Hard Beat(4)

“Cheers to that truth. Scary shit,” he says, tapping the neck of his bottle against the rim of my empty glass, “and no, I’m referring to dark hair, great rack, killer body —”

“No, thanks.” I cut him off, but my eyes dart to where I saw her sitting earlier, and immediately I chastise myself.

“You still seeing what’s-her-name?” he asks with the same indifference as I felt toward her.

“Nah…” I let my voice drift off as my thoughts veer to our last fight when she accused me of cheating on her with Stella. “She took an assignment monitoring North Korea.”

“She thought you and Stella were messing around?” he infers.

The thought brings a bittersweet smile to my face. Memories of Stella and me, young and in love, flash through my mind. It feels like forever ago. Probably because it was. Two young twenty-somethings on their first assignment with no one else to help occupy their time. Lust turned to sweet love and then the slow realization that we weren’t any good as a couple. Then came an awkward phase when we had to get over the bitterness associated with lust gone wrong. The passage of time allowed us to realize we were really good at the best-friend thing which in turn made us a great team, reporter and photographer. Inseparable for almost ten years, except for the odd assignment that took us to other places of the world and despite the introduction of significant others.

“Yeah. I get it. I’d probably think the same thing, but…” I shrug. “You’ve seen us together. Know how Stell and I were —”

“Mutt and Jeff,” he mumbles as we both fall into a short silence thinking of her. “I liked what’s-her-name.”

“No, you didn’t.” I laugh loudly because his comment was the farthest thing from the truth. He nods his head in agreement – everyone knew they didn’t get along. “But thanks. I think it had run its course before she changed assignments. You know what relationships are like with what we do.”

“Man, do I know it. What am I on here? Wife number three? Four? You’ve got the right idea with the let’s-have-fun versus the let’s-get-hitched mentality… but uh, she just looked over here again and f*ck me, I’d make her wife number five for the night if she’d let me.”

The deep belly chuckle he emits pulls a reluctant laugh out of me, and it takes everything I have not to glance in the woman’s direction. Resistance is futile. Eventually I give in to curiosity and glance up, planning to avert my eyes before she looks our way again.

Intriguing eyes meet mine. Her dark hair is pulled back into a messy knot that should look unkempt but somehow makes her sexier. When our eyes connect, her lips fall open in surprise in an O shape before they correct themselves into a slow, soft smile. I nod my head at her and then casually look away, both hating and loving that pang in my gut that stirs to life.

Something about her – yet nothing I can put my finger on – tells me I should steer clear. So why the f*ck do I glance back up to see if she’s still looking? And why do I care?

“I’m sure you would,” I finally answer Pauly, a little slow in my response.

“She’s hot. I mean how often do we get someone that fine in this neck of the woods? Damn, dude, her eyes are back on you now. She’s seriously checking you out.” He snickers.

“Yeah, and she’s probably some sheikh’s wife. No, thanks… I’ll keep the hand they’d cut off just for looking at her.” I toss my napkin on the bar at the same time the barkeep slides another round in front of us.

“Better your hand than something else,” Pauly deadpans.

“Got that right.” I laugh.

“I might take the risk for her.” I glance over and look him up and down. He can’t be serious. “Okay. Maybe not.”

“Maybe not.” I scrub my hand over my clean-shaven face, knowing the smooth skin will soon be replaced by the scruff that just kind of happens when you live here. “She one of us?”

“She’s been here about two weeks. Freelance, I think. Don’t know much about her – heard she’s a loose cannon of sorts. Always off on her own, taking unnecessary risks and getting into people’s business. I’ve steered clear other than a nod in the lobby.”

That’s what I intend to do: steer clear of her. Too many newbies come in gung-ho, trying to get the next big story, and end up getting someone hurt. Just like what happened to Stella.

“Well, for what it matters, loose cannon or not, I think you should go for it. She’ll probably be gone sooner rather than later, which is always a good thing… Prevents attachment, and shit, you never know when your next chance to taste those nine lives will be.” He winks and I can’t help but snort.

“Thanks but I’ve got enough to worry about with my new photog coming in tomorrow.” I roll my eyes and bring the shot glass up to my partially numb lips as my mind veers back to the fact that it’s been ten years since I’ve had to break in anybody new. I’m not looking forward to this.

“Well tough shit, man,” he says, patting me on the back, “because she’s making a move for you.”

The resigned sigh falls from my mouth at the same time she slides into the chair next to me. Gone is the distinct smell of this crowded bar when the clean and flowery scent of her perfume surrounds me. I keep my head down, eyes focused on the scratches in the wood counter, acknowledging that I don’t want the small zing I feel to flourish. At all.