The bartender glances over at me like she’s just now noticing that I’m not a particularly dense collection of air molecules beforesmiling apologetically. Meanwhile, I begin what I know will be an ultramarathon of overanalyzing the worddate, the tone in which he said it, and where the moon was in conjunction with planet Whatthehell.
“They got a flat tire,” the bartender answers as she grabs a coupe glass from under the bar, “but I’m about to put the karaoke machine out while we wait. I’ll get you that drink first, though.”
She hustles off, and I’m left staring at Jude’s profile.
“I hope you didn’t mind being called my date,” he says, without looking at me. “She was coming on a little strong earlier.”
Oh. So, I was just his decoy. That’s… fine. Great, in fact. No astrological charts or mental flagellation necessary. I clear my throat. “No problem. But she is really pretty. No need to deny yourself a good time on my account. That is, if you’re even single, or interested in humans of the female variety.”
A smirk tugs at his full lips as he swivels back toward me. His knee brushes the outside of my tightly closed thigh, and I realize if I were sitting any more rigidly, I could probably put out a hat and earn a few bucks as a living statue. That’s when I see the inside of his other forearm has a twin swallow.Why, God, why have you cursed me with a deep appreciation for symmetry and inked skin?
“I think you know I’m single,” he tells me. “I also prefer humans of the female variety, both as partners and generally speaking. But she’s not my type.”
“Hmm. More of an O-negative kind of guy?”
His sharp-cornered grin sets off a chemical chain reaction that starts low in my belly and ends… well, we’ll see where it ends. “If only it were that easy. These days, my tastes seem to tend toward everything I can’t have.”
I’m saved from having to respond tothisinformation by the bartender, who slides me a yellow cocktail in a frosty coupe glass. I nod my thanks, and she winks at me.
“So, a Corpse Reviver. You think this will be my new favorite drink?” I lift the glass and take a sniff. It smells delicious, but I say, “I didn’t realize our conversation made me look that desperate for resuscitation.”
“You could never be mistaken for a corpse, Gracie.”
“Wow, I’m blushing,” I say dryly, except I think I might be.
“I’ve noticed you’re pretty into them.”
“What, corpses? So, I accuse you of an admittedly weird sandwich kink, and you retaliate by immediately jumping to necrophilia? That seems extreme.”
“If you want to play Guess My Kink, I’m game, but I was actually referring to your equally weird zombie fixation.”
“How do you know about my zombies?” I say defensively.
“Were they supposed to be a secret?”
“Well, no, but I thought only my best friend and Cal—” I stop. “I didn’t realize I was broadcasting it.”
He leans in close and says in his pillow-soft voice, “Well, I hate to break it to you, but you were wearing nothing but aNICE TO EAT YOUT-shirt when you answered the door for me the other night. It left an impression.” He leans back, and I hope the dim lighting is doing a sufficient job of disguising the flush I feel pulsing in my cheeks.
“Well, congratulations, Sherlock, you found me out,” I say unsteadily. I hesitate a moment. “I spent most of my time at my best friend Sofia’s house growing up,” I tell him, not entirely sure why I’m sharing this. “After her parents would go to bed, I’d sneak downstairs with her and her siblings to have these all-night zombie movie marathons.” I smile as some of the best memories of my childhood send a tender ache through me. “They used to terrify me, but now, they remind me of hiding under blankets with my best friend and popcorn fights with her brothers and sisters.”
Jude’s eyes are on me like he wants to absorb every word I’ve said. “I’d probably love them, too, if I’d grown up like that.”
“So, not a fan of blood and gore?”
“Not unless I want to pass out. Could be handy on a sleepless night, though.”
“Cheers to that.”
He lifts his glass to clink it against mine, and we both take a sip. I can’t remember the last time I had a fancy cocktail, much less one that was zombie-themed, and this one has everything I love packed into it, including the novel sensation of being seen. I close my eyes inpleasure, letting the cold, sweet-sour liquid swirl in my mouth before swallowing it. When I open my eyes again, Jude is looking at me—more specifically at my lips.
“You’re welcome,” he says preemptively, but his usual velvet baritone has a sandpaper texture that makes me think of early mornings and tangled bedsheets.
Stop it, Gracie. The only tangled bedsheets in my future are the ones I’ll tangle myself in during sweaty nightmares about losing my home and job.
I’m about to give him a belated thank-you when the sound of microphone feedback cuts through the room. Swiveling on my barstool so that my back is to Jude, I see our chipper bartender standing on the low platform and velvet-curtained backdrop that serves as the bar’s stage.
“Hello, everyone! I know you’ve all come out to hear the Love Notes perform, and I promise they’ll be here soon. But until they get some car trouble sorted, I’m opening up the stage to karaoke. If you’d like to sing, just sign up at the bar!”
