ONE
sounded like she was auditioning for a 1990’s porno
Arthur
It’s a Wednesday night, and while the bar is a little more lively than I’d like, it’s still pretty quiet compared to the weekends. I prefer when it’s just me and a few other regulars here. I come in, I sit alone, and no one bothers me. I drink my coffee while occasionally chatting with the owners, Beau and Josie. It’s nice. I like it. Exactly the way it is.
But despite tonight not being a busy one, there’s an extra buzz in the air, and the music is just a touch louder than usual. The lights seem a little lower, too.
I’ve been sitting here for an hour when a flash of light pulls my attention to the dance floor, where a blonde woman is attempting to dance with someone who is clearly not into it. The guy is so drunk, he’s barely holding himself up, let alone her.
I shake my head and bring my gaze back to the shiny wooden bar top.
“For a guy who doesn’t drink, you sure spend a lot oftime here.” Jo rounds the corner of the bar and sets a fresh cup in front of me, a small smile causing her eyes to crinkle. “I’m gonna guess that coffee is ice cold by now and probably tastes like piss. I brewed you a fresh pot.”
“Thanks, Josie Posie. Beau’s good at a lot of things, but coffee-making is nowhere close to being one of them. You’re an angel.” I wink at her and bring the freshly made coffee to my lips, breathing in the scent.
“You know, Arthur, that lopsided smile and wink of yours are nothing but trouble.” She waves a finger at me, taking the cold coffee cup and spinning on her heel to dump its contents in the sink and place it on a rack of dirty glasses. The familiar clinking of glasses momentarily drowns out the terrible pop song currently playing. When she turns back toward me, she begins to wipe the bar top, but stops when something catches her eye. “Hmm…”
As the song changes to “Treasure” by Bruno Mars, I follow her gaze to the other end of the bar, where a woman has just sat on a stool, elbows propped on the bar with her head in her hands. The same blonde from the dance floor—the one with a sparkly belt that she seems to be trying to pass off as a shirt—is next to her, rolling her eyes, oblivious to or uncaring of her friend’s feelings. The brunette looks up, trying to get Beau’s attention behind the bar, but he’s deep into some inventory and either doesn’t see her or is ignoring her. Waving, the blonde girl walks away with her dance partner, who’s easily three sheets to the wind. His scrawny, tattooed arm goes around her shoulder as they leave the bar and he gives her a sloppy kiss I wish I hadn’t witnessed.
Josie makes a sound of disgust next to me before whistling, making the brunette with slick, straight hair look in our direction. Her eyes practically glow in the dimly lit bar, the golden color drawing me in as her gaze roams myface, then swings to Jo, where it softens as she takes in the tall woman with a kind smile.
“Come on over here, sweetie.” Jo waves a hand to the empty stool next to me, and I stiffen. What the fuck is she doing? She might not always be running the bar with Beau, but she knows I don’t come here to socialize.
I silently glare at the woman I thought was my friend as her grin widens. “You look like you need something to take your woes away. My husband is in his own world counting bottles, so he might be a while. What can I get you?”
Without hesitation, the smooth-as-silk voice next to me says, “Two shots of tequila, please.” She sits on the backless wooden stool next to mine and her scent—something soft and fresh—floats over, and I instinctively inhale. Coconut and something flowery. Pretty. Like her.
I force my focus back to my cup and keep my body as still as a statue. Without another word, two shot glasses are set in front of her. “Thank you,” the newcomer says softly to Jo, but makes no move to drink the alcohol.
“Just holler if you need me. My name’s Josie. Or Jo. I’ll answer to both.” She knocks on the bar top twice and takes a nearly empty rack of dirty glasses to the back. It’s completely unnecessary. Beau would never bother to run those through the dishwasher without the rack being full, he’d call it a waste of resources.
But Meddling Josie here has an ulterior motive. She thinks I’m going to strike up a conversation with a stranger. She’s wrong.
Looking around the room, I take in the details I’ve already memorized. Pictures behind the bar of Josie and Beau growing up together. Their families. Places they’ve visited. Friends who have visited the bar. The walls are olive green with exposed wooden beams on the ceiling andalong some of the walls as shelves. Everything here has a history, and though most people don’t know that when they walk in, it’s what makes this place so special. You can feel the familiarity in the space even without understanding why. It always makes me think of the TV showCheers. I’d hate for everyone to know my name, but I like knowing all our troubles are the same when we walk in.
