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“Do you remember everything like that?”
“Just the important things.”
A question mark practically hung over her head like an inverse version of the proverbial light bulb.
“Neither, really,” I suddenly remarked.
“What?”
“You were trying to figure out if I’m kidding or psychic. No, I’m not a mind reader; it is just a look I’ve seen before.”
“A lot?”
“Enough.”
I didn’t offer anything more.
“That doesn’t seem right.”
She made a slight pout.
“I’m used to it,” I added.
“Now, you see, that just makes it worse. That it happens so much you got used to it. Why would people do that?” she said, and took a pull from her Guinness.
“Conservative hometown, offbeat interests with a history of violence. The choice of being called Varg didn’t help, but that was my own stupid fault. Being smart and musically inclined brought out the bullies.”
“I’m getting mad now,” she said, and made a face.
She was empathizing an awful lot, it seemed to me.
Trying to calm herself, she took another swig of Guinness, swallowing slow, letting it do its work.
“At me?” I asked her.
“No, at the situation. They even have you thinking it’s your fault. You should be able to like whatever you like and, call yourself whatever you want.”
“Amen to that.”
We toasted and drank, a general sense of calm coming upon the scene once more.
“Do you have a lot of trouble with that?” I asked.
“Not really, no. I just tend to like offbeat people, and don’t like to see anyone get kicked for no reason.”
“Been there too.”
“What?”
“Never mind forget I said anything, okay. Some people just suck and the past is the past.
“You’re really okay with it?” she asked.
“It’s part of who I became, so I don’t have much choice.”
I gave her a cool look. Then I decided to try something.
“You think we’re the accumulation of our total experience?” I asked.
“Basically, yeah.”
“That’s something else we have in common.”
“Along with Guinness and Black?”
“Don’t forget quality music. I must have listened to your album a dozen times,” she said, grinning.
A look of something passed over her beautiful face, and she licked her upper lip.
I couldn’t believe it; she was actually a fan. Not just a groupie or a hanger on.
Like Stephanie said, it wasn’t just a parasocial thing. The connection with her was as real as anything.
“It’s not just my album,” I teased. “There are two other guys in the band, and a lot of the credit goes to Sven down at The Sanctuary. Our recording studio. He can be a dick sometimes, but he’s like a Zen master when it comes to recording. Mostly why people put up with him.”
“Yeah, I’ve known people like that.”
“How old are you, Ashe?” I asked.
“Twenty-one, why?” she asked and chuckled. “Did you think I was younger? I mean, I’m not accusing or anything, I just get that a lot.”
She sipped her bottle, and the way her lips touched the cool glass tip stirred something in me.
“Mostly I was wondering how we could seem to have such similar life experiences and reach the same conclusions. At least from what I can tell.”
“Serendipity?” she shrugged.
“Could be. The Fates can be fickle things.”
“You believe in The Fates, Mr. Ibsen?” she asked.
“Please, call me Varg. ‘Mr. Ibsen’ makes me feel like a dirty old man.”
“How old are you? Twenty-eight?”
“Twenty-nine. Not too far off. As for The Fates, I’m certainly starting to believe in them,” I said, and gave her a full-on stare, right into those gorgeous green eyes of hers.
She gasped, slightly, and then blushed.
It didn’t matter. The sparks had caught, lighting the fire between us. We didn’t have to say anything. The same jolt was there from last night, only more so.
It was almost like a race to see who could finish their drink first. I had an advantage, only having a tumbler. There was only so much absinthe the human body could endure at once.
She finished her Guinness, setting the bottle onto the counter, and let me help her up. I felt her warmth, and she smiled a brilliant smile.
We left the pub, and I could see her trying to figure out which vehicle might belong to me.
“You have a car?” she asked.
“Van.”
“Close enough.”
We decided my place was closest, so we went there. Ashe’s jaw literally dropped as we pulled up. It had the desired effect.
“Rental, right?” she asked.
“Nope. Only one hundred more payments and it’s all mine.”
“Nice.”
She made a low whistle of approval.
Dashing up the front stairs, I unlocked the door. Ashe was literally glued to me. The energy was almost too much to bear.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You did slam the entire bottle,” I grinned.
“Oh, yeah, I’m good. I inherited my Irish dad’s tolerance, no problem. I could do the alphabet backwards or walk in a straight line if you want?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I just didn’t want to be taking advantage.”
“You’re really sweet,” she said, as I happily pulled her in close to me for our first kiss.
