I was sitting at Doc’s bar, alone, trying to convince myself it wasn’t a big deal that I hadn’t heard from her while I polished off my third beer.
My phone was face up on the bar, as if that would somehow conjure Belle to call it. I stared at that phone like it was a cornerback who’d just stolen my pass and I was about to pummel it into the ground.
“Another?” the bartender asked, swiping my empty glass off the bar as soon as I’d downed it. His name was Dave, and he was a Chicago native, born and raised and in love with everything that the city was. He’d recognized me as soon as I sat down, and what I liked most about Dave was that he didn’t make a big deal of it. He didn’t call a bunch of attention to me, ask for a photo or an autograph, or ask me a million questions about the upcoming season.
Instead, he’d just greeted me with a nod and a napkin on the bar, tapping it before he said, “What’ll it be, Kumaka?”
I liked him instantly.
Still, at the present moment, it was difficult to be anything but salty and sour. I managed a tight smile when I nodded for him to bring another, but then my jaw was set with my gaze on the phone again.
“It’s none of my business,” Dave said when he plopped another full glass of beer in front of me. “But whoever it is that you want to call, maybe you should just bite the bullet and call them first.”
I huffed, taking a big gulp of the amber liquid. It sloshed out onto the bar again when I sat it down with more force than I meant to. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”
“Getting the cold shoulder, huh?”
I harrumphed.
“A girl?” he asked.
I practically growled in confirmation.
Dave planted both his palms on the bar, leveling his gaze with mine. “Alright, then. Here’s the deal. Pick up that phone and call her.”
I went to argue that I already had when he held up his hand.
“I’ll give you three chances. This is the sensitive part of me, okay? Three calls, and if she doesn’t answer by that third time, then you’re handing your phone to me and I’m blocking her and you’re paying your tab and letting me put your ass in a cab to go home and sleep it off. You leave that girl here in this bar, and you start tomorrow without giving her another piece of your time or energy.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, even though I knew he was right.
I couldn’t hold on to the girl forever.
Why did that fact make me want to vomit?
“She’s my interior designer,” I tried. “I can’t just block her.”
“I’m sure she has an office phone. No?”
I couldn’t argue with that point.
Dave slid my phone a little closer. “Three chances. Let’s get this over with.”
I looked at the device, at him, then back at the phone. “What if she answers?”
Dave watched me for a second before he offered a shrug. “You talk to her.”
I tapped my fingers on the bar, shaking my head and taking a giant gulp of my beer. I held up the half-empty glass toward Dave. “I think you’re going to need to give me a few more of these first.”
Belle
I had my ass in the air and my left foot extended overhead in a three-legged downward dog when my phone rang from across the room.
“Shit, sorry,” I murmured to Gemma, who was trying to stay Zen as she exhaled, crunching her knee to her chest in a plank.
She inhaled, lifting her leg back to three-legged downward dog. “It’s all good. Just leave it.”
“I’ll go turn the ringer off.”
“Leave it,” she said again, giving me a pointed look before she blew out another breath and shot her foot between her hands, windmilling up to warrior one.
I joined her, forcing another breath and trying to ignore my phone going off. During a normal practice, that would have been achievable. I was a Zen master, after all.
As it was, I not only had to ignore the phone, but also the possibility that it was Makoa on the other end of the call.
I sighed on my next exhale, wishing with everything that I was that this yoga session would bring me some peace. It’d been a hellish week, to say the least.
Thanks to the Coffee & Cubicles contract that we weren’t supposed to start working on until October being sped