive,” I teased. “I’ll start with tortilla soup.”
“That’s spicy.”
“I like spicy.” Whether he believed it or not, I would not be drinking as much as I had the night before. A soup with a chicken base, even a spicy one, sounded delicious.
“If you’re sure you’re not going to throw it back up.” Daniel put his menu aside.
“Last night was an anomaly.” I’d gotten maudlin, dwelling on all the mistakes I’d made with Luis. That wouldn’t happen again. “Tell me about you. How’s business?”
He shrugged. “It’s good. The Feds lowered the interest rate again, which is always good for the housing market. What about you? Working on anything in particular?”
Just the thought of work made me itch to check my phone. I wasn’t going to. Talk about diving into a bottomless cesspool.
Not tonight.
Not unless there was something really important. Maybe there was? I took out my phone.
“Let me just—”
“Don’t. You said you were on vacation.” His hands closed over mine, covering the screen. “Work messages will only upset you.”
“Right.” I slipped the phone into my jacket pocket. “You’re right.”