Page 11 of Grim Tidings

“Not? Yeah, I know what you mean.” I grab a bar rag, just for something to do with my hands. The tender place between my shoulder blades itches again, settling into a deep throb that won’t alleviate until I’m upstairs later, flat on my back on my living room floor, arms spread wide while I do my best to forget all my many responsibilities.

She takes another slow slip. I watch her like the sucker I am.

“Do you like it?” I ask.

She nods. “You were right.”

I grin. “Don’t be shy. Go ahead and say that again.”

She laughs. “You were right. This is exactly the drink I wanted.” She takes another pull from the glass. “I guess I’ll be keeping you company tonight.”

I immediately want to ask her to say that again, too. But I refrain.

Instead, I lean up against the bar. “If you’re keeping me company, then I should probably know your name.”

“Probably,” she agrees. Her smile is slow but pleased. “My name is Darcy.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” I hold out my hand. “I’m Gabriel.”

She hesitates, and then cold, slender fingers slide against mine.

“Gabriel,” she repeats. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

I make her another sidecar and then quickly get pulled away by a string of calamities in the post-dinner rush. Friday nights are always relentless, midshipmen from the nearby Naval Academy colliding with the tourists and bachelorette parties. I’m at my best when I’m surrounded by people, but this is mayhem. I’m pulled in seventeen different directions, when I want to look in just one.

The already limited room at the bar becomes nonexistent, bodies crushed up against the counter as people try to flag me down for drinks. Frank is long since departed, his space now occupied by a tipsy twentysomething, slurring her way through an order of shots.

“I said,” she yells at the top of her lungs, her birthday-girl sash tangled around her elbow, “that I want four blow jobs!”

The midshipman next to her turns to her with his eyebrows raised. He grins. “I can help you with that, honey.”

“Yeah. Not likely.” I grip his elbow and turn him toward the corner of the room. “Go stand over there for a sec, bud.”

His eyes widen slightly, but he follows the order without hesitation, glancing at me over his shoulder a couple of times. I twist my neck to the side, trying to ease the damn persistent ache in the middle of my back. I look at the birthday girl.

“How about four waters instead?”

She pouts. “But it’s my birthday.”

We negotiate until she has four nonalcoholic shots full of whipped cream and she hops happily back to her group of friends in the corner, her sash billowing behind her like a white flag of surrender.

My attention snaps back to the far side of the bar. An empty glass with an orange peel on the rim sits in front of an empty seat.

I frown.

When did she slip out? The last time I looked over, she was staring thoughtfully at the crowd of people jostling for room, toying with a thin gold chain around her neck. Disappointment tugs at me. She was supposed to keep me company for the rest of my shift. That was our bargain.

I glance at the clock and flinch. I haven’t been on that side of the bar in almost a half hour.

I guess I don’t blame her for leaving, but I don’t like it either.

“Jessie!” I yell down the bar at the other bartender. She tips her chin up in acknowledgment. “I’m gonna take a minute out back.”

She nods and waves me off, turning back to the flock of naval soldiers she’s currently charming into leaving a higher tip. I snort and make my way toward the back hallway. I pass the obnoxious asshole from the bar, still standing in the corner like a house-trained dog. I clap him on his shoulder as I pass, and he shudders.

“You can go back to your friends now,” I tell him.

His body relents as if someone’s just cut the puppet strings holding him up. His forehead slams into the wall before he corrects himself, shooting me a bewildered look before scurrying off.