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Her enthusiasm was flattering. “Hey. Cain.”
She didn’t sit down on the stool next to me but perched over the bar, waving to the bartender. The blonde ordered a chardonnay. That made me want to laugh, if I still actually knew how. A fucking chardonnay in a seaside dive bar. The bartender’s name was Sarah and she had gone to school with me. She shot me a look of “are you fucking kidding me?” and said, “All I have is white zinfandel.”
“Sure, that’s fine.”
Sarah went and returned with a tiny bottle, which she unscrewed. For a second I thought she was going to be a smart-ass and just hand the blonde the bottle but she did pour it into a glass, though it was a whiskey glass, not a wine goblet.
Watching the exchange amused me more than it should. “You’d be better off going to the store,” I told Bella. “And getting yourself a full-size bottle. That is some cheap-ass wine.” If anyone knew cheap booze, it was me, and she didn’t look like she would drink anything less than twenty bucks a bottle.
She just waved her hand. “I’m just looking to be out of the house and have some fun.”
“Yeah?” That made my ears and my dick perk up. “I could show you some fun.”
“Oh, not that kind of fun. I’m engaged,” the blonde said, giving me a brilliant smile as she held out her left hand to display a rock the size of Plymouth. “I’m getting married next weekend!”
That figured. I should have known. A lot of women wanted a guy to put a ring on it. “Congratulations,” I said.
My subsequent eye roll slipped out before I meant it to happen. Not even I was usually that rude. At least not this early in the night. But marriage at our age was like setting yourself up to fail. You might as well start saving for your divorce fees on your fucking honeymoon.
She didn’t seem to notice my sarcasm.
“My sister is single though! Isn’t she cute?” She pointed to a girl who was studying the drink menu at the end of the bar.
“Her?” I asked, a little dubious.
“Uh-huh,” she said, voice falsely bright. “That’s Sophie. She’s very, very smart and OMG, so much fun!”
The blonde’s insane enthusiasm indicated that she was used to people believing her bullshit just because she was beautiful, and that she knew full well her sister wasn’t a party girl. The sister’s finger ran up and down the menu, not once, but twice, three, and then a fourth time. She glanced up, lips pursed, fingers still splayed on the menu like she didn’t want to allow herself the opportunity to study it again. There was no annoyance in her posture as she waited for the bartender to notice her.
She wasn’t noticeable though, unfortunately. Despite being attractive, she didn’t stand out, and I wasn’t exactly sure why. Not classically beautiful like her sister, but solidly cute, with a great figure, she should have commanded attention. Yet, somehow, she blended into her surroundings, no more a standout than anything on that limited and uninspired drink menu she kept scanning. After a second she realized I was watching her. I thought in the manner of a wallflower she would start and blush and look away. She didn’t. Neither did she straighten her spine and do anything flirtatious, any sort of acknowledgment of me watching her. No hair flip. No head tilt. Not even a smile.
That was not the stare of a wallflower. She was something else. The intimidator. The one who people looked at and knew they would never be on her intellectual level, so they avoided her. I wasn’t intimidated, but I was surprised. The stare was bold.
“Sophie!” the blonde called out. “Come here and meet Cain!”
I sighed, balling the cocktail napkin on the bar in front of me up into a tight wad. Some nights I wanted to be social. I craved it. The endless chatter of tourists or my buddies. Older couples who wanted to ask me about the local attractions. But today what I wanted was a woman to distract me with her lips, her hands, her lithe, eager body. I had thought the blonde might serve my purpose. Her sister? Nope. She was the first car on the train to Don’t Fuck That–Ville. The reason wasn’t because she wasn’t hot, because she was, in that tight dress, but because she was not breaking my gaze.
It was unnerving as hell, because the blonde was obviously telling the truth—the sister was smart. So smart that she saw right through me. Actually, it was more than that. It was like if I gave her the chance she would see me. The real me. And no one wanted to see that hot fucking mess. And I sure as shit didn’t want to show it to anyone.
She finally did break eye contact as she came up to us. Her nose wrinkled when she looked at her sister. “I was trying to order a drink.”
“You just have to wave to the bartender,” the blonde said, leaning forward and hooking her finger at John, who worked most nights I came in. He immediately smiled and came rushing over like a dog when it’s offered a treat. Typical. I gave him a look and snorted.
“Meet Bella,” I said to John. “She’s getting married.”
His smile faltered a little but he asked, “What can I get ya?”
“I’ll have another Jack,” I said.
“Not you, dick. The lovely Bella.”
I grinned.
“Oh, I have wine,” she said. “I don’t need another one yet.”
Of course she wouldn’t. Not only was she a wine drinker, she was a sipper, not a chugger. I could point to every person in this bar and tell you what they would drink and how fast. The guy in the suit would have a Manhattan, with zero irony for the fact that he was from Boston, and he would sling them back, sober until the fourth one, then he would careen into sloppy drunk with the speed of a bullet train. The trio of girls wearing shorts with their asses hanging out would want vodka and cranberry. They would get buzzed after two and start hugging each other. By the third, two of them would make out because they would love the attention.
Bella was a rich girl. It was written all over her. The wine was a perfect fit. Anyone local, even if I didn’t know them personally, I could spot by their clothes and demeanor. They would drink domestic beer or whiskey. The only one whose drink I couldn’t interpret was Sophie the Sister.
