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‘Really?’
‘No. It’s annoying. Cut it out.’
Oof. That’s a big L for him.
‘This? This is annoying?’ I throw another through his paper.
He scoffs and lowers the paper to try to pin me with a glare, I deflect with a wink.
He motions to my laptop screen with distaste, but also… reluctant intrigue. ‘What is this rubbish?’
I grin.
Chapter Sixteen
The Bar
I adjust the strap of my heel for the sixteenth time and curse myself for fixing these adorable, strappy torture devices to my feet. Damnit – a big shiny blister has already begun to throb at the back of my heel. That’ll teach me for trying to make a friendly get together into something it’s not. I sorely underestimated the distance of this place. To be fair, I walk this very same distance every day to work and it isn’t a problem. The bar is on the border of the Bantom Forest, right next to the library. I just never realised how much of a bitch it’d be to walk in heels.
Finally, after a thousand steps with ‘ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch,’ my mantra, I make it. A novel little unassuming bar that the locals all gather most Friday nights for open mic night, but tonight there’s a jazz band playing.
The bar is nestled among a few other stores. A baker, a newsagent and a goodwill. Squashed between them all like a kid to claim the last seat on the school bus.
Hot Face invited me. In case you were wondering.
It’s not a date.
(It’s definitely a date.)
How he knew I liked jazz is a subject of great suspicion. I have my theories that Aggy singled him out after I mentioned him once in passing. If I had any money, I probably wouldn’t gamble it, but I’d be tempted to put a chip on her being the conductor of tonight’s goings-on.
I waste no time lingering outside. There’s a neon-red sign that hangs above the door and reads The Cave. As I pass under it, it tinges the room crimson, and I feel like I’m entering a time warp. Most of the people here are smokers. The room is thick with the smell of tobacco and whiskey. Almost everyone I lay eyes on is into niche bygone fashion. From the few confused looks I get, I don’t think my tank and plaid skirt makes the cut.
The dive bar’s humble exterior shares no sentiment with its interior. It’s actually a lot bigger than it looks. The bar isn’t wide, but it is long, stretching at least thirty metres to the back of the room where a small stage has been constructed and currently hosts a trio of musicians setting up for their set. Its length creates a sort of echo chamber of noise. I can hear fifty different voices, but can’t discern anything they say. I see the appeal. Its dim lighting and eclectic mix of vintage furniture add to its charm, just as the hanging artworks from local artists add to its creative glow.
I scan the room for Hot Face, and come across the last person I expected to find.
I sidle up beside the familiar face and cross a leg over the other as I take the empty space to their left. I lean against the rough peach walls that form the bars margins. ‘Come here often?’ I don’t bother raising my voice. I knew he’d sensed my presence the second his shoulders tensed and he began tapping his fingers. Immediate discomfort evident. I take great pride in the fact I can piss him off with my mere presence alone.
‘Stalking me now?’ Walker’s eyes scan the room, and then me briefly, with indifference.
‘P-lease, that’s your pastime.’
‘You’re here for the band then.’
‘Are you?’ I evade his not-question with one of my own.
He kicks off the wall without answering, walking through the crowd. I follow.
‘If you must know, I’m here to meet someone. Someone of the opposite sex. Of the hot variety.’
‘A date?’ he says incredulously, and his nose crinkles like he’s trying to decide if the open tub of sour cream in our fridge all week is off or just gaining character. I can’t lie, his vexation thrills me.
‘Kind of.’
‘Really?’
‘No,’ I concede with a sigh. ‘I think we were set up actually.’
