Finding Kyle(43)

Maybe to Puerto Rico or something.

“Here you go,” I hear a female voice say, and another draft beer slides into my view. I look up and see Jane’s friend, Miranda, standing on the other side of the bar. “Gus said you wanted to keep them coming, so here’s your next one.”

“Thanks,” I mutter. My tongue feels like it’s glued to the top of my mouth. I also note that unless I squint, there are actually two Mirandas in front of me, and because I don’t think she has a twin, I know I’m on my way to getting stinking ass drunk.

“Why are you in here all by yourself getting shitfaced?” she asks as she rests her forearms on the bar and leans in toward me. She’s grinning and cracking bubble gum.

I don’t want to talk to her, and yet I can’t seem to stop myself. “Your friend… Jane…”

She grins even bigger, chews her gum with exaggeration, and waits me out. She makes me deliver more information.

I give a careless wave of my hand toward the direction I suspect is Jane’s house, but I’m not sure. “She’s trying to decide if she wants to have a sexual fling with me or not.”

Miranda raises an eyebrow, but she’s still amused. This means she knows what happened between Jane and me. It also means she knows Jane hasn’t given me her decision, and by that inaction, I’m choosing to believe I know what her decision is. So I just bend my head over the bar and sullenly stare into my beer.

“She doesn’t know what to do,” Miranda offers me, and my head snaps up. A rush of dizziness hits me, and my hands slap to the bar to keep my balance on the stool.

“She tell you that?” I ask… well, maybe slur. I hope to God I remember this conversation tomorrow.

“Well, of course she told me that,” Miranda says, then blows a bubble with her gum. I watch as she sucks it back in and says, “She tells me everything.”

“Everything?”

Miranda leans in closer to me and nods her head. “Everything.”

My mind races. She clearly knows I’ve put out some boundaries with Jane, but does she know about that amazing, hot, beautiful, and mind-blowing sex we had? And if she does, does that help or hurt me? Would Miranda help Jane make the decision to stick with me while I’m here?

You’re such a selfish fuck, my conscience screams at me. Because I’m trying to be a good guy where Jane is concerned, and make sure that I do everything in my power not to hurt her, I bend my head back over my beer and decide to ignore Miranda. It’s not going to do any good to get her involved, and besides that… I’m drunk. I have no business doing anything but getting my ass home and into bed.

Except, I do need to finish this beer.

“Want my advice?” Miranda asks.

“Nope,” I say without looking up at her, because if she gives me that knowing smirk like she’s privy to Jane’s innermost secrets, I might continue to engage her.

“Suit yourself,” she says as she pushes away from the bar. “I’ll keep an eye on your beer.”

I watch her walk away, telling myself not to call her back so I can pick her brain about Jane. She heads out from behind the bar and starts clearing a table, and I turn back to my mug, taking a huge sip. Yeah… I think I need Joe to get me out of here. My testimony is important enough and my acts of service for my government should easily get me relocated. I’ll call him in the morning, he’ll get me transferred somewhere far away, and I can put Jane Cresson out of my mind.

Someone bumps into me before I feel them slide into an empty stool on my right. I don’t bother to look, preferring instead to finish off my beer and perhaps order another, but my hand freezes halfway to my mug when I hear Jane say very softly, “Hey, Kyle.”

Her voice is gentle and her eyes are knowing. I hate she’s seeing me like this. This makes me pissy. “What do you want?”

She nods her head slightly, as if she’s not surprised by my attitude. But then, she nudges my shoulder with her own and says, “You’re supposed to say, ‘Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine’.”

I blink at her, my brain feeling like sludge. “What?”

“Casablanca,” she murmurs. “1942.”

“Never saw it,” I mutter and pick my beer up.

It’s stopped by her hand on my wrist with a gentle pressure. I turn to look at her, and she leans in to whisper in a voice so low I can barely hear her, “Come on. Why don’t you let me take you home? You’ve had enough to drink.”

“Why are you whispering?” I ask her with narrowed eyes.

She pulls back from me quickly, dropping her hand from my wrist. “I don’t know. I just didn’t want you to make a scene.”

“A scene?” I ask, confused. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, you’re drunk,” she points out. “And Miranda called me when she first came on shift to tell me you were here and drunk, and figured you could use a lift home.”

“Yes, I am drunk, but I’m sure I can walk out of here just fine without falling on my ass,” I tell her, pleased that actually came out sounding semi-coherent. “And I can walk home just fine too, so no worries I’d ’cause a scene’.”

“I’m not worried about that type of scene,” she says in exasperation. “I didn’t know if you’d be pissed I came or that I asked you to leave.”