“Same thing if you do it right.” I open the bar. Tequila’s already out. I reach for mezcal instead, a squeeze of lime, a touch of agave, a fat cube in a rocks glass. Stir, strain. I lift it. “To better nights.”
“And clean exits,” Houston adds.
Lou clinks the edge of her glass to mine. “To fries.”
I like her immediately.
I take a sip. Smoke, citrus, that burn I know on a first-name basis. I lean on the bar, hip to the wood, and aim my attention where it belongs.
“So, Lou. Tell me something I don’t know yet.”
She eyes me carefully. “You don’t know anything yet.”
“Not true. I know you like clean drinks and dirty fries. I know you don’t like to owe anybody. I know you ride well.”
A small laugh. “You watched me ride?”
“I see everything.” I tip my head toward Houston. “He does too, but he pretends he’s not taking notes.”
Houston just sips his drink and looks bemused. Or annoyed that I gave away his secret.
Lou bites the inside of her cheek. “You like pissing off your brothers, don’t you?”
“I like honesty.” I take another sip. “Speaking of honesty, you look like trouble in that dress.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“It is when I say it.”
She looks at my hands. People always do. Unlike most of my body, they’re bare, unless it’s a jewelry night. Tattoos climb my legs under the black pants, but my hands are clean tonight. Norings or bracelets. The piercings under the shirt and underwear are mine and nobody’s business unless I make it theirs.
Not tonight. Maybe later. Or not.
“How many drinks before you start trouble?” she asks.
“I don’t need drinks to start trouble, but they make me find it faster.”
She laughs. Houston smiles into his glass. Good. We’re warmed up. I point at the couch. “Sit. Tell us what you actually like, not the polite answer.”
She moves, perches, then settles. “Fonts,” she says, deadpan.
I love her for it. “Serifs or no?”
“Depends on the job.”
“You have a favorite?”
She considers. “The one everyone thinks is boring until it’s on a billboard.”
“Classic,” Houston says. “That’s how I feel about four-on-the-floor.”
I whistle. “She had you at kerning.”
Lou glances at him. “He had me at the cocktail.”
We’re all smiling now. That’s the point. I make messes. I also make this—rooms where people can breathe. People forget those are related.
“Vegas looks different,” she says, face to the window. “I was gone seven years, staying in San Francisco. I feel like I missed a rebuilding montage.”
