Page 36 of Bastard Bartender

I’m frozen still as he strides toward me.

“Have you never done it?”

“Um … no. No way in hell actually. I’m wicked afraid of heights, and I’m not walking on a glass bridge that cantilevers two thousand feet high over a canyon.”

“Actually, it’s four thousand feet.”

“Even worse.”

“Oh, come on. I thought you were an adventurous girl.”

“Fast cars with cute guys? Sure. Heights? Not so much.”

“That’s because you haven’t found a cute enough guy to go up with.”

I wish I weren’t so chicken when it comes to heights. As a kid, I missed out on so many things—roller-coaster rides, Ferris wheels, jumbo slides, and diving boards. Kids were always having so much fun and regaling their experiences while I idly sat on a bench somewhere, laughing it off like it didn’t bother me that I sat it out.

But it did bother me.

Still does.

Dro, Logan, and Mario are standing at the entrance to the Skywalk, talking with excitement, presumably about the awesome drives they just had.

“Lunch first!” José says with a clap, and we walk toward the restaurant.

Our table is reserved on the outside patio that overlooks the Skywalk. My stomach turns at the sight of it.

Nic leans in to whisper in my ear, “Don’t stress about it. You’ll be just fine, I promise.”

Promise. Sure. That’s what all psychopaths say when they lead you to your death.

When I said I didn’t like heights, I wasn’t being coy. My fear isn’t extreme or irrational, but the tummy-dropping, spine-stiffening, palm-sweating feeling that comes over me at just the thought of walking onto a glass bridge that protrudes seventy feet over the rim of a canyon is enough for me to feel in my bones that I absolutely, without a doubt hate heights.

Thankfully, when we get to the table, he pulls out the chair with the Skywalk to my back and allows me to sit there. His sweet gesture puts me at ease for at least a little bit.

Our lunch is served, and we all enjoy the food, company, and scenery that surround us. The guys talk cars, but now that I’ve experienced actually being in one, I understand the obsession and actually find the conversation interesting as I learn about all the intricacies that go into each car. I also get a small glimpse into their dynamic.

Dro likes to bust everyone’s chops about their most embarrassing experiences. For Mario, it was getting his dress tucked in his underwear after leaving the restroom, Logan was caught having an orgasm while meditating during a yoga class, and Nic was left naked on a balcony after the boyfriend of the woman he was dating came home.

“I did not know she was seeing someone!” Nic defends. “I don’t do drama.”

“This fool had to climb down a trellis in his birthday suit!” Dro is in a fit of chuckles.

“Shame should be reserved for the things we choose to do, not the circumstances we find ourselves in,” Logan states wisely.

I’m pointing at him as I try to remember where I know that saying. “I’ve heard that before.”

“Don’t listen to him. Logan just pretends to be all soulful to get women in bed,” Nic jokes.

“Multiple women,” Dro states as he proudly smacks his buddy’s back. “This motherfucker is the king of getting women.”

“Heal yourself, heal the world, my friend. Feel yourself, feel the world,” Logan adds a wink to the end of his comment, and everyone erupts in laughter.

Mario leans over to whisper in my ear, “If you’re thinking it’s too early to drink wine, you’re an amateur, and we can’t be friends.”

“You can’t drink. You’re driving,” I hush back.

“Oh, not me, honey. To put up with these lunatics, you need to be half a bottle deep. I’ll catch up when we get home.”