“I don’t know if it’s a smart move. This job is important, I don’t want to ruin it.”
“You’re only going to be doing this for a few more months—this is the perfect way to commemorate it. Imagine in ten years, you’re sitting around with all your new, less-interesting-than-me academic friends and you whip out this badass article about your cool life in your twenties.” She gives me a wide-eyed expectant look. When I don’t immediately respond, she softens her voice. “If you’re worried about work, just make sure it’s anonymous.”
“Even if I do that, I’ll screw it up.”
I’m great behind the bar or on dates. I know exactly how to meet expectations. It’s not exactly a high bar—let’s be real, men aren’t creative when it comes to the dream girl they want to take home to their parents.
But being the person who talks instead of listens? Being me? Fuck that.
The only reason I was starting to move on from the interaction with the man—who I now know was L. Hughes—in the cab and at the restaurant is that I have no plans on ever seeing him again.
“I think it’s safe to say that if he still wants to talk to you after everything that happened, you’ll be just fine. And this proves your celebrity crush isn’t an asshole. Not all of us get to say that. You have to tell him yes. Go out with him.”
“It wouldn’t be a date. It would be an interview,” I remind her, but I doubt my words will do any good to shatter her delusions.
“And it will go great. He’ll fall in love with you, because how could he not, and you’ll have yet another reason to stay in the city.” Iris perks up, attention shifting from me, thank God. I follow her gaze to where Jasmine is weaving toward us wearing a comically ugly Christmas sweater trimmed with tinsel. She calls out, “Help me convince Henri to fuck her celebrity crush.”
“I’m going to grab dishes and pretend you’re not using my sex life to flirt.” I head to the side room just off of the bar wherewe keep the dishwasher and extras of the liquor we tend to go through most of.
We’re not too busy yet, but that will change now that it’s four. I load up my arms with steaming, freshly-cleaned glassware. I let Iris do her thing as I put everything up at both well stations, hoping by the time I’m back they’ll have already covered the meager details of my sad excuse for a romantic life.
I haven’t actually dated anyone since college, and I was never actually in a relationship with anyone then. At first it was because I was too busy. Now that I have a more flexible schedule, it would be too complicated. I move too often for anything long-term and I don’t know how well telling someone I date people for a living would go over.
Iris has tried to help get me laid over the last few years, and I always say no. That’s the one area I’m not quite sure how to perform in—to be the person a partner would want. I’m not a virgin, but a handful of sloppy, fumbling frat party hook ups does not an expert make.
I can play at being sexy, but the idea of being with someone and disappointing them makes me feel vulnerable and anxious.
I like it this way. I have complete control over who I meet and when I leave.
“Jasmine, what can I—” I start, turning to face her but the rest of the sentence catches half way up my throat.
“Manhattan for me and whiskey sour for Liam,” Jasmine says eagerly, apparently not noticing how I’ve turned to stone at the sight of the man next to her, also wearing a gaudy sweater with about a hundred tiny bells attached to it. “Thanks, Henri.”
“Yeah, thanks,Henri.” L. Hughes makes my name sound like a new inside joke he’s testing the shape of—rolling it around on his tongue.
Keeping my eyes fixed on the bottles in front of me, and thankful for the bar between us, I make drinks as the conversation picks up again.
“Liam, you have a lot of freckles,” Iris says loudly, making sure I can hear. “Don’t see too many people with so many. I bet there’s like abillion.”
“I guess I haven’t thought about that?” His voice tips up at the end in confusion.
“Well, now that you’re both here, you have to help me convince Henri to go out with her celebrity crush. She got this email and she’s thinking of saying no.” Flames lick up my body. I won’t have to worry about grad school or the future if I die right here from humiliation.
“It’s not a date.” I enunciate the best I can through gritted teeth. “Just a work thing.IfI say yes.”
“What exactly do you do for work? Sounds interesting if you’re being given an opportunity like this?” Liam has the gall to sound innocently curious.
“This, and freelance consulting on the side,” I say. Finishing the drinks, I hand them across the bar and give Iris anSOSglance.
“Jasmine, how do you feel about pool?” she asks. Traitor.
“That I’d love you to teach me how to play.” Jasmine’s mouth cracks into a wide smile as she scoots off her barstool. Iris guides her further into the bar where a pool table has opened up.
Iris looks back over her shoulder and I take the opportunity to mouth“I hate you.”
She blows me a cheeky kiss. Just wait and see how she likes it when I don’t bring her back leftovers anytime soon. That’ll show her.
“Jas is really great at pool,” Liam says.
