silence, and I added, "Well. I'm just gonna go back over there, then."
Frankie smiled and nodded at me, and Doug grunted something and took his shot.
I stepped away from the pool table slowly, cheeks flush with embarrassment, and started back toward the bar. Before I got there, I could hear Doug saying something about, "crazy fucking chicks," and I poured myself onto a stool and rested my face against the bar.
"Let me ask you something, Happy," I said. "If I find out a guy I know has slept with one of my best friends, and it bothers me enough that I go confront him and then come here to get drunk, that means I should move up my trip to Europe, right?"
"I'm not pouring anything for another fifteen minutes," Happy said.
"Yeah, that's what I thought, too." I raised my head and gave him a grim look. "Serve me now, and I'll leave immediately."
Happy grabbed the bottle and poured.
* * *
When I stumbled sideways into the alley beside Happy Larry's, I thought at first that it was the tequila making me lose my footing. I didn't realize I'd been pulled into the alley until my elbow hurt from someone's stone grip, and my face smacked into someone's hard chest.
"Ow!" I said, touching my left cheek as I pulled back from him. "That's still sore!"
"You Olivia?" His voice was rough and scratchy, layered with deep country and, unless I was mistaken, whiskey. I stepped back and squinted up at the guy, immediately recognizing him as the guy from the booth in the corner. In addition to the details I'd taken in at the bar - your paranoia has finally paid off, Grandma - I noticed that his eyes were slightly red at the edges, likely the result of Happy Larry's cheap whiskey and refusal to adhere to state indoor smoking laws.
I wrenched my arm from his grip and took a step toward the street, but he blocked me, and so I ended up stepping farther back into the shadows of the alley.
"Are you Olivia Ford?"
"No," I said.
He advanced on me, and I stepped farther back into the alley.
"Was your father Gabriel Ford?" he asked.
"Far as I know, he was Some Guy Named Dave." I stepped back and my thigh hit the metal trash bin. "I'm leaving now. Touch me again, and I'll scream."
He held up his hands, but I could see annoyance and tension on his face, and it was not comforting. "I just want to talk to you."
"Sure, because men pull women into alleys all the time just to talk." I glanced around and thought, What would Stacy Easter do? Puke on his shoes, probably. Not much of a help. Then I caught the trash cans in the corner of my eye, and I pulled the lid off one and held it between us like a shield. "Stay back."
The guy advanced on me another foot, which freaked me out a bit because while I was okay acting like I would hit him with the lid, I wasn't entirely sure how I was going to hit him with it. Straight-on in the face, I guessed. Maybe? While I had the standard waitress's upper body strength, I sadly lacked the standard waitress's thirst for blood.
"Put that damn thing down so we can talk."
"I don't want to talk to you. I've had a very bad day, and I just want to go home!" I waggled the lid in front of me, trying to look threatening, but I probably just looked like an insane, drunken waffle waitress who had stepped tragically out of her element.
That was when I noticed how hot the trash can lid felt in my hands. I glanced up to see if maybe there was a ray of sunlight on it or something, but we were in the complete shade of the alley. I shook my head and tried to focus. "Get out of my way!"
"Not until I get some answers," he said, shaking his head slowly, and freaking me out even more. The lid handle was getting hotter, and the tingling in my hand was getting worse, making my arm shake, which made the lid shake.
"I'm looking for a - " His expression went from irritation to slight concern. "You okay?"
Ow. The heat in my hand was beginning to hurt, and I felt a little dizzy.
"I'm fine," I said, catching my breath. "Why?"
"You look like you're going to vomit."
"It's not out of the question." I whipped the lid up, but my