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Sierra
Age Twenty
“ID.”
Here we go again.
Like last time, I told Ellie sneaking in was a horrible idea, and also like last time, she persuaded me otherwise.
“We’re home from college, and there’s jack shit to do,” is what she said, speaking the truth.
Leo swore on his grandmother’s grave that Maliki was out of town and not playing ID regulator. No longer am I taking Leo’s word on anything. I should’ve known the guy was trouble when he said he wasn’t a dog person.
Two years have passed since my last attempt to sneak in. Maliki might think I’m old enough to drink now.
I dramatically sigh and slap the ID into his waiting hand.
Well, it’s not exactly my ID.
He snorts while inspecting it. “Oh, your name is Ellie Ross now, huh?” He moves the ID from his view to gain a better look at me. “The strangest thing just happened. Minutes ago, I served a woman at the bar with the same name. ThatEllieresembles the photo on the IDwaymore than you.”
Ellie celebrated her twenty-first two months ago and got a copy of her ID, which went to yours truly. I normally have no issues using it. At the bars on campus, if you’re cute, you’re in. Not so much at this jackass’s pub.
I shrug. “I filed a name change. It was no fun, sharing it with a beverage ending in Mist.”
He holds the ID back up and studies it further, a grin twitching on his lips. “You changed not only your name, but also the color of your hair?”
“I went through a bad breakup. You can’t get over a man until you change your hair.”
He nods, eating up my responses. “I’ll escort you out.”
“I’d prefer you be a gentleman instead andescortme to the bar. Maybe buy me a cocktail?” I don’t bother hiding my drink this time. “If I recall correctly, you told me I could’ve at least given you a fake last time. I followed your exact instructions.”
“You took that out of context.”
A flirtatious smile dances on my lips. “Let’s talk compromise, shall we? How about this—we walk away from each other, pretend this chitchat didn’t happen, and that you never saw me? I’ll act invisible and swear not to cause any problems.” I thrust my hand out, bringing up my pinkie, but drop it seconds later when he ignores it.
Maliki snatches the drink from me. “Did you drive?”
“No, Ellie did.”
“Ellie, your friend, or Ellie, your alter ego?”
“I hate you,” I bite out, narrowing my eyes at him.
“And I hate annoying teenagers.”
“I’m not a teenager.”
“I hate annoyingyoung women. Is that better for your underage ass?”
“I hate annoyingoldmen.”
Technically, Maliki isn’t that old. I don’t know his exact age, but I’d guess around thirty. Ten years older than me isn’t ancient, but dude was learning multiplication when I was pulled from the womb.
He smirks, now looking more humored. “How much have you had to drink to give you enough balls to talk shit to me in my own bar?”
Crap.I internally forehead-slap myself.Play nice.“Only a few. I’m not planning to get wasted and dance on the bar.” I point to my glass in his hand. “I’ll make this my last. I promise.”
