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“Yeah, between work and curling and volunteering at the animal shelter, I don’t get a whole lot of time to shop.” She squeezes my arm again. “But I’d really love to visit your store. I will make some time to come see you, Gemma.”
In this moment, I get it. The appeal of Sunny Khatri. Why Dax wants her as a friend. Hell, I’m beginning to thinkIwant her as a friend.
The phone on the table in front of her vibrates. She picks it up, swipes and types, and then holds it out for us to see. “I swear to god I say the wordwork,and it sends out some sort of bat signal. Unfortunately, I need to go in. I’m gonna try and see if I can get an Uber. It was lovely meeting you, Gemma.”
If I were a good person, I’d be disappointed for her that the night was cut short. But I’m not. I’m too happy that this might mean I get some more time with Dax without the shinier, newer model sitting next to me for immediate comparison.
However, Dax also gets to his feet. “I can give you a ride. It’s late.”
It takes every single shred of my self-control not to shout out,No! Stay here. Hang out with me.
I watch him clap both Brandon and his cousin on the back and throw a friendly wave in my direction. “It was nice to see you again, Gemma.”
He turns to follow Sunny, who is headed for the door, but stops when Larry intercepts him with his appetizer platter.
He takes the plate from Larry’s hands and returns to our table, and for the briefest of moments, my heart fills with the hope that maybe he’s changed his mind and decided to stay.
“Any chance you’re hungry?” he asks me. “Dougie and Brandon won’t eat carbs, but I swear this place makes the best mozzarella sticks in town.”
I manage a nod.
He sets the plate in front of me, then jogs to catch up to Sunny, disappearing with her out the door.
I stare down at the wings and wedges and four brown blobs of cheese on my plate, garnished with a lone leaf of limp romaine lettuce. The only consolation is the single side of marinara sauce.
I need a drink. Not to cope with my problems with alcohol, butto wash down the bitter disappointment climbing up my throat. And the cheese.
However, Dougie and Brandon have drained the last drop from the pitcher. I excuse myself to the bar, checking out the line of taps for possibly the first time in my life. I’ve never ordered anything but Hurry Hard at the club. I thought it was Dax’s favorite. But when I really think about it, it’s actually not that great of a beer, and since I’m on my own tonight, I figure I might as well order what I want.
“One Guinness, please,” I tell Larry. He gives me a leery look but grabs a glass and pulls the tap without argument. Larry is a good bartender, and Guinness is a pain in the ass to serve due to the two-part pour. Knowing it will be a minute or two before my beer is ready, I excuse myself to the ladies room.
I don’t need to pee. I only need a moment to splash a little water on my face. I collect myself and stare at the mirror to ensure I’m still me. It’s not a given anymore.
Two gray eyes stare back from the reflection. They look the same as they always have. Maybe a little tired. Dimensional travel will do that to a girl.
When I return to the bar, I feel a little more composed. I catch Larry’s eye. He takes the perfectly poured Guinness from the base of the tap and slides it down the bar top toward me.
Larry might be a solid bartender, but he’s not so great of a curler. He overshoots, and the beer slides past me. I reach for it but bump hands with another patron doing the same.
“Sorry.” We both say it at the same time before I register the emerald eyes staring back at me, and my fingers start to tingle.
“You’re stealing my beer now.” His words are curt, but his tone is playful.
“I thought you left.” My gaze takes a quick trip around the bar and confirms that Sunny isn’t here.
He nods toward the front door. “There was a cab in the parking lot waiting. The person who called it didn’t show or something. Sunny insisted that she take it and I come back inside.”
I make a mental note to take back any negative thoughts I may have been emanating out into the universe about the woman.
“Well, it appears we are both Guinness drinkers. I was certain Larry was sending this to me.”
Dax looks at Larry, who is too engaged in an animated conversation with two bar patrons to identify the beer’s proper owner.
“Why don’t you take it.” Dax nudges the glass toward me. “You’ve had a rough day.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, and then an idea strikes. It’s mixed with a memory. Twirled and swirled together in such a way that I can almost see exactly how the next two minutes are going to play out.
“What about this?” I propose. “The beer should go to the one of us that’s more Irish. It’s a Guinness. That’s practically universal law.”
