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“That’ll be twenty-five dollars, up front,” Norm told him.
“I ask you, where’s the trust?” Dick grumbled as he dug bills out of his wallet.
Norm handed over his best bottle of tequila, which I could only imagine was a nod to me, a bowl of lime slices, salt, and shot glasses.
I grimaced. “I’m not so sure about this. I know this is going to shock you, but I’ve never actually done tequila shooters. I’ve always been more of a ‘mixed drinks that taste like snow cones’ kind of girl.”
Dick poured two shots and nudged a lime slice my way. “I’ll bet you’re a natural, honey.”
I sighed. “Set me up.”
Following Dick’s motions, I licked the salt, pinched my nose, and knocked back the shot, wheezing when it hit my throat. Dick forced the lime to my lips and I bit down, careful not to swallow any vomit-inducing pulp. The heady, antiseptic burn of the liquor mixed with fresh, tart citrus juice. Dick laughed and tapped his shot glass twice on the bar. “What do you think, Stretch?”
“I think my throat is melting.” I coughed, though the room started to tilt pleasantly. “Give me another one.”
“That’s my girl!” he crowed, pouring another shot.
Three shots later, I was a much mellower vampire. Hell, I was even admiring the finer points of the band’s rendition of “Rocket Man.” So, when a tall, handsome vamp came my way and asked me to dance, I was just relaxed enough not to embarrass myself completely.
OK, what I said was, “I have to go to the bathroom,” and then I ran to the back of the bar. Which was only a little embarrassing.
In the ladies’ room, I stared at the ceiling and wondered why I didn’t get any share of the Early feminine wiles, so aptly handled by Jenny, Mama, and Grandma Ruthie.
“You are a ridiculous person,” I told myself. “That was a perfectly nice-looking, nonthreatening person, who, for some reason, seems not to find you repulsive. And if you were a woman who had normal emotional responses and a regulated sense of paranoia, you would actually give that man a chance to take you home tonight. Go back out there, and stop being a spaz.”
I shoved the door open, fully committed to non-spazdom, and heard someone on the other side yelp. I stepped out to see that I had smacked some poor guy with the door and spilled his beer down the front of his shirt.
“Well, there goes that,” I said. “I’m so sorry!”
The vampire now wearing his beer laughed and wrung out his shirt. “So, are you anti-drinking, or do you just really hate plaid?”
I laughed at the situation and the funny. “Both, actually. I had a traumatic childhood involving hard-drinking lumberjacks.” His smile was wide, friendly, his fangs incongruent with the sweet chocolate eyes. “Can I buy you another beer to replace what you’re wearing?”
“Nah,” he said. “It was my friend’s round, and he tends to buy domestic. But you can dance with me. To cover my chest, so no one will see the stain on my shirt … that you caused. Not to make you feel obligated or anything.”
“Why would I feel obligated?” I laughed and let him lead me to the dance floor as the band struck up “Your Song.” I hadn’t slow-danced since Zeb and Jolene’s wedding, when Gabriel twirled me around the floor to the strains of “My Heart Will Go On .” Oh, thinking about Gabriel was really not going to help me right now. I pushed those images away as this delicious man, who smelled pleasantly of Polo cologne and beer, put my arms around his neck and pulled me close. Normal, healthy relationship, I repeated over and over in my head. Normal, healthy relationship.
“I’m Charlie.”
“Jane.”
“I noticed you earlier, you know. You’re one of the only women in here whose smile looks real. Sometimes when people are turned, they lose that. It’s nice to meet someone who hasn’t.”
“Thanks.” I smiled.
“See? There it is again,” he teased, his dimples winking as he smiled back.
Charlie was the type of guy I would have loved meeting when I was living. Sincere, friendly, open, and out in the world. Of course, I never went to bars when I was living, so technically I wasn’t out in the world.
“So, how’s a nice girl like you doing shots in a place like this?”
I smirked. “Why don’t you guess?”
“You lost a bet?” Charlie asked. I giggled—yes, it’s pathetic, I know—and shook my head. “You’re new to Alcoholics Anonymous, and you’re unclear on the rules?”
“Good guess, but no.”
Charlie bit his lip and considered. “You’re in the witness-protection program and that guy is your inept federal handler?”
