I should’ve expected this—the date deserter, the bill failure, all of it. Hasn’t the sum total of my life experiences taught me anything? Each and every time I get my hopes up, they eventually come crashing down in a fiery blaze of wreckage. And since bad things always happen inthrees, God only knows what’s coming next. With my luck, I’ll get into a car accident on my Uber ride home.
To escape the pitying looks of my well-meaning but nosy server, I pay my check and wander out—then wander into the place next door, sidle up to the bar, and order a martini. Why not? Getting drunk alone is a fitting end to my worst week ever.
I take in my surroundings as I wait on my cocktail. Whereas Invisible Ian’s restaurant of choice was a trendy hotspot, this place has an old-school boys’ club vibe. Deep leather booths with patinaed nailhead trim line the perimeter while dark wood floors stretch across the dimly lit space. Shiny brass and leather stools are bolted to the floor underneath a long, gleaming wooden bar. It’s the type of place where I imagine clandestine CIA activity going down in a shadowy corner booth.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Ben: I really am sorry about your bill. I know how much it meant to you.
I snort. I’ll just bet he’s sorry.Not.
I text back:
Me: You win some, you lose some.
Or at least, that’s what I meant to text. When I look at the phone after I send it, it reads:
Me: YOur winsssome yuu lonesome
I squint at the screen. That isn’t right. Oh well, I’m sure he’ll get the point.
Another buzz.
Ben: Are you okay?
I sigh and toss the phone on the bar, picking up my drink and taking a big swig. Or rather, I try to take a swig, but the glass is empty. I peer into it, trying to decipher how it got that way.
“What are you drinking?” A swarthy-looking man who kind of resembles Rhett Butler slides onto the stool next to me and motions to the bartender.
“Dirty martini.”
I laugh at how I sound, like I’m straight out of one of those classic black-and-white films I sometimes catch on AMC.Dirty martini, straight up. Extra dirty.I giggle, then hiccup.
Swarthy Guy orders one, then smiles at me. “So, what’s your name?”
I’m just about to answer when my phone starts chirping. Another text. No, not a text. A call.
Ben iscallingme.
Up until a moment ago, I’ve never heard from him via text or call, and nowboth? How did he even get my phone number? Syncing our watches was surely my worst mistake ever.
I slide my finger across the screen. “Hello?”
“Kate? Are you okay?” His deep voice reaches across the line, settling over my skin like a shroud.
“Oh, Benjy, I’m fine. I am super fine.” Except it comes out likeshooperfine.
There’s a pause. “Where are you?”
“I am at an establishment for eating and drinking.” I’m proud of myself for how clearly I say it. “Although I never did eat any food.” I think about that.Huh.Now I’m hungry.
“Is someone there with you? Your friends?”
“My friends left, but I stayed. I made a new friend, though.” I lean over to not–Rhett Butler, who’s making no effort to disguise his eavesdropping. “What’s your name?” It comes out likeWasser name?
I hear Ben swear under his breath. “Kate, what’s the name of the restaurant you’re at?”
“You know, I’m not sure. It has tables and booths. The booths are leather. They look like your crossbody bag.” I giggle.Crossbodyis a funny word.
