Purple Hearts(5)

“What do you like?”

“Um.” He stared at the surface of the bar, as if he were contemplating the makeup of dark matter.

“Here.” I pulled three small glasses from a stack, and mixed a few virgin cocktails. I pointed to them in turn. “Soda with lime and bitters, Shirley Temple, and a spicy ginger ale.”

He sipped on each, keeping his eyes on me above the rim of the glass. When he was finished, he waved his hand over all three. “I like this. All of this is good.”

“Oh, you met Luke!” Frankie said, wandering over, his cheeks pink. “Luke, Cassie.”

Nora squeezed between Frankie and Luke and ducked under the bar.

“That’s my bassist, Nora,” I said to Frankie, nodding at her while I scooped three glasses full of ice.

“Hi-lo, Nora,” Frankie said, tipsy sounding.

“Nora, hello, wow,” Armando said. He barely noticed that I had put the Bud in front of him. “I’m Armando.”

“And I’m working,” Nora said with a big, lipsticked smile, squeezing a tallboy in the crook of her elbow. Armando’s eyes followed her as she dropped off the drinks. He moved away from the bar to a group of soldiers swaying to “This Is How We Do It” near the jukebox. Standard fare. They wouldn’t find anything made later than 2005.

Good luck, I mouthed when she caught my eye. She rolled hers.

Luke, I’d noticed with a wave of pleasure, had not moved.

Frankie and I shot the shit while I poured another round for his friends. Luke’s eyes were silver-blue. While I turned my back to make Frankie an old-fashioned, I heard him mutter something.

Then Frankie’s voice, loud. “Cassie? No, she’s like my sister. But soldiers aren’t really Cass’s type. At least that’s how it was in high school.”

I struck a match. My ears pricked. Idiots were my type in high school. “Let’s not get into that.”

“What is your type?” Luke asked.

I turned, holding the flame up to an orange peel. “Mythological creatures.”

“Any of them in here?” he asked, raising his eyebrows, looking around.

“No,” I said, feeling my mouth twitch at the corners, mirroring his.

Nora set her tray on the bar. “Could I get another round for the high top?”

Armando had joined us again, this time accompanied by a ginger guy in an unfortunate striped shirt and glasses. “Soldiers not your type, huh,” the guy slurred, gesturing to me as he slumped on the bar. “We can fight for your ass but we can’t touch it?”

“Davies,” Frankie said. “Dude.”

I took a deep breath. Asshole number 2,375 of my two-year bartending career. I filled a glass. “Have some water, buddy.”

“Not water, come on!” the redhead said, and pushed away the cup with force, spilling it.

I picked up a rag and soaked up the puddle, my face burning. “I think you’re good.”

“Oh, come on,” he called. Then, lower, to Frankie, “Your friend’s being a bitch.”

In a second, my belly was against the bar, my nose two inches from his. “Get out,” I said. A lopsided smile grew on his skinny face. His lips were chapped, his eyes wet and red.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa . . .” He backed up, holding up his hands, still smirking. His eyes were starting to widen. “It was— I was just—you know.”

Every vein in me was pumping. “Get out or our bouncer will get you out,” I told him, my face impassive.

Armando took the redhead by the waist and wove with him toward the door. I picked up another tumbler and began to pretend to wipe it down, waiting for my heartbeat to return to normal. I blew out the dark strand of hair that had found its way into my mouth.

“Was that really necessary?” came a voice from the bar. Luke.

“Excuse me?”

Luke shrugged. “You didn’t have to kick him out. He’s about to ship out—of course he needs to blow off a little steam. He could die.”

“Oh, God,” I muttered. “I didn’t ask him to do that. And for a war I don’t even believe in, so, no, I’m not going to give him a break.”

He stared at me, suddenly serious. “No, you didn’t ask him, because he volunteered to defend our country. Which includes you.”

“It’s not just us who needs the defending. But, whatever.” I raised my hands in surrender, and glanced around for Nora. The patriot could have this one. I just wanted to go back to making money.

I heard his voice closer, more intense, leaning over the bar. “Do you know what’s going on over there?” I paused, turning back to him. “With the Islamic State?”

Did I know what was happening with the Islamic State? As if I didn’t know how to read. I shouldn’t have kept going, but I couldn’t help it. He was so smug. “ISIS is a fundamentalist response to the U.S. fucking up that entire region of the world out of greed.” His mouth hung open, shocked for a moment. “And you all seem to think it’s a good idea to just keep on coming back and messing with them. That’s what’s going on.”

Luke looked indignant. “We’re not just ‘messing with them,’ Cassie.”

The sound of my name in his mouth made my gut flip. “Oh, yeah? Luke?”