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Settling in, my eyes shifted left and right. Nobody had seen me, or even wanted to take notice. To everyone except the bartender, I’d been there forever.
They’re not really looking for you, I told myself. Relax.
I’d come here to relax. Hell, I’d risked getting jumped outside my hotel to relax. Might as well relax.
I ordered a double shot of bourbon and slammed it quickly, tipping the bartender twice what the drink cost. He smiled appreciatively, then I ordered a beer. It came in a glass — always with a glass with these people — and a strangely rounded glass at that. At least in England they used pint glasses. Something big and solid you could really wrap your fist around.
England…
A lump formed in my throat, unbidden, unwanted. Rather than continue along down that path, I used my beer to swallow it down.
The minutes ticked by, and still no one came. If anything, the police were looking for the two guys beating the piss out of each other in the alley. An image of my handsome savior floated to mind, all hair and stubble and rugged jawline. Whoever he was, I hoped he’d gotten away. Probably some midnight hero, jacked up on alcohol and feeling especially brave.
But who were those other guys?
Slowly I played the scene over in my mind again; the three strange men approaching me, just outside my hotel. Walking calmly, but just a little too quickly. One of them grinning a malevolent grin. Another one grabbing my arm…
I wondered which of the three I’d sent hurtling into the wall, and whether or not he’d be alright. Probably, I thought to myself. Then again, I’d been amped up. Pumped with adrenaline. And when that happened…
Well when that happened, all bets were off.
I shoved the memory of my attackers from my mind and took another long pull from my beer. It was a lot warmer than I would’ve liked. That was a thing here too — if you didn’t order your beer cold, you got whatever you got. Just another annoying mental note to jot down on this already long, bullshit trip.
It had been four days already — a long, monotonous four days stuck at the top of some random hotel. The room service was good at least, but by now I was restless. Beyond restless.
And lonely too.
Here in the bar, at least there were people. Music played, glasses clinked. I soaked it all in, not even realizing how much I’d been starved for these things these past few days. Normally I enjoyed being alone, but being told to isolate myself somehow bothered me.
As time wore on and no one showed up to get me, I reveled in the smug satisfaction of having gotten away with something. A few things, actually.
“Fuck you Xiomara,” I toasted, hoisting my glass.
I drank in peace. For a little while, anyway. Then the bartender came my way again, this time with a troubled look on his face. I knew right away something was up.
Damn. And I was this close to actually having fun…
“’Allo’ miss,” the man said awkwardly. The French accent on his English was hard, but better than most. “I don’t normally do this, but the gentleman at the end of the bar would like to… well…”
“Well what?”
“He’d like to know when you plan to buy him a drink.”
My eyebrows came together in confusion. The man looked embarrassed.
“His words,” the barkeep said, putting his hands up defensively. “Not mine.”
I scanned the entire line, everyone at the bar. I should’ve just started at the opposite end.
There, in the very last seat, sat the long-haired blonde guy from the alley.
He looked younger than me, but not by much. His jacket was still missing, exposing a set of broad shoulders and tight, well-built arms that looked flexed even when they weren’t. And he was handsome too — even more so than in the alley. Almost model handsome. Obnoxiously handsome.
“He wants a drink, does he?”
The bartender shrugged. “That’s what he said.”
He ignored me the entire time I watched him, smiling and laughing with some pretty brunette who sat on the stool to his left. For some odd reason it made me instantly jealous. I wanted to be that brunette. I wanted to be the object of his attention, his laughter.
