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“Anything else you want?” he says.
He’s flirting with me. I test it out in my mind, feeling out whether I want to flirt back. In my experience, a guy like him already has a back room we could disappear to. I’d be back here at the bar sipping my drink inside of twenty minutes and I’d be feeling a lot better than I am now.
For the first time in my life, the idea isn’t enough to get me going. Not compared to the two sets of eyes still hovering in my mind’s eye.
“Thanks,” I say. “This’ll be all I need tonight.”
If Sherman’s disappointed, he doesn’t show it. He just grins and takes off down the bar, heading for another customer.
The message from earlier was a voicemail from Sully. Why the damn man couldn’t text, I’ll never understand.
He answers immediately.
“You get my message?” he asks.
“I got it,” I say. “I didn’t listen to it.”
Sully swears. “What the hell is wrong with people?”
“I can’t speak for everybody,” I say.
“Bet you’re going to try,” he says, making me laugh. “You got plans tonight?” he asks.
I consider the whiskey glass in my other hand. “Do the names Johnny and Walker mean anything to you?” Sully laughs. “I’m at this place called Rusty’s Pub, up the street from the Thorpe Industries building. You want to meet me here?”
“Could use a drink,” drawls Sully, his Southern accent extra thick. “Be there in twenty.”
Sherman’s already poured me a refill by the time Sully pulls up the stool next to mine. He slaps me on the shoulder, same as Finn does.
“How’s it hanging?” he says, scanning the offerings behind the bar.
“Jesus, Sully. Do people really say that anymore?”
“I’m people, ain’t I?” His country is out thick today, making me wonder what’s going on.
“Hello,” says Sherman. I should probably get the guy’s actual name, but I may have missed my window. The way Sherman and Sully are checking each other out, I might as well be wallpaper right now.
“Hello,” says Sully.
“Get you boys something?” says the bartender. If I wasn’t sure he was flirting before, I’m damn sure he is now.
“I’ll have what he’s having,” says Sully, his eyes never leaving the other man’s.
“Hmm,” says the bartender with a hint of a smile. “Be right back.”
I wait until Sherman’s finished serving the drink before I pick up the menu and use it to fan Sully’s face.
“Knock it off,” he says, taking the menu from me and reading it. Or pretending to read it, more like.
“Jesus, Sully, if you eye-fucked him any harder I’m gonna have to excuse myself.”
Sully smirks, then glances at me out of the corner of his eye.
“Been a while,” he says.
“It has,” I agree. “But that’s not why I invited you here.”
“No?” he says. Then he shrugs. “Guess I’ll have to console myself somehow.” His eyes track the bartender’s ass as he walks back to the kitchen.
