“I wanted someplace I’d be comfortable at,” I said.
He walked closer and closer to me. That damn smell of oil. He was getting close enough I thought he was going to hug me. I couldn’t decide if that repulsed me or attracted me. He stopped about arm’s length away, looked at the sign, looked back at me, and snorted.
“I suppose it’s better than taking you someplace you think you’re going to get jumped,” he said. “Just be warned, though, if the prices of this place are what I think they are, I’m only buying you one drink. I’m not spending fifteen bucks on a cocktail when I can just take you down the street and get you a can of Bud Light for four.”
“OK, yeah, sure,” I said.
Well, strike one, we have very different tastes.
Also, wait, how is that not like strike twelve? And if it is, why are you letting Steele step up to bat?
“Look, if it’s that bad, I’ll buy the first round.”
And why in the world would you offer that?
“Hell no,” Steele said. “I did not ask you for drinks just so that you could be the one to pay. Uh-uh. I said I’m doing it, so I’m fucking doing it. I got this round, and if you haven’t gotten sick of my shit yet, we go someplace else and I’ll buy another one. And after that, we will keep going.”
We will?
“Come on, Rogers,” he said with a chuckle.
“I—”
And then he put a calloused, thick hand on the small of my back. I’d chosen to wear a light white top, which made it feel like his hand was almost making direct skin contact. I could feel the ridges and blisters on his fingers and palm. Such strength, such things he’d done with those hands…
He opened the door for me and pushed me in. It wasn’t an aggressive push, more like a gentle guiding in, but it was just another step that made me wonder how well I’d keep control of myself.
“I take it back,” he said. “This isn’t where all the fancy rich people go. This is where the rich man’s rich man goes.”
Probably pretty well if Steele keeps reminding me how different we are.
“Oh man, the bartender’s going to get a kick out of me. I bet they don’t ever have people like me.”
“I’ll find us a table,” I said. “Just get me a margarita, please.”
At the moment, I felt flustered. Steele’s humor was wearing on me a bit, especially since I’d had high hopes for the place. And as I walked to the table, I got looks from the other patrons, all wondering if I was with a boyfriend that didn’t treat me well.
But when I sat down and got an eagle eye’s view of the place, a funny thing happened. Yes, Steele was severely underdressed, and yes, Steele’s temperament was a better match for a car repair shop than a cocktail lounge. But you know what? He stood out from the crowd.
And when I stopped trying to pigeonhole him to be perfect and just let him be as he was, he stood out in a good way.
He wasn’t stuffy and pearl-clutching like all the other people. He wasn’t overweight and with a Dad bod like many of the men here. He wasn’t beholden to appearances. He gave no fucks, and while sometimes I wished he gave a couple—not literally, not yet at least—there was something to be said about the man who did whatever he wanted not because he was oblivious, but because he was especially aware of what was going on.
He came back to the table with a Blue Moon and a margarita.
“Not Bud Light,” I deadpanned.
“This was the cheapest beer they had,” he said. “And besides, I’m here for you, not the crowd.”
“Wait, what? I thought for sure that you’d want to entertain them?”
“These fuckers?” Steele said. “These guys would cower and try and sweet talk the Bandits if they came crashing in. All the men in here would be hiding behind their wives.”
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t really disagree.
“You don’t know that.”
“Really,” Steele said dryly. “Let’s see. There’s father of three over there with his mistress. He looks like he took one class of tae kwon do and thinks he knows how to handle himself in a street fight. There’s Professor Glasses over there…”
