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“Luke—”
“We were doing better when we were heading out of Blue Creek, right? Going to a new place?” I asked. My words were suddenly spilling out. “So, by that logic, we should go do something we’ve never done before.”
She nodded and raised an eyebrow. “I guess that makes sense.”
“Then let’s get out of here.”
She dumped her menu and the two of us bolted out of the diner like it was on fire.
We walked for a block or two, still in silence, until Cindy pointed at a bar called the Flying Irishman.
“How about there?” she asked. “You and I have never been drinking together. You up for happy hour, Luke?”
I shrugged. “Good enough.”
Nine
Cindy
Luke held open the door to the Flying Irishman and we marched inside. I went straight to the bar and asked for two shots of Southern Comfort.
I slid one over to Luke, but he didn’t pick it up. It took me a second to remember why.
“Oh, fuck. You still don’t drink?” I asked, internally face-palming. “Let’s do something else. There’s got to be a bowling alley somewhere.”
“It’s cool,” he said. “Drinking is fine.”
He flagged down the bartender and ordered a beer. I followed suit and we clinked glasses, leaving the shots of SoCo alone for a while. He clinked his glass against mine.
“Cheers,” he said before taking a small sip, trying not to wince as he swallowed.
“You don’t have to drink, Luke,” I told him. “Or, you know, it doesn’t have to be beer. You can order a girly drink if you want. Or I can order it and pretend it’s for me so you can look like a manly man in front of the bartender.”
“Do guys really do that?” he wondered.
I nodded. “I went out with a guy once who did.”
“Did you do it?”
“I did. But I gave him some hell for it afterward.”
“Another military guy?”
“Huh?”
“The guy you were going out with?” he asked. “Was he a soldier too?”
“Oh. No. He was just a guy I met on an app.”
Luke nodded and took another miserable sip of his beer. He put the pint glass down, looking like he was giving up.
“I never would’ve fit in, would I?” he asked.
“Some of those guys could really knock it back. And it was a real beer-and-whiskey crowd,” I told him. “I don’t think anyone could’ve gotten away with ordering a girly drink. Even me.”
He laughed, but it was halfhearted.
“Not just with the drinking. You know what I mean,” he said.
