Page 11 of Dirty Reads

Katie worked the 11:00 to 7:00 shift, and was preparing to tip out the bartender.

“You get seventeen?” she asked.

I leaned against the bar. “Yeah.”

I pressed my finger against the screen and placed Dick’s order. “Hey, would you pick up my tables if I left early?”

She looked up from her stack of tips. “You were just bitching about rent. You’re gonna leave early?”

“Maybe.”

“Seventeen? He’s cute.”

“Maybe.”

She glared. “Maybe he’s cute?”

“He’s something. I met him on Monday. In the alley. He was blocking the drive and I honked at him.”

She went back to counting. “Yeah, I’ll pick it up if you want.”

“I’ll let you know in a minute,” I said.

I grabbed the two shots of Patron and walked past Comb over’s table. “You guys doing alright?

He glanced over his shoulder. “Great.”

I glanced at my other table; a man and a woman who appeared to be on an awkward Craigslist date. They sat across from each other talking, still nursing their first glasses of wine. I turned toward the corner and halfway to his table realized I’d forgotten the limes.

Fuck.

He was talking on the phone when I got to the booth. I carefully placed the two shots on the edge of the table, and before he had a chance to say anything, spoke.

“Be right back with the limes,” I whispered.

He pulled the phone away from his ear, motioned toward it with his eyes, and grinned. I walked to the bar and got the limes, wondering why he seemed so much different than he did the day we met.

Maybe he burned the guys house down or sold his wife to the cartel, and now he was in a better mood. Maybe the guy paid his debt, and Dick didn’t have to do those things. In my experiences, how we react to the worst life has to offer us defines who we truly are.

My guess was the Dick sitting in the booth was a shallow lie, and the Dick in the alley was the real Dick.

The real Dick was a real dick.

I slid the lime-filled shot glass between the two glasses of tequila and sat down across from him. “Here you go.”

He pushed one of the shot glasses toward me. “Here.”

I glanced at the glass. “Here what?”

“Drink with me.”

I pushed it toward him. “I’m working. I’ll get fired.”

He chuckled and pushed it back. “Surprised that didn’t happen on Monday.”

“Patel wasn’t here.”

He offered a shrug as an advance apology. “If I drink both of these, I’m going to be half-drunk and it’s anyone’s guess how I’ll be acting when we go to dinner later. If I had to guess? I’d guess I’ll be all over your cute little ass. But, if you drink one of ‘em, I’ll be on my best behavior. I promise. So, either drink one, or not.”