The Night Bird (Frost Easton #1)(33)

It was a fear that Frankie had helped her erase.

Christie was one of her patients.

Frankie stared at the steep Mason Street hill that led up toward the bar. She started running.





16


Christie watched as her date, whose name was Noah, pushed the pinball flippers, firing a silver ball straight up the super-jackpot ramp and making the eyes of the Terminator’s skull glow red.

“Fire at will,” said the voice of Arnold Schwarzenegger from the game’s display.

After a quick fist pump, Noah used a rotating gun to shoot a new ball into play. He juggled three balls up and down the machine, and Christie couldn’t keep track of the action. Arrows lit up. Bumpers flashed and exploded. The machine rocked as Noah slammed it with his hips.

“Awesome,” Arnold said.

“Awesome,” Noah imitated in a deep voice. He glanced at Christie, whose boredom must have shown on her face. Thirty-something men playing teenage games didn’t thrill her, especially on a first date. With obvious reluctance, Noah took his hands off the flippers, and one by one, the silver balls rolled into the belly of the machine. He gave her an embarrassed smile.

“Sorry,” he told her. “I used to play this game when I was a kid. I just wanted to see if I still had the knack.”

“I guess you do,” Christie said coolly, sipping her cranberry martini.

There was a line to take Noah’s spot at the pinball machine. They were all men who weren’t getting laid tonight, Christie figured. That included Noah. She’d decided that soon after she met him for dinner. He was nice enough, but he acted like a kid, and she wasn’t interested in kids.

“I’m going to get another beer,” Noah told her. “You want anything?”

“No, I’m good.”

He jostled his way through the crowd, leaving her alone. She saw other guys give her the eye, wondering whether to come in for a landing. A few smiled, and she smiled back, but not enough for an invitation.

Christie liked being in demand. After her divorce last November, she’d lost twenty pounds, and she looked good in her shorty skirts again. Dating was a hassle in her thirties, but for now, she enjoyed being single. She’d hooked up a couple of times, and it was strange to be the one to say, “I’ll call you,” when she knew she never would. She was happy to head to work the next morning with a satisfied smile on her face. No walk of shame, just the coffee cup of freedom.

Christie liked the vibe of the Bush Street bar, despite the juvenile pinball machines. It felt like a throwback to the ’90s. Most of the people were her own age, not the usual millennials. A jukebox played Aerosmith at a shattering volume. The drunk Gen Xers danced fast, as if they were still young, but she knew they’d wake up, roll out of bed, and groan at the ache in their knees.

It was warm near the bar’s fireplace, and she felt heat on the back of her legs. Perfume, cologne, and hair gels clouded the air. The effect was dizzying, but she couldn’t really blame the bar. She’d felt off all day. She’d awakened with an odd sense of disorientation, as if she didn’t even belong in her own apartment. Since then, she’d been up and down in huge swings. One minute, she would be euphoric, and the next she’d feel a formless anxiety grip her stomach.

Her brain kept trying to remember something, but nothing was there.

Noah came back, holding a bottle of amber IPA. He wore a black sport coat over a red T-shirt and blue jeans and sneakers, which was how thirty-six-year-olds tried to shave a decade off their age. He was a few donuts shy of being overweight. He had messy red hair and a goatee, as if he’d spotted a photograph of Ed Sheeran in People and decided that was the way to meet girls. Christie could have told him that the Redbeard pirate look only worked for Ed Sheeran because he was Ed Sheeran.

They’d been set up on a blind date by one of her colleagues at the bank. She should have been firmer in saying no.

“You having fun?” Noah asked.

“Sure,” she replied without enthusiasm. He didn’t seem to notice, so she checked her watch to make her point. She wasn’t looking to prolong the evening. It was almost midnight, and her date was already a pumpkin.

“You know, I thought you were going to blow me off,” he said.

“Oh?”

“I texted you like four times yesterday, but you didn’t answer.”

“Sorry. I slept the whole day. I guess I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Was it a cold or something? I take a crap load of vitamin C every day, and I never get colds.”

“No, I don’t know what it was,” Christie said. “Maybe some kind of twenty-four-hour bug. I crashed out and lost the whole day.”

“Are you feeling better now?”

“A little, but I don’t want to make it a late night.”

Noah still didn’t take the hint. The music on the jukebox changed from Aerosmith to the B-52s, and his freckled face brightened into a grin. “Hey, great song!” he said. “Come on, let’s dance!”

“No, I don’t really feel up to it—” she began, but he didn’t take no for an answer. He took her wrist and pulled her through the crowd to the postage-stamp dance floor. Most of the dancers were drunk. Noah writhed to “Love Shack,” and she was pleasantly surprised to find that he followed the beat like a pro. His supple moves made him much more attractive than he’d been a minute earlier. He knew it, and his confidence glowed in his face.