I met her at a bar. We fucked. I thought we were on the same page. So, I did what any guy would do in that situation. I grabbed my shit, and I ran.
I’ve never claimed to be a nice guy.
“Just in town for the auction.” I avoid her obvious question. “Can I get the Amber Ale, a Caesar salad and the Porterhouse medium rarewith the mashed potatoes.”
My God, am I a dick.
“Of course.” She might push that pencil straight through that paper.
“I’ll have the same,” my brother says with a smirk. “Ouch!” he says when I kick him under the table on his shin.
“And for you, honey?” Pamela asks.
“Can I have a garden salad with the balsamic vinaigrette, the ribeye, medium rare and the mashed potatoes, please. And can I have a glass of the house red?”
“Honey, we don’t serve alcohol to minors. Your daddy knows better than to let you drink.” Pamela rests her hand on her hip, shaking her head at Micky.
“My daddy is dead, and I’m twenty-three.” Micky hands Pamela her ID and sits quietly while Pamela looks it over.
“Today is your birthday?” Pamela asks quietly, her voice shaking with unease.
Well, at least I know she’s over the legal age to drink. Does that make me less creepy?
Micky clears her throat. “Yes,” she croaks out, taking her ID back and putting it in her wallet.
“Wow, I honestly don’t think that could have been any more awkward.” Patrick sits back in his chair as Pamela walks away.
I turn my head and look at Micky. “Today’s your birthday?” I ignore my brother.
Micky shrugs. “I’d rather be alone. I’m not the best company.” I can see the tears well up in her eyes before Micky turns her attention back to her water.
“Why is that?” I find myself asking.
“It’s complicated.” There is a bit of an edge in her voice.
You’d think that would be a good indicator that she didn’t want to talk about whatever it was that was “complicated,” but apparently, today, I’m just swinging for the fences of the major league asshole hall of fame.
“Why are you alone on your birthday, and don’t give me that garbage about it being complicated,” I demand, turning my full attention to her. No one should feel or be alone on their birthday.
Micky stiffens in her seat and turns a very dark shade of red. “Well, Caine, you appear to be living up to your namesake by effectively killing my night, but fine. My father died four months ago after battling cancer for three years, and three days ago I walked in on my mother having sex with my boyfriend. Does that answer your question?” Her tone is snide.
“That doesn’t sound all that complicated,” Patrick says. I turn my head to my brother and kick him again. “What?” he asks, rubbing his shin. “Maybe you should call Pamela back over so you can get your dick…” Patrick moves his body around to avoid my next kick.
“Oh my God!” Micky exclaims with a laugh. She covers her mouth with her hand in an attempt to hide it, but she can’t seem to stop giggling.
I watch as her entire body shakes with mirth. And her laugh, it’s low and husky, beautiful.
“Oh my God!” she says again as she dabs her napkin under her eyes. “Thank you for that, Patrick. I needed that.”
“I’m perpetually saying shit I shouldn’t, so I’m happy someone got something positive out of it.” My brother chuckles, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. Why does he look smug, the dumbass?
“Your drinks.” Pamela slams my beer in front of me, spilling some onto the tablecloth. “For your date,” she adds through gritted teeth when she places Micky’s wine in front of her.
“Not a date. Met ten minutes ago, and that isn’t an exaggeration,” Micky says, holding up her index finger.
“You picked her up at my work?” Pamela asks, turning her dagger-like glare on me.
“He had no way of knowing you worked here,” Patrick says, not helping.
