Isaac’s lips purse as he considers my suggestion. After a short period of silence, he gestures for the bartender to bring him a bottle of whiskey from the top shelf. When the bartender begrudgingly does as instructed, Isaac snags a shot glass from the wire rack in front of us.
Once both of our glasses are full to the brim with whiskey, he says. “You go first.”
* * *
An hour later,we've consumed more liquor than a drunken sailor on shore leave.
“That guy I saw leaving your office after our first meeting, is he a mob boss?” I question, my words badly slurring.
Isaac’s dark eyes lift to the bartender. When he discovers he is more interested in watching a re-run of a Red Sox game than us, his eyes turn back to me.
“Yes,” he replies, his voice unwavering.
“Is that a good or a bad thing?” he adds on when neither of us reach for our shot glass.
“Fuck’d if I know, but I’m thirsty,” I say before downing my nip.
He smirks before lifting the shot glass to his mouth. Glass clanging on the wooden countertop sounds over my laughter when he slams his glass onto the counter and his face grimaces. The whiskey he selected might be expensive, but it tastes like shit.
“You couldn’t have gotten drunk at one of my clubs?” he asks, cringing as the bile flavor slides down his throat to settle in his gut.
I laugh and shake my head. “Your whiskey is too expensive for my blood.”
He doesn’t attempt to refute the accuracy of my statement.
“Your turn,” I say.
“Why haven’t you cashed the check I gave you?”
My eyes snap to his. “Because you said I had to talk to a shrink.”
He shakes his head. “So until I remove that stipulation from your contract, you’re going to keep working for me for free?”
A puff of air escapes my nose. “Dreaming,” I say with a chuckle.
We both laugh, and I drink my nip. There couldn’t be anything moreshockingthan finding out I have to talk to a shrink as a requirement of my employment. A grin tugs my lips high when Isaac also downs his nip.
“Not a fan of therapists?”
He shakes his head.
Once our drinks are replenished, I ask, “Why are you sitting so gingerly in your chair?”
Isaac’s eyes rocket to mine. Although his exterior is one of the hardest I’ve ever seen, I noticed a wince cross his face when he first sat down earlier tonight.
Just when I think he isn’t going to answer, he mutters, “I had an operation.” He coughs, clearing his throat, “Down there.”
My abrupt movement to secure my shot glass knocks over both glasses, spilling fragrant whiskey all over the bar. I recant my previous response. Having your manhood operated on would beat talking to a shrink tenfold.
“Should you be drinking if you just had an operation?” I ask when Isaac refills our glasses.
“Probably not, but do you think I care?”
After downing his latest serving, he runs the back of his hand over his mouth. “Why are you getting drunk in this shitty ass pub instead of celebrating your sister’s wedding across the street?”
You’d think I'd be surprised he knows about Jorgie’s wedding. I’m not. I learned early on that Isaac knows everything. If he doesn’t know, he will find someone who does.
“I snatched the virginity of the only girl I’ve ever cared about,” I mumble, my voice scratchy and hoarse.
