She gave the tiniest shrug, I don’t care if you believe me or not. She held his gaze and he surprised himself by looking away first.
“Scotch and soda,” he said.
“You’re overestimating me.”
The bartender slid over. “Pitcher of Coors Light,” she said. “And four cups. Please.”
“Coors Light?”
“Is that a problem?”
“It wouldn’t be my first choice.”
Her lips twitched. A smile narrow and brief. Still, he couldn’t help thinking of sunlight breaking through a heavy sky.
The bartender slid the pitcher across. “Sixteen, please.”
She pushed a twenty over, left the change. Rich girl.
“When you’re done choking that down come talk to me.”
She stepped away from the bar, looked him over.
“You don’t lack for confidence—” She lifted a hand, What’s your name?
“Drink with me, I’ll tell you.”
“Bet it’s extremely boring.” Pause. “Your name, I mean.”
“My name’s exciting. I’m boring.”
“Interesting sales pitch.”
Brian let her have the last word and slipped back to his stool. Two cute chicks took the stools next to his. He ignored them. He didn’t usually give up the initiative this way, but he sensed this tall girl might be worth the trouble. Not a girl. Not a chick. A woman who played back.
Every so often she peeked over. Brian couldn’t read the look, didn’t know if it meant, Yes, I’m stuck here with my friends but I haven’t forgotten you, or, Hey, creeper, still hanging around? He made himself eat slowly. The burger was as delicious as promised. Medium-rare and just greasy enough. He finished his drink, ordered another. Vodka and grapefruit juice. A greyhound. His regular. Decent even with the cheapest vodka but harsh enough to discourage fast drinking.
An hour and a half drifted by. The room filled. One of her friends came up for a fresh pitcher. He finished the second greyhound, ordered one more, decided that when it was done he’d get gone. He had broken his own rules by hanging around like a lost puppy. They like you or they don’t, and if they don’t, move on. Plus the drinks here weren’t cheap. Between them and the burger he was going to be out thirty-five bucks.
He was down to the ice in drink number three when she and her friends stood. He watched as they slithered between tables to the front door. You kidding me? Brian was a little drunker than he expected after three greyhounds. This bartender must pour with a heavy hand. She held the door for her friends. They walked out one by one. When they were gone she looked at him—and followed them out.
Dammit. He wasn’t sure why he cared, but he did.
The door opened and back she came.
Lucky for him, the crowd was heavy. He had time to put his face together, lose the surprised look. She pushed her way into the corner.
“Sit.” He gave up the stool. She hesitated, sat. Now she was looking up at him. A minor win.
“Time for your name.”
“Brian.”
“Rebecca.” They shook hands, formally, ironically. “You lied. You said your name was exciting.” She was a little drunk too, her eyes not as fierce as they’d been.
“In certain cultures.”
“You thought I was gone.” She had a Boston-type accent, he heard now. Gahn.
“I thought of nothing but my delicious burger.” Thrust and parry, thrust and parry.
“Your kind needs to get taken down a notch.”
“My kind?” But he thought of Amanda, zipping up her jacket and stumbling out of his apartment that morning. Call me, she’d said. Then, as she shut the door, You’re not going to call me, are you. It wasn’t a question.
“Think you’re God’s gift to the ladies.”
The natural response would have been shocked denial. Instead he nodded, What if I do? What if I am?
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“Enough drinks. Let’s go somewhere we can actually talk.”
* * *
They found themselves in a tired all-night diner at the east end of Main Street. Not far from Brian’s apartment, as it happened, though he’d already decided he wasn’t going to mention that fact. The vents blew stale, warm air and the old-school jukeboxes at the tables were heavy on gospel.
“Think I can risk a cheeseburger?” she said.
He pulled a quarter from his pocket. “If you play ‘Amazing Grace’ first.”
She went with the cheeseburger. He ordered a chocolate-and-vanilla shake. Because he wanted one and because he thought it would make him look a little softer, less of a player. Of course thinking that way proved that he was a player, but so be it.
She told him she was a law student, but she sounded almost embarrassed.