Page 5 of Airhead

One side of Katie’s mouth went up in a half smile that he couldn’t interpret. Not that he ever knew what she was thinking. He’d been trying to figure that out for years, and was still as clueless as he’d ever been.

“Never mind,” Connie said as she wavered in place. “It pashed.” She let out a drunk’s happy sigh and her eyes started to close. “Jush gonna close her eyes.” She giggled. “My eyes. Jush my⁠—"

She started to topple before she could finish the sentence. Frank moved fast, but Katie moved faster, getting her arm around Connie’s waist and bracing her sister before she could fall to the floor—which was good, not just for the possible whacking her head part but also because no one wanted to end up on the floor at Marinos.

He’d been here on a possible gas leak once. Seeing the place with the lights on and the floors still sticky almost made Friday nights as a paying customer a thing of the past. But this was the bar where Katie went. So this is the bar where he went.

Not that she noticed him most of the time.

But he never missed her.

Katie hauled her sister close. “Guess we’re skipping the third part of phase one and going straight to the passing out part. I’d better get her out of here.”

“Here, let me help,” he said, going over to Connie and scooping her up into a fireman’s hold. “I’ll carry her to your car.”

Katie hesitated, as if she was going to argue. He held his breath, because yeah he was doing this so that Connie didn’t face plant on the beer-soaked floor, but also because it would give him another few minutes with Katie. He was about to make his case when Katie sighed and shrugged.

“Come on,” she said. “I’ll bring the car around front.”

Yeah, like he was going to let her walk alone to her car when the street light in the Marinos parking lot was busted. Not gonna happen.

So he followed her out the bar, around to the back of the building, and through the maze of cars parked willy-nilly in the gravel lot. It took her two tries to get the passenger door of her Pinto open, and when she did, the hinges squeaked like they were in a horror movie.

Connie snuggled into his chest as he carried her over to the car. “He shmells good, Katie.” She poked his pecs with her fingers. “Very sholid. Definitely can hold you up and bang you against a wall. Blane can’t. He dropped me. Twice.” She sniffled and used Frank’s Springsteen shirt to wipe her tears. “Why doesn’t he love me?”

“Because he’s a dumbass,” Frank said.

That earned him a real smile from Katie as she stepped aside so he could put Connie in the car and shut the door. Then, he walked Katie around to the driver’s side and opened the door for her, noting that the door should have been locked. No, the Pinto wasn’t exactly on the list of ‘cars most likely to be stolen,’ but still, he worried.

“So, I guess this means I get to buy you another beer sometime,” he said as she got in.

For a second she didn’t’t say anything, and the whole world was full of possibilities.

“Gotta motor,” Katie finally said.

It wasn’t a yes but it also wasn’t a no. Frank was going to hold onto that like the fucking sap that he always was when it came to Katie Madigan.

He shut her door and stepped back onto the sidewalk in front of Marinos. Someone opened the bar’s back door and the sound of a million conversations and the opening of The Police’s Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic poured out.

“Get your ass back in here, Frank.” his brother Paul called. “We’re next for pool and I’ve got money riding on it.”

“Be there in a minute.”

Paul said something in reply, but Frank wasn’t listening anymore. He was watching the one working taillight of Katie’s retreating Pinto until she turned left and disappeared out of sight. Then, he made a mental note to stop by Hazel’s Auto Parts tomorrow morning for a brake light and a can of WD-40 for the Pinto’s hinges, before going back inside.

Chapter Three

Katie wasn’t hung over. But that didn’t mean her eyes weren’t bloodshot and her brain didn’t feel like it was wrapped in cotton puffs stained with last night’s black eyeliner.

Nope.

She’d spent the night staring at her ceiling and had greeted the day with both eyes still wide open. Why? Because every time she closed them, she saw Frank Hartigan in her rearview mirror, watching her until she turned onto Jackson Street. Fine. That was a lie. Sometimes she saw him without his shirt on…or pants…or⁠—

She shook that thought out of her head before she fell down that rabbit hole again.

This was not the time for that—and he was not the man for it, either.

He was the guy men wanted to be friends with, and women flocked to.