Surely he likes me. Why would he watch me constantly if he didn’t?
More militia members arrive as the evening progresses—mostly men but also some women—and they all sit in my section. So I have to get through an obstacle course of groping hands, obnoxious comments, and bossy demands.
All the talk tonight is about another attack by the Silver Wolf. He hit another shipment the militia was transporting yesterday, stealing crates of supplies and killing a handful of men in the process.
For the past year, the Silver Wolf has been public enemy number one in this area. He functions as a highwayman of old, he and his group hiding out, wearing masks, and striking targets on the road at random with skill and undeniably clever strategy. The militia has been after him all this time but can’t seem to identify or capture him or any of his group.
As I remove empty plates and wipe down tables, I listen to them talk about a trap they’re setting for the Silver Wolf next week. They go on and on about it, but it’s not of much interest to me.
I don’t like anyone who steals food or supplies out of the hands of someone else. It’s been the order of the day lately—beginning with groups showing up with guns to empty out grocery stores even before the asteroid hit—so I’d be happy for any thief or bully to get what’s coming to them.
But the militia are nothing but thieves and bullies too. In a contest between them and the Silver Wolf, I don’t know who I would root for.
The truth is, in such a conflict, it’s the defenseless who get trampled underfoot, so I don’t much care for either side of this conflict.
No one in my section besides the two militiamen has paid for a fuck tonight, so at closing I’m going to have to fuck one of them if I can’t come up with another option.
Cade is still sitting at his table, watching me as I bring a tough, older woman her second drink.
I might as well try. Why the hell not?
I slip past the handsiest of the militiamen and step over to Cade’s corner, leaning down to ask, “Can I get you anything else?”
He shakes his head. He finished his stew and drinks more than an hour ago, but anyone who pays for entry is allowedto stay until closing. Latecomers only get in if customers leave early.
“If you want to stay until closing, I’ll take you upstairs. You’d just need to talk to Nell about payment.”
Cade looks like he’s in his mid-thirties. His hair needs to be cut. It’s falling over his forehead. He stares up at me with those weirdly gray-green eyes.
I wait, but he doesn’t say anything. And I can’t try anything else to seal the deal because someone calls out a complaint about the potatoes at another table.
It only takes me three minutes to deal with the potato issue, but when I turn back to Cade’s table, he’s gone.
He left.
He didn’t want to fuck me.
Maybe he wanted it so little that he ran away.
It’s fine.
I’m decent to look at—Nell wouldn’t have hired me otherwise—but my body isn’t to everyone’s taste. And lately a lot of folks are too focused on surviving to spend much energy on sex.
Maybe he hadn’t brought anything extra to trade with.
It doesn’t matter.
He did leave a tip for me on his table, so I step over to pick up the pretty red apple.
I haven’t had an apple in almost a year.
I raise it to my nose. Rub it with my apron. And slide it into my pocket.
Then I turn back to the militiamen and catch the eye of the younger one who paid for a fuck this evening. I point at him and then upstairs.
He lets out a whoop, which is followed by bawdy cheers from his companions.
I head back toward the bar, rolling my eyes at Pete, who is pretending to be oblivious but sees everything. He inclines hishead toward the exit door in a silent question about why Cade left.
