Page 5 of Challenge Me

I breathed a laugh. “What’s your name?”

“Remi.”

I glanced at the sign behind him. It matched the aesthetic of the place flawlessly. Looking at him again, I leaned forward. His scent overwhelmed my senses, but this time, I didn’t try to rid myself of it.

His fingers spider-crawled closer to my hand. “What are you thinking? Shocked some lowlife like me could swing it?”

I flicked my pinky out to trip his fingers up before they could reach me. “I wonder what makes someone want to own a bar. Not just own, but man it.”

“You think it’s a job for college kids and basement-dwellers.” His eyes went to my shirt, then drank in the rest of me. “What do you do, anyway?”

I moved my finger around the rim of my glass. “Most people are dying to get out of service jobs. I think it takes a lot of patience and hard work.”

“Mostly because they pay like shit and the customers are assholes. I don’t mind those things.”

“How do you manage it?”

He brought his headphones up. “Like this.”

“I’m confused.”

“What?” he asked loudly.

“I’m confused.”

He shook his head and pointed at his ear. “Sorry.”

Without another word, he walked away. I stared after him and laughed when he popped his hip to one side, then strummed an air guitar. The looks from his customers didn’t seem to deter him as he continued to exuberantly collect empty glasses and check in with everyone. There was a guy in the corner who had been flirting with him earlier, but Remi brushed off his advances expertly before he came back to the counter.

“What are you listening to?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, so I leaned across, and he obliged me by dipping his head so I could take the headphones.

“Did you say please?” he asked.

“Of course.”

I was still smiling as I put them on. They were shockingly comfortable, and I wondered if I should switch out my earbuds for a pair of these things. The music, though, wasn’t something I’d choose. I couldn’t decide if it was romantic or funereal. Yet, as I sat in the bar, with its gritty atmosphere and passé resonance, I sank deeper into it. The already purposeful aesthetic became resolute, grounded in something greater than simple décor.

When I looked up, Remi was no longer in front of me. I peered around the bar but only saw the same few groups of people from before. Since it would be incredibly rude to go searching for him in the back, I sat there, shamelessly wearing his headphones while I basked in a piece of his world.

I tracked him immediately when he returned to the front, drying his hands and wearing a faint smile as he approached. He leaned his elbows on the surface in front of me, and I didn’t move back, but I shifted one of the pads away from my ear.

“Like it?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “What even is it?”

He pulled out his phone to check. “That one’s Jason Isbell.”

“Why don’t you play it in here? It fits.”

“Most people aren’t into it.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. “They want Taylor Swift and Benny what’s-his-face.”

“And you don’t like them.”

“They’re cheap. Fast food for your ears.”

My head tilted slightly as I studied him. “You’re interesting.”