Page 9 of Reality Girl, Ep. 3

Chapter Four

Eric scanned the bar, taking additional time to admire a few of the women. After getting an eyeful of the women San Diego’s lush suburb had to offer, he looked at Franky. “Nice bar.”

Franky shot me an awkward glance, and then gave Eric a nod. “Thanks. What can I get you?”

“Michelob Ultra.”

“Bottle or glass?”

“Bottle.”

He looked at me. I raised my eyebrows, cocked my head to the side, and gave him my best are you fucking kidding me look.

“One Ultra, one margarita.” He turned away.

I wondered where the attitude came from, and decided to ask when he returned with our drinks. The only thing I could come up with was that I’d brought Eric in the bar. I had my reasons, and I was sure as soon as he heard them, he’d understand fully.

“How’d you both get out of there without raising eyebrows?” he asked over his shoulder.

“There’s only one camera crew when it’s late,” I said. “We just kind of left. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Eric leaned onto the bar, and then looked at me. “So, you come in here quite a bit?”

“Pretty much every day.”

Franky slid Eric the Ultra and handed me the margarita. I took a sip and almost spit it on the bar. The main ingredient was missing. Or, at least it seemed so to my pickled taste buds. I scrunched my nose in disgust. “Did you forget something?”

A condescending look shot from his eyes. “You’ve had enough for one day.”

I lowered the glass. “Since when do you make decisions for me?”

He crossed his arms. “Since now.”

“If I’m paying for it, I should get what I ordered.”

“When was the last time you paid for a drink in here?” he asked in a dismissive tone.

I thought about it, and drew a complete blank. Obviously, it had been a while. I raised my index finger. “I’ve got money.”

It was a complete lie. I was out of money, and had no idea how I was going to make it until the end of the show without turning tricks.

Franky huffed a dry laugh and walked to the far end of the bar.

Eric looked at me over the top of his bottle. “How long you and him been seeing each other?”

Is it that obvious?

I pushed my glass of margarita-flavored Kool-Aid to the side and tried to act surprised by his claim. “Wait. What?”

He arched an argumentative eyebrow.

I glanced at Franky. He was talking to two men at the end of the bar. I looked at Eric. “We’re not seeing each other. Well, not really.”

He took another sip of beer, and then turned his bar stool to the side. “I’m listening.”

I let out a sigh. “I was going to tell you everything here in a few minutes. After we had a few drinks.”

“It isn’t like you’re shy or anything,” he said with a laugh. “You can tell me now.”