“Trust me.” Katie nods.
Alright, I think,here goes nothing.I take a sip of Katie’s concoction. “That tastes . . . not delicious.” I wince.
“Oh, it’s horrible,” Katie agrees. “But trust me. It’s magical.”
“If you say so.” I take a forkful of lo mein. “Wow.”
“Right?” Katie says.
“Mmm, that actually really hits the spot.” The greasy noodles slide into my queasy stomach and, incredibly, I start to feel better right away.
I swig and slurp with enthusiasm, and before long, the carton and bottle are both empty. I finish them roughly at the same time. Katie’s really got this hangover cure down to an exact science.
She left me in peace to eat. I feel bad pigging out while she hustled from one task to another like some kind of cigarette-fueled whirlwind of productivity.
But now she’s back behind the bar. “How ya feeling?”
“Waybetter than before,” I say. “Night and day.”
Katie nods and purses her lips, clearly satisfied her tried and true method worked.
“So . . . I should probably get going. I mean, unless there’s something I can help you with. I feel like I owe you after this.” I gesture at the empty plastic bottle and take-out container.
Katie waves away my offer. “Happy to help.”
This is the part where I get up and go home, and nurse my hangover the rest of the afternoon.
So, why am I not getting up? I’m lingering and Katie notices. A little sly smile spreads across her face.
“Out with it,” Katie says.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Ask me what you came here to ask . . . or should I saywhoyou came here to ask about. A certain someone with a handsome face and big arms?
I open my mouth ready to protest, to claim I have no idea who or what she’s talking about. But I lose heart. Hang my head.
“I’m that transparent, huh?”
“Yep,” Katie says as she refills the napkin holder.
“I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t worry, hon. I’m a bartender. Reading people at a glance is a big part of my job.”
“Oh . . .”
“Plus, you left a trail of drool on the way out the door last night. Or was it something else?”
Katie throws her head back and laughs at her own joke. I clutch my head in my hands.
“Hey,” Katie says, putting down the napkins and placing a hand on my shoulder. “You’re fine. So, tell me — what do you wanna know about Joey and his magical biceps?”
I sigh deeply. “I don’t know . . . I guess I thought he was into me. Like, I was pretty sure of it last night. And yeah, I might’ve been drunk—“
“Hon, you weren’t drunk. You were shitcanned.”
“Okay, fair enough. But still. I feel like my instincts about this sort of thing are pretty good. And I could have sworn we had a real connection. But he became distant at some point and ended up taking me home, and he didn’t make a move. So, I don’t know what to think anymore.”
