I finally look down and survey the damage. There’s not a patch of skin or clothes that’s not covered in flour dust. It’s going to take more than one shampoo to pull myself into any type of presentable. “I need a shower and a stiff drink.”
“Let’s get you cleaned up, and I’ll take you out for drinks. This is going to be a busy week, and you need to relax a little.”
Relax? I haven’t relaxed since the moment I sank every dollar I had left to my name into making my dream of owning a bakery a reality. The life insurance money from Mitchell’s death made the entire thing possible, and if it fails, a small piece of him will die all over again.
“I know just the place.” I waggle my eyebrows.
Hours later and an entire bottle of shampoo down, Roger and I walk into Hook & Hustle. The sun’s just starting to set in the city, creating the most magnificent shadows on the sidewalks of the old neighborhood. The pavement is covered with a fresh sheet of snow, sparkling like a million little diamonds from the overhead lights lining the street.
“Well,” Roger says as soon as we step inside the bar. “It’s not upscale.”
The man’s all about things being nice, and he prefers to hang out on the North Side or in Boys Town, neither of which has ever been my cup of tea.
Hook & Hustle is the quintessential neighborhood bar. Dark and warm, brimming with people and lively conversation.
“I have a good feeling about this place.” I spot an empty booth and grab his hand. “Come on, stick in the mud. Try to have a little fun tonight. Maybe smile a little bit. Never know, you may find the love of your life in here.”
We slide into the booth, and Roger glances around. “Doesn’t look like there’s a gay man in the place, Til. Look at them.” He waves his hand in the direction of the customers sitting around the bar. “What do you see?”
I study them, taking in their flannel shirts and casual clothing, the exact opposite of Roger and me. “I see possibility.” I give him a wink.
Roger’s lips purse. “I see blue-collar straight men and nothing else.”
“Exactly.” I smile. “This night is about me, not you.”
“What can I get ya?” a woman asks, holding no less than six empty beer bottles in her hands.
“Tequila on the rocks, no salt.”
Roger dips his head, knowing I’m about to turn it up a notch or make a scene before the night’s through. “What type of craft beers do you have on tap?”
She rattles off a list before Roger finally makes his selection. The man is beyond picky.
“Beer is beer,” I tell him as soon as she walks away. “For fuck’s sake, you make everything so complicated.”
“I don’t put trash in my mouth, doll. That goes for beer and cocks.”
I stare across the table at Roger and smirk. “What about Harvey?”
He winces, hating to be reminded of the time he slummed it for about a month with a roughneck welder from the South Side. “He was a lapse in judgment.” Roger taps his fingers against the table as he glances out the window, avoiding all eye contact and putting an end to our Harvey conversation. He’s so finicky when it comes to men.
Between my inability to move on after his brother and his weirdo obsession with finding the perfect creature, we’re both doomed to be single forever.
“Tequila on the rocks, no salt,” the waitress says as she places my drink on the table before turning her attention toward Roger. “And your beer.”
“Is Angelo here?” I blurt out before she has a chance to walk away.
“He left. He works the day shift mostly.”
“Makes sense with the wife and kids.” Roger lifts the beer toward his lips, eyeing me over the rim. He likes to twist the knife, knowing I’m pining over someone I can’t have.
Maybe that’s why I like Angelo.
He’s unavailable.
Kind of like my heart.
“No wife,” the woman tells us. “She passed a few years back from cancer, but my niece and nephew need their daddy at night.”
