Bait: The Wake Series, Book One(106)

“Hey,” I said to him as I walked in. He sized me up, not saying anything. There were only a few others in the bar playing darts and two were shooting pool. No one sat at the bar.

I chose the stool in front of where he was stocking bottles and changing out the nozzles on the liquor. He had most of the bottles on the bar so he could clean the glass shelves and mirrored wall behind them. He still didn't say anything, but he examined me pretty closely.

He reached under the wooden bar and pulled out a double-shot glass, sliding it to me. I stopped it with my hand.

“Troy or Cory coming?” he asked.

“Nope.” My eyes landed on the bottle of Remy Martin and I thought how f*cking appropriate. Without a second thought to the glass, I opened the bottle and tipped it back. It was strong and it burned going down. Accustomed to the taste, Remy being a once upon a time friend of mine, he bit me back when I rushed him down my throat.

It was raining, fitting, and I'd really dressed up for my night out. Flip flops, brown tattered cargo shorts, white T-shirt, and a zip-up Bay hoodie. I showered quickly, but didn't shave. I didn't even look at my hair and let it dry like it was. I'm sure I looked really f*cking mental. I was a book worthy of being judged by my cover.

“Looks like I'll need another bottle of Remy for the shelf, you just bought that one.” He chuckled, not having a care in the world, and joked like the world wasn't on fire. I supposed his wasn't, but there was enough smolder coming off me that he could at least tone down his chipper f*cking tone. “You're the only guy that drinks that stuff anyway.”

I hadn't drunk it here since that first night. I looked at him squinting. “Same bottle?”

“Same bottle,” he said, walking to the back room for its replacement. It was still mostly full. I both hated it and loved it at the same time. I didn't want to empty it. It was pitifully ironic.

When he returned with the new Remy bottle and a few others, he sat them down on the bar in front of me.

“Can I get a glass of ice?”

He threw about five cubes into a Glenciarn glass and handed it to me. I said, “Play some music, would ya? Something louder than these violins in my head.”

I walked myself, the glass, and both bottles of Remy Martin to the booth in the back. After emptying my hands of my chosen mind eraser, I unscrewed the light bulb a quarter turn so that it went out, burning my numb fingers, my reflexes already slow, so the pain didn't hurt. Maybe I'd hit my deductible on pain.

Nate turned music on and what a good man. The beginning riff to Bulls on Parade pumped through the speaker that sat right behind that very booth.

I opened the new bottle, poured the amber cure over the ice and swirled it.

I looked at the old bottle. It was short, round and clear. I ran my thumb over the staff wielding sitar and hours passed.

Nate left me to it, not bothering me much, only coming over to switch out my glass with a fresh one with ice. He brought me a glass of water the last time. I'd slowly drunk a giant's share. I sipped the room temperature cognac and swallowed memories and fantasies alike.

My head in one hand, my finger circled the rim of the glass, I was officially Hemmingway drunk.

“You look like you need a friend,” said a sympathetic woman's voice.

Aly.

I didn't respond. My eyes were hot and when I looked up to see her they felt dry for having stared at the same spot on the table for hours.

She sat opposite of me and looked around the room.

“It's hopping in here,” she said sarcastically. “I can't believe I almost missed this party.”

“I'm not in the mood, Aly,” I croaked and took the last drink within my glass, immediately reaching to refill it.

“Oh, I'd say you look like you are in a mood. A bad one, too.” I looked at her blankly, trying to show her this wasn't a good time to play an angel. I was still missing the devil.

“Listen. I don't know who called you to come down here. I'd rather they hadn't.” I heard my words run together, my head lulled a bit. My drinks were gaining on me and they caught up to me all at once. Maybe I hadn't noticed since I hadn't spoken or been forced into logical thought for a while. It was almost peaceful letting my mind sink to the bottom of the glass.

“Nate called your brother. Cory called me.”

“How cute. You have a Casey's Drunk calling tree.” I patronized her and slapped the table.

She jumped.