“Your coffee smells good.” Speaking a little louder than before, her voice startles me, and I turn quickly toward her, making the mistake of meeting her eyes. She averts my gaze just as fast as I do hers, but it’s too late. I saw their amber glow, and now I know she’s not just pretty, she’s fucking gorgeous. “Your day must be going as well as mine if you’re at a bar on a Wednesday night drinking coffee alone.”
Ouch. Okay, yeah, I get what this looks like, but it’s just part of my routine, really. A routine almost no one knows about.
She winces. “Sorry. That wasn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean to assume what your day was like or why you’re here. I’m just grumpy because my life has been turned upside down. Now, the person I was supposed to room with just told me her new boyfriend is moving in, so I have no place to live. I was supposed to move in tomorrow, but apparently, buddy-with-the-terrible-tats needs the room that would have been mine for his doll collection. I’m not even kidding. That’s the real reason. He collects porcelain dolls, and as desperate as I am for a place to live, I’m notthatdesperate, you know? I mean, could you imagine waking up in the middle of the night with all those beady, glass eyes staring at you?” She shivers dramatically, and I bite my lip to keep from smiling.
I make no other move to indicate I’m listening to her.I’m hanging on every word, though, for some weird reason.
Her adorable tangent doesn’t stop there. “Those two were practically dry-humping at our table earlier, not caring whether anyone could see them. But that’s not even the actual issue. It was the noises. Kit sounded like she was auditioning for a 1990s porno, and Doll Boy kissesloudly, you know? Like not the hot kind of kissing noises, the sloppy kind that sounds like slurping soup. Ugh, gosh, just thinking about it is making me a little nauseous.” She brings a hand to her stomach, her eyes taking in the same details I had just been cataloging.
I can’t help the chuckle that comes out of me, then.
Tilting her face toward me, her eyes widen, her pouty peach lips forming an ‘O.’ I hope she doesn’t think I’m laughing at her expense. There’s just something about the way she’s been rambling, the way she uses her hands when she’s speaking, like she needs to physically punctuate certain parts of her story. Even her voice has me strangely captivated.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, clearing my throat. “I’m not laughing at you, I swear.” I spin my coffee cup slowly on the bar, noting that she’s dressed far more casually than her blonde friend was. Her jeans have big tears at the knees and they’re loose around her legs, but they cinch in perfectly at her waist, where her cropped pink T-shirt leaves just a small sliver of bronze skin exposed. The sneakers on her feet are white, and it’s clear they’re well-loved based on the scuff marks. She has gold jewelry on, which makes me think of the color of her eyes, and there’s an odd dichotomy to her baggy, ripped jeans and the pretty jewelry, but somehow, she makes it work. She tilts her head again, and I’m reminded to continue what I had started saying. “But I do agree that you’re better off not sleepingwith some dude’s creepy-ass dolls. There’d be no recovering from those nightmares.”
It’s her turn to laugh. It starts small, then expands into a sound that has her eyes clamping shut as she throws her head back. She brings a hand to her chest, like she can’t control the feeling, and something like pride blooms inside me for making someone who was clearly having a shitty time feel joy. I’m not usually that guy. My brothers Raf, Marcelo, and Gus? Sure. They’re effortlessly hilarious, but Gabriel and I didn’t get the funny traits.
When she finally settles down, a rogue giggle slipping out as she shakes her head, she spins in her stool to face me. “Thanks for that. I needed someone to not sugarcoat the situation for me and tell it like it is.” After crossing her legs, she leans forward with her elbow on her knee. “I just shared more information than is appropriate with a perfect stranger. Care to tell me why you’re having coffee at a bar in the middle of the week?” Resting her cheek on her fist, she smiles, a little dimple popping on her cheek. “I mean, you don’t have to, but it only seems fair.” Her shoulders lift in a shrug as her lips turn down into a pout that disappears too quickly for me to memorize.
I blow out a loud breath, having an answer for her question that is a distant version of the truth at the ready, because it’s not the first time I’ve been asked. “Well, it’s a very interesting story, really. All the good coffee shops in town close early, and I like it here. Even if Beau, the owner, is grumpy as hell and can’t make coffee taste like anything other than rat piss. But Josie made this one, and it’s delicious.” I punctuate my point by taking a sip, and her amber eyes track my every movement as she pulls her lips between her teeth.
