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“Stop throwing my words back in my face!” She looked flustered and upset.
That wasn’t my goal. My goal was to get naked with Cain. I took her hands in mine, because she liked when I did that, or when I hugged her. “Bella, it’s cool. Everything is fine. I’m a big girl, remember? I won’t do anything stupid because you know I never do anything stupid.” I squeezed her hands to emphasize my words.
She started nodding, though her cheeks were still pink. “That’s true. That’s very true. But…are you sure you want to leave without me?” She looked a little hurt by that.
“It’s not that I want to leave. It’s that I don’t want you with me.” I tilted my head to gesture to Cain. I was playing the game her way. She would understand my wording. I leaned forward and murmured in her ear, “What if he’s the one?”
That was manipulative and outside my normal wheelhouse of tactics, but I knew it would work. Bella loved romance and love and weddings and she worried about my lack of dating. She wanted me to get married and have babies at the same time as she did so our kids could vacation together here in Maine at our parents’ house. She had a vision for the future and now her eyes lit up.
“Okay, but don’t go home with him. Just get his name or Snapchat or whatever after you hang out.”
“Sure,” I lied. “Let’s go. We’ll walk you out.”
When I turned Cain gave me a smirk. He had heard everything I had said. I just gave him a little shrug. Outside the bar Bella gave me a hug and another admonishment to not do anything stupid and to text her. She gave Cain a long look. “Don’t let her walk alone, please.”
“Never,” he said. He looked bored. Like Bella was getting on his nerves.
Afraid she was going to drive him away, I waved and just started walking down the sidewalk. “Where is the bar you wanted to go to?” I asked him. “Is this the right way?” I yanked up my dress at the chest. The push-up bra was sliding, dragging the dress down with it.
Glancing over, I saw he was staring at my half-bare breasts. He flicked his gaze upward to meet mine, unabashed at being caught. “Two doors down. The Thirsty Moose. It’s my usual place. Nice handling of your sister, by the way.”
I found it fascinating that he had a usual place. How many nights a week did he go to the bar? And why? “Sorry about Bella. She’s just looking out for me.”
The night air was warm, a soft breeze kicking my hair back off my shoulders. He was tall, his gait even, his attitude casual and confident and sexy. His eyebrows rose as he stopped and opened the door for me. “She doesn’t know that you’re trolling for sex, does she?”
That about summed it up. “No.”
“I’m not usually one to ask a lot of questions, but why are you trolling for sex? Aside from the obvious seeking an orgasm?” He gestured for me to go inside. “You don’t have a boyfriend you’re trying to make jealous, do you? Because I am a lot of things, but a cheat isn’t one of them.”
That had never occurred to me. That he might think I was thinking to get even with a boyfriend. That people did that was bizarre to me, but I knew it was not exactly an anomaly in bar culture. I shook my head. “No. No boyfriend.”
He nodded. “Are you going in?”
I hesitated because honestly, I wanted him to go in first so I could see his ass, because I had a feeling it was a thing of beauty, but I realized there was no way to explain that without really appearing to objectify him. Which I was. I mean, I had spotted him and determined, without him ever speaking a word, that he was the one I wanted to divest me of my virginity, so that was basically the definition of objectification. Yet, it didn’t seem appropriate to be that brutally honest.
So I kept my mouth shut and stepped into the hushed atmosphere.
This bar was different. Darker. Full of wood paneling and wooden tables and barstools. It was quieter, warmer. The lighting was soft instead of harsh and there was no music playing. The floor was sticky and I was grateful for my Converse covering my feet from remnants of beers long ago spilled and dust and skin trapped inside those dried droplets. Cain waved to the bartender, who immediately poured him an amber-colored drink. Whiskey? I wasn’t sure, but that seemed likely.
He pulled a stool out for me and gestured for me to sit. I did, crossing my feet at the ankles. When the bartender put the drink in front of him, Cain said, “A Washington Apple for the lady. The drink, not the shot.”
The bartender slid his gaze over to me. He was in his thirties, bearded, heavyset, very coastal. Like he should be on a box of fish sticks. “Is that what you want?”
“What, you don’t trust me?” Cain asked, the corner of his mouth turning up.
“That’s what I want,” I told the bartender.
“Watch out for this guy,” the man said. “And don’t try to match him drink for drink. No one can keep up with him.”
Cain raised his glass and tossed it all down with one swig. “I’m fucking famous. What an honor.”
He clearly knew it was a dubious distinction, yet he looked amused at the same time.
“I know how much I can drink,” I said. “It’s one drink—”
Cain let out a laugh. It was a rusty laugh, like he didn’t indulge often. He cut me off. “Darryl, trust me, she has the math all worked out. This is Sophie, by the way. Sophie Bigelow, girl genius. Sophie, meet Darryl Jordan, my cousin.”
I didn’t get the impression Cain was making fun of me. Almost more that he was making fun of himself. But at the same time, I don’t necessarily trust my interpretation of people’s motives or feelings, so I just let it ride. “Nice to meet you, Darryl.”
