Speakeasy (True North #5)(41)

I tend bar on autopilot, wondering how May is doing this week. I’ve been texting her dumb jokes and pictures of me holding various suggestive objects. Hey girl. How do you like my banana? The photo was of an actual banana. Then I made Benito take one of me holding an eggplant in front of my crotch at the grocery store.

Nobody ever mistook me for a serious guy. But May seems to appreciate my inner goofball. She tells me that her family is still treating her like a terminal case.

I sling beer and smile and dance to whatever Becky puts on the sound system. But I also sneak glances at my phone, hoping to see one from May. But she hasn’t said a word about whether we’re on for tonight.

“Alec!” I look up to find Chelsea in front of me.

“Hey there, hot stuff.” Doh! “Hang on a sec, okay?”

“Sure.” She gives me a big grin and sits down on the only open bar stool to wait.

Shit.

I move down the bar and capture Smitty by the shoulder. “Man, I need a little help from you.”

“Want me to close?” He seems happy enough to volunteer.

“Maybe, but first I need you to say you can’t.”

“Weird. But fine,” he mutters.

I grab a jar of cherries from right in front of him and go back to Chelsea. “What’s shaking?” I open the jar and restock the cherries, even though they don’t need restocking.

“You free later?” she asks.

“Nah, I’m sorry. Gotta close tonight, and I’m kind of wiped.” I feel like a huge dick for lying right now. But hopefully I’m busy tonight.

And even if I’m not, a hookup with Chelsea doesn’t really appeal. There’s a first time for everything, I guess.

“Hey, Smitty!” she yells. “Want to close for Alec?”

“Can’t,” he says. It’s one word, delivered over his shoulder. Not for the first time I realize Smitty is an excellent liar. We cover for each other once in a while.

Chelsea pouts, making herself look even younger than her twenty-two years. She’s too young for you, my subconscious offers up.

My subconscious is apparently a cock-blocker.

“I never see you anymore,” Chelsea complains. “And after next week I’m out of town the next ten days.”

“Oh—where?” And why am I suddenly relieved?

“A BBC! In Florida.”

“Damn. Sounds like a really good time.” BBC is Chelsea-speak for Big Beer Convention. Her dad goes to most of them without her, but now I remember her telling me that he was sending her to one on her own. “Ten days? That’s a lot of partying.”

“The con is only four days, but I’m taking a little vacation. The girls and I are going clubbing in Miami Beach.”

“Ah. Sounds like a blast.” Actually, waiting in line and paying steep covers sounds like something that would have been a blast when I was twenty-two. Now it just sounds like a lot of hassle.

It’s not Chelsea, I guess. It’s me.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I’m dying to check it, but I can’t. Instead I buy Chelsea a drink and chat her up until she gets bored with me.

The second she leaves, I check May’s text. Movie is done, she says. I’ll be a half an hour.

“Smits?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna close for me?”

“Sure. Let me just cancel my plans.” He pulls out his phone.

“You don’t have to,” I say. Although I hope he will.

He gives me a smirk as he unlocks his phone. “You’ll close tomorrow, right?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Fine. But be careful, okay? You don’t want Chelsea pissed off at you.”

“I know.” Shit. But she’s not what I need right now.

What I need is on her way over right now.





Chapter Fifteen





May


A week later, I ease my car around the side of the Gin Mill at ten p.m. and pull in close to the brick wall. Again. This spot behind the dumpster has become my regular parking place for trysts with Alec, aka “Selena from the law school.”

Lately, Alec and I have been like crazy teenagers, sneaking away whenