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My heart hammers in my chest as I take in her beauty. I haven’t seen her in my dreams over the last few days because I haven’t slept long enough or soundly enough to dream at all.
“I believe I was here first.” I indicate my empty shot glass.
“Touché.” She laughs. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
“I promised you would,” I remind her. “And I always keep my promises.
The bartender pours me another shot, and she takes it from me, downing it with a single gulp. She sighs in contentment.
“I wouldn’t peg you for a bourbon man,” she says, eyeing me with interest.
“No? And how exactly would you peg me?”
I let the double entendre hang in the air between us and she smirks. I’m so turned on by this woman, and it’s only our second interaction.
“If I must, I’d say you like it rough and rowdy. Something that will make you regret it the next day.”
“Are we talking booze or fucking?” I murmur.
She throws her head back and laughs. “Why not both? In that case, I’d expect you to drink tequila.”
I wrinkle my nose, bad memories of my youth filling my brain. She isn’t wrong about it being rough and causing regrets, but I’ve matured past my tequila days.
“What about you?” I ask. “What’s your poison?”
She smiles at me seductively. “Anything I can get these days.”
I look at her curiously and her gaze drops to her hands. I notice the silver chain around her wrist and don’t miss the way she clings to it like it’s her life vest.
“Since my parents died, I’m a frequent patron of dive bars. Whatever will get me drunk the fastest is my drink of choice.”
I nod sadly, realizing Juliana is buried under the weight of her sadness. It’s the same face I’ve seen on Pocus every day this week. I’ve never loved anyone enough to be destroyed by their absence.
“How’s that bourbon workin’?” I ask her, and she shrugs sadly.
“Not quick enough. I’ll strike it from the list.”
“I’m not judging at all,” I tell her truthfully. “I’m the last person in the world to care what you do in your free time. I’m just wondering—does it help?”
She shakes her head slowly, and I see her tough mask come off. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the instant connection we’ve created. She must feel it too.
“All I ever feel is empty,” she answers in a small voice. “My parents were my whole world. They brought me over from Brazil when I was a baby and did everything they could to give me the American Dream. I never expected it would mean losing them.”
I order another round of shots for us, this time switching to vodka, noticing the bartender’s already poured me another bourbon shot. Vodka’s not my usual order, but it’ll help her lose herself quicker, and it sounds like she needs to. It’s a small sacrifice I can make to stay in her presence.
“I don’t have any siblings,” she tells me. “It was just us, the Three Musketeers. They were so proud of everything I did, and then there was no one to be proud of me anymore. I’ve been a little lost.”
“How long ago did they die?” I ask her, not sure what else I can say.
She downs the shot and answers quickly. “It feels like it was yesterday,” she tells me, her voice angry. “Irony of ironies, they were killed by a drunk driver, a head-on collision.”
I nod slowly, knowing how common those occur in this area. Thanks to the millions of tourists who flood the city every year to get drunk off their asses and party their worries away, our roads are treacherous.
“But enough about me,” she says, slamming her glass down and shaking her head. “Let me talk long enough and I become a real bummer. What are your parents like?”
I order one more round of shots, but the bartender is already on it. I’m not sure how drunk I’ll have to be for that conversation. Pocus knows more about my childhood than anyone else because I can’t bring myself to talk about it often. When we met, we realized we both raised ourselves. It was the first thing that bonded us.
I never knew my dad, and I’ve come to the conclusion my mom didn’t know him either. He was likely a one-night stand she met while partying with her girlfriends. When I look back on it now, I’m surprised she chose to keep me, considering she had to give up her youth and her partying to work two full-time jobs to keep us fed and sheltered.
