Erich took out his wallet, handing the driver’s license over to the bartender. She glanced at it before handing it back.
“Great, I’ll be right back with those drinks.” She sashayed off to fulfill her promise.
Erich went to open his wallet to stash his ID back in its rightful place, but I leaned over the table and held my hand out to grab it from him. “Wait, I want to see it.”
“For what?” He held it up and out of my reach, the thick plastic card mocked me as I continued to pinch my fingers in an attempt to grab it. “You see my face every day.”
“Curious.” Erich gave up and let me take it. I examined the front, viewing his serious mug in the center-left. “Why do you look like you’re about to choke out the guy taking your picture?” I poked fun at him before his arm rested on the table, palm outstretched in an effort to take it back.
The top had “New York State” in white over a blue header. Beneath it was his name: Zaleski, Erich. Below the name was a New York City address, date of birth: October 23, 1971.
“You got what you wanted. Hand it over.” His hand was still out in front of me, waiting. I half-heartedly tossed it toward him on the table, causing it to slide the full length. His hand smacked down in an attempt to stop it from landing in his lap, but he failed.
“You’re from New York?” I asked as the bartender reappeared at our table with a virgin Bloody Mary in one hand and a Coors Light in the other.
“Kind of.” His answer was short. He plucked the thick plastic from his lap and stuffed the driver’s license back into his wallet. The bartender set the drinks down at our table, and I grabbed the straw and unwrapped it.
“You need to get better with your cryptic answers,” I pointed out before I stuck my straw into my drink to take a sip. Next, I picked up the toothpick with the pickle, olive, and cheese cube—a little appetizer before the real food.
Erich silenced me with nothing more than a stern side-eye. A warning. He picked up his glass bottle and took a swig before glancing around the empty room in an attempt to change the subject. I hadn’t made him uncomfortable, but I was picking up on the implication that he wasn’t going to answer my questions.
“And a Z last name. I bet lining up in school was torture.” I continued, trying to see how far I could push the conversation.
Erich rolled his eyes in response to my button-pushing. He set the bottle down, and I watched the barely touched liquid inside swirl. “Drop it, Velma.”
I giggled at the Scooby-Doo reference, munching on the snacks that came with my virgin Bloody Mary. Tomato juice with pickles. Exactly what I wanted.
Before I could successfully attempt to irritate him, the bartender was back with our food. It smelled glorious. The rich scent of grease came off the pile of French fries in the form of curls of steam. I dug in the second she set the baskets down in front of us. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
I shook my head, a handful of fries already in my mouth.
“Enjoy!” She ended our short conversation and made her way back to her place behind the bar.
“You’re going to need a ton of napkins.” I spoke with food in my mouth, using a French fry to point out the hot pile of chicken wings covered in sauce across the table—something I wouldn’t have been able to get away with in my past life.
Erich didn’t heed my warning before digging in. The spicy scent of buffalo sauce coming off his plate caused my eyes to water. “A problem for later,” he responded around the food in his mouth.
What a sight we would’ve been to someone walking in. They likely would’ve concluded this was our first real meal of the day—and they wouldn’t be wrong. I was beginning to grow tired of rainbow-sprinkled donuts and Cool Ranch Doritos, but at least we made an attempt to eat a good dinner before we hustled our way out of town each night. “Good” being bar food in most cases, but better than snacks.
I polished off the burger and fries in record time. I had no regrets aside from not asking if there was a food challenge so I could at least get a free T-shirt with my meal. Erich had also finished quickly, leaving half a plate of bones in his wake as he grabbed a stack of napkins and wiped his fingers.
I reached into my pocket for the last $15 I had been hoarding since Tennessee, placing it on the table. I did quick math in my head, knowing this would be between $5 and $10, leaving enough for the rest of the night if we were buying drinks. Erich finished off his Coors Light, raising an eyebrow in response to my questioning gaze.
“Now what?” The hamburger lived up to the hopes and dreams from earlier. The tap of my foot against the worn wood floor was the only sign of life aside from the bartender sweeping at the front of the building.
Erich glanced behind us at the pool table before reaching into his pocket for the pack of cigarettes. The flip of the box toptriggered a Pavlovian response in my head to hold my breath. He picked one and set it between his lips as he got up from his seat.
He was finding a way to shut me up before I cornered him for more answers about his identity. “Do you want to learn how?” Despite having an unlit cigarette resting between the corners of his lips, his words were clear. Plenty of practice, I suppose.
Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed a stick from the rack and plucked the block of chalk from above.
The sarcastic laugh stuck in my chest turned into a scoff. “Me? Really? I’ll figure out how to break a window with that thing.”
“You wouldn’t be the first.” He set the block of chalk down to inspect his work before holding it out to me, the butt still on the ground.
I hesitated to reach for it. After a moment, I let my fingers delicately graze the top part of the stick before fully committing and grasping it. “Okay. You’re the expert. How do I hold this thing?”
Erich’s cocky smile made my heart jump, and the sparkle in his eyes from the sunlight coming through the window was enough to make it stop beating before my burger had the chance to narrow my arteries.
