“I see that,” he remarked, before offering to get some drinks.This guy thinks I’m insane, she thought to herself. But it’s not like his opinion mattered; she was just grateful to be out of her claustrophobic apartment and for a distraction from her racing thoughts. Harry’s rebound accusation was playing on repeat.
When Julian came back, he gently guided the conversation towards more conventional topics people have with strangers: favorite pizza place (she preferred Ray’s, he enjoyed deep-dish, which Cierra considered a crime), favorite show (he loved South Park, she just finished Severance), Manhattan versus Brooklyn (they agreed no one should ever be forced to choose).
“Are you more of a cat person or a dog person?” Julian asked.
Feeling the earlier drinking game’s effects, Cierra giggled, “I always thought my ex’s mom looked like a greyhound dog wearing a bobbed wig and pearls. Isn’t that messed up?”
Julian, who until this point had done little more than an occasional polite nod or smile, laughed so hard she could see cute winged creases fanning around his warm brown eyes.
“You’re terrible, you know that?” he asked with a smile.
“Yeah, that seems to be the consensus,” she said with a sigh.
Julian frowned, raising his hand in protest. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”
The corner of Cierra’s mouth turned up. “I know. I’m just . . . it’s just fresh.”
Mia and Marcus had gone to the pool section of the bar, where Marcus was looking increasingly flustered at his poor performance while Mia cleaned-up. Cierra and Julian were seated at a small table between the bar and a window facing the street.
“Want another round?”
“Sure,” Cierra said, slightly embarrassed for her cattiness. Julian returned quickly with two big waters and a couple of beers.
“Figured we could use the hydration,” he said with a wink.
“Ugh, I needed this,” is all Cierra could manage before chugging one of the water glasses much to Julian’s amusement.
“So, is this your game?” Cierra started. “You pump unsuspecting girls full of tap water?”
“You caught me. Is it working?”
“Maybe,” she said, taking a final gulp. “Okay, obviously you know some personal stuff about me. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“I can’t be the only one to dish tonight. We probably won’t ever see each other again. Tell me something aboutyou.”
“Why do I feel like I’m being interviewed right now?”
“Come on! Here, I’ll start: Hi, I’m Cierra. I’m from Connecticut, originally. I got dumped by a man who is balding, and I’m a chef. Okay, you go.”
Julian chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, fair. I’ve received feedback in the past about being a little too reserved.” He cleared his throat, faux-adjusting an invisible tie.
“My name is Julian Torres. I turned thirty-seven a few weeks ago. I could eat Italian food every day of the week. I work in tech, and”—he eyed Cierra suspiciously—“I’m having some of the most fun tonight I have in months, at least. How’s that?”
Cierra took a swig of her beer and smiled shyly. “That’s good. Better.”
“And for what it’s worth, it sounds like you’re better off without this guy,” Julian said. Cierra wished she agreed with his assessment. “You’re funny, have a cool job, gorgeous,” he began, before looking bewildered at his own words and pausing himself. “Look, I know you’re going through it, but, you’ll be fine.”
At his kind words, Cierra recoiled at some of her earlier behavior. “I know I’ve been kind of a mess tonight, and you’ve been really nice about it. Thanks.”
“Yeah, well, messes are a part of life. It’s low-key refreshing to see someone acting real. Not putting on a show. You shouldn’t feel bad about letting yourself . . . feel.”
“Oh, so now you’re a therapist too?”
“You know what,” Julian said, wadding up a napkin and throwing it at Cierra. She ducked and looked at him with a surprised smile.
“I take it all back. You’re terrible.”
