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Old man Feeble, with his pruned face, and cue-ball head appears from the side door. “Erica, I’m not paying you to make friends. I’m paying you to make drinks.” He grabs a full bottle of scotch from the shelf and disappears through the same door he entered.
Erica looks skyward and shakes her head and mouths, “He’s an asshole.”
“Most of them are.” I hand Blake the pitcher of beer. “You were leaving.”
He laughs. “Was I?” He grips the beer and turns to walk away. “I’m only a few feet away if you need rescue.” He walks toward the others and makes the sound of a sputtering engine. His way of telling me I am still going to crash and burn.
“You were going to tell me something about yourself.”
She grabs the bar towel and wipes the counter in front of me.
“You’re right.” She brushes a black curl from her forehead. “I’m happy to be your friend, but here are three reasons I’ll never be more. I don’t do military, I don’t do casual, and I don’t do assholes.”
Alana approaches us like a racecar without brakes. “What she means is, she’s excited to meet you, Cade. She’s learning to be more flexible, and she’d love to go home with you.” Alana turns to Erica and says, “Remember our talk about accountability? Cade here is one the few, not one of the many.”
I offer her a smile and a look of confusion. “Care to enlighten me?”
“Not really,” she says.
“Stop trying to pimp me out,” Erica grumbles. “Flyboys at six o’clock.” She points her friend toward the new crew who arrives in mass.
Before Alana leaves to see to the new group, she leans over and says, “Don’t give up on her, she’ll give in, eventually. Keep on until you wear her down.”
“Out,” Erica yells. Her voice is thick, and sexy. It makes my veins heat and my heart race. Every word is like a warm caress across my skin. She has a lot going for her in my book, she’s pretty, funny, and short term. Erica is perfect.
