“Uh, sure,” I say. “One beer.”
When we get to the bar, we crowd into their famous ten-person booth and Alex orders a round of shots,on him. This is my least favorite of Alex’s tricks. Taking shots gracefully isn’t my forte. I start talking to a girl who’d just started frequenting our Collective last week, Minnie. She’s on the edge of the booth and sitting to my right. Whenever I turn back to the table, I can see Daisy and her blonde hair moving in an animated state at the corner of the booth nearest to me. I can’t quite see who she’s talking to, since there are three people to my left, but I’m assuming it’s our guest. Alex is across from us and leaning forward with his elbows on the sticky wooden table. He's trying to get everyone’s take on the newest dating app and its promotion of polyamory relationships. It’s a very Brooklyn conversation.
The bartender comes over with a black circular tray covered in small glasses, each filled with an amber-colored liquid. Likely, tequila.
“Do you have salt and limes?” Alex is quick to ask.Yup. Definitely tequila.
“Not my first rodeo,” the bartender responds as she pulls a saltshaker out of her apron and moves a cup of lime slices from her tray onto the table. As the group passes around the necessarytequila shot props, I lean to my left and turn to Miles, the only person in Copper Works that actually works with metal.
“Miles, do you want my shot?” I yell-whisper.
“I don’t even want mine”—my shoulders slump—“but to live is to struggle,” he says as he shoots his back before everyone else, sans accoutrements. My eyes widen. That was… intense.
“Hey, wait for the cheers, mate!” Alex yells from across the booth.
I lean back farther to reach behind Miles and tap Rob, a good friend of mine who’s beside him. “Rob!” No recognition. “ROB.” Attempt number two. I tug on his sweater. “Please will you take my shot?” I bat my eyelashes with mock innocence. As long as I’ve known Rob, he’s been exclusively into men, but that doesn’t stop me from trying my flirting skills on him every so often.
I’ve never had success with it.
Rob finally notices my antics in the dark bar and furrows his brow in response. He shrugs a hand behind Miles’ back, who’s clearly spotted someone across the bar that’s captured his interest.
“WHAT?” he yells back. I point to my shot and mimic drinking it, but Miles’ movements block my final charade. Rob tries to weave his head forward and back to see me over the distracted person between us.
“Who wants to give the cheers?” Alex shouts to the table, which is getting louder as everyone douses the back of their hand with salt.
“Ya’ll are taking too long!” Miles points across to Alex. “Be a man and take it straight!” Alex rolls his eyes and waves him off.
Miles puts his hand on my shoulder. “Mind if I scoot out? I see someone I would like to try a line on.” He smiles, eyes set on a curvy brunette in a trendy crop top a few yards away.
I scoot on out to let him play the field and then sit back down just in time to catch Alex’s exasperated lead-in to a cheers: “Alright, I’ll go then.Again—”He taps his shot glass on the tablethen holds it up in the air. “There are good ships and wood ships and ships that sail the sea—” he starts the speech he often falls back on. I’m still attempting to desperately explain to Rob that I don’t want my shot and pushing it toward him on the rough wooden table when Alex’s speech is interrupted. Someone pointedly clears their throat from the corner of the booth nearest me. It’s loud, and too leisurely for the chaos of the moment. The table’s volume falls to a hush to hear what our evening’s guest has to say.
“Alex, thank you.” The young man holds a palm up towards our de-facto leader. “Thanks to all of you for having me here, not only for this night, but for the entire week.” He makes a point to look around at everyone in the outsized booth. His gaze lands on me towards the end. One blue eye. One green. Both piercing, even in the dark room. My breath catches and my heart all but stops. He must have seen the blood drain from my face, because before he pulls his eyes away, I catch a glimmer of a smirk.
Two truths and a lie... my eyes are two different colors... That doesn’t prove anything… It’ll prove something when you meet me.Variations of the words we’ve exchanged circle my head as it’s filled with buzzing thoughts that almost make me feel as if Ihavetaken the shot in front of me.
The visitor continues, “I look forward to getting to know each and every one of you and to seeing your lovely creations. I hope I’m able to repay your hospitality.” He holds his glass up to the center of the table, a grin on his face and a gleam in his eye. “Cheers to Brooklyn!” And with that, he knocks back his shot. Everyone scrambles to keep up with him and I look up at Rob pleadingly, even though my heart is still racing. Rob, finally understanding what I want, shakes his head with an expression that I can almost hear:No girl, that’s on you.
I pinch my glass between thumb and forefinger and pull it towards me. A large and tanned hand with calloused fingertips gently grasps my wrist. I jolt, but the weight of the hand on my arm prevents me from tossing the tequila in the air.
“I heard you don’t want your tequila, Charlotte,” says the visitor. Daisy tries not to show that she’s noticed our mystery guest is talking to someone other than her, a girl no less, but her side eye indicates differently.
I half chuckle, half choke on whatever spit is caught in the back of my throat. I pray the Irish fiddle music playing over the speakers camouflages the sound. “Yeah,” I rasp. Rob moves forward to talk to folks across the table, so I sway my body to look at the stranger over Rob's back and finish my answer. “I’d rather not.”
The undeniably handsome visitor juts his head back towards the table. “Grab me the salt.” He smiles. “If you don’t mind?”
“No, no!” I feel flustered and my palms are starting to get clammy. I grab the salt and look for lime wedges, but Alex seems to have taken the one meant for me as a second chaser.
I hand the visitor the saltshaker and he eyes me patiently.God, he’s beautiful.His jaw is chiseled, and his stubble can be seen in the light occasionally shining in from the street. He has a sharp nose and full lips. I’m staring at them when he clears his throat for the second time that night, “Ehem, your drink, milady?”
A small smile tugs at my lips. “Oh, are we in medieval times then, milord?” I say as I hand over my shot glass, again behind Rob’s back.
“We can be wherever, and whenever you want to be, Miss Faure,” he says with a roguish expression. My heart starts beating quickly again. He’d addressed me as Miss Faure in almost all our letters. This is the person I was writing to.This is Devo?I can’t comprehend that he could be both the artist that makes such provocative and addictive artwork, and the handsome, cheerful young man in front of me.
“May I take your hand, my dear?” he asks. Confused, but in the trance of his multi-colored gaze, I do as he asks. He grips my slightly clammy palm without a flinch. He sets down the shot glass and picks up the saltshaker, then looks pointedly at the softflesh between my pointer finger and thumb. He catches my gaze and holds the question in his eye. I nod, thinking I know what he’s asking, but still in shock. He moves his head down towards the back of my hand, extended behind Rob, and my eyes widen. Our guest looks up at me with his tongue at the corner of his lips. I push myself to nod again and he slowly licks the area above the base of my thumb. The warm wetness and his intentional eye contact have me squirming in my seat.
It only lasts for a few seconds but I’m taking a deep breath to still myself as he pours salt on the dampened area. I look over at him as heat floods my cheeks and I realize he has to collect the salt in the same fashion. Since our table’s post-shot chatty high is dying down, Devo efficiently licks the salt off my hand with a hard, flattened tongue and then throws his head back just enough to take the second shot. His eyes never leave mine. Rob jostles and goes to lean back, so before he can cut our connection, Devo gives my hand a quick squeeze before dropping it with a wink.
I clamp my thighs tight, and stare at the other side of the booth, eyes wide and unfocused. What on God’s green earth had I gotten myself into?
