“The Temptress, Ryan speaking,” a deep male voice picks up after two rings. I inhale. Here we go.
“It-it-it-it’s Ni-i-i-i-i-i-ils,” I stutter, clenching and unclenching my fist resting atop my thigh. Next to me, the chicks scuff around in their box, chirping softly.
“Oh, hey, man. Thanks for calling me back. Sorry about this. You able to come pick him up? I have to say, I had no idea he was such a lightweight. I’d have stopped pouring two drinks ago if I knew.”
I’ve never seen Oliver drink anything but water, and I’ve not seen liquor at his house the times I’ve been there. Him being a lightweight doesn’t surprise me at all. I would be, too. The chicks raise their voices a little bit, reminding me I’ve got babies to take care of, as well as, apparently, a drunk person.
“Hou-ou-ou-r?” I ask, nails digging into my palm.
“Sounds good,” Ryan readily agrees, thankfully able to pluck full sentences from single words. “See you soon.”
He hangs up, and I put the truck in gear to head home. Having thankfully set up the area prior to leaving, getting the chicks settled doesn’t take much more than removing them from the box and making sure they eat. Kneeling next to the bathtub, I carefully pick them up and place them next to the starter feed, watching to be sure all three figure out what’s there. I’ll need to pick up more tomorrow, but for now, this will do.
By the time I get back to town and enter the Temptress, it’s late. The sun is long down, and I am long past the point of wanting to be home and staying there. One look at the packedbar and I’m cursing silently to myself. This is not my idea of a good time.
Ryan, easily discernible in any crowd, given his height and breadth, isn’t behind the bar. Instead, a younger man I don’t recognize is there, eyes on a group of people, listening to them order. I scan the crowd, looking for Oliver. It doesn’t even matter that the bar is nearly full enough to be standing room only; I find him almost immediately.
Oliver is sitting at the end of the L-shaped bar, elbow on the wood and cheek resting on his palm as he stares at the man sitting next to him, back to me. His silver-blond hair is bright in the lower lights of the room, and even from here, I can see the flush on his cheeks. He’s slouched against the bar like that elbow is the only thing keeping him propped up. He’s talking so intently to his companion that it’s not until I’m directly behind the man that he sees me.
“Oh!” Oliver says, sitting up and grinning. It’s a slightly sloppier version of his usual smile and just as cute. Oliver, the miracle relaxation balm that he is, soothes some of the tension I’d picked up at Caring Claws. “Nils is here!”
I flinch at the volume, even though the bar is loud from so many voices. Oliver just continues to smile, watching me as I move a little closer to him. The man he’d been chatting with frowns at me, a deep line between his eyebrows as he looks between us. I don’t recognize him.
“Nils, this is Bud. Budrow. Buddington. Budrigar. I’m sorry, what was the full thing?” Oliver asks politely. I swallow down a laugh. Buddington.
“Just Bud is fine,” the man—Buddington, as I fear I’ll never be able to think of him as anything else—tells him, a slight bite to his tone that I don’t particularly like. Oliver doesn’t hear it, smiling and reaching for his drink. I put a hand on his shoulder. Hadn’t Ryan cut him off? That doesn’t look like water to me.
“Home?” I ask him, squeezing gently. He sets the glass back down obediently.
“We were just about to leave, actually,” Bud says, bumping against me as he rises from the barstool. I have to take a step back as Oliver stands as well, a little less fluidly. He’s not wasted, but he’s definitely not sober either. There’s red surrounding the turquoise of his irises, pupils wide, and he’s moving with the careful deliberation of someone who doesn’t feel like they’ve got full motor control over their body.
“Yeah, let’s leave,” Oliver agrees, to nobody in particular. Bud smiles and grasps his elbow. I refrain from grabbing the other side, not wanting this to become a tug-of-war fight over him. Although judging by the appreciation in Bud’s gaze as he looks Oliver over, it very well might come to that.
“Are you coming too?” Oliver asks me pleasantly, foot catching on his stool as he takes a step away. Bud steadies him. “It’s a celebration tonight. Ryan bought the bar, so he’s theownernow, not just the bartender.”
Eyes wide on mine, Oliver waits for my nod to be sure that he’s impressed upon me the gravitas of Ryan being the owner now. I suppose a celebration accounts for the sheer number of people here right now. I smile to let him know I understood and am happy to hear the news. He grins back, body swayingtoward me until Bud tugs him back the other way.
“We’d better get out of here,” he says. Again, Oliver takes a step his way, happy to be led.
“Oli. I-I-I-I-I can give y-y-y-y-ou?—”
“I’ll drive,” Bud interrupts. “Have a good night.”
I step to the side, lifting an arm in a way that’s not blocking their path but letting him know I can if I need to. His eyes narrow. Oliver just smiles at me. While I’ve got his eyes on mine, I talk directly to him, desperately trying to pretend the other man isn’t there.
“Ry-Ry-Ryan ca-ca-ca-ca-called?—”
“Jesus, man, just spit it out,” Bud cuts in testily. Oliver, who has thus far proven himself to be just as amiable drunk as he is sober, stops smiling.
“Hey,” he admonishes. “Don’t do that.”
My skin itches like every pair of eyes in the room is on us. Oliver’s elbow is still caught in Bud’s hand. I want to yank him away but settle for another calm request despite the shaky, buzzing feeling in my chest.
“Let’s go hom-m-m-m-me.”
“Okay,” Oliver agrees, apparently not caring which home I’m referring to. If he asked, I’d tell him we’re going to mine, because I sure as hell am not leaving him drunk in the hell motel he lives in. Before Bud—who looks ten seconds away from a meltdown—can speak, Oliver turns that pretty smile his way and explains how neighbors work. “Nils is my neighbor. I told you about him. We live right next to each other, so it’ll be easier to just ride with him. Nice to meet you. Thanks for chatting.”
Another winning smile is directed at the man. After a slightly acidic look in my direction, Bud releases Oliver’s elbow. He steps toward me, and I put an arm around his waist. To steady him.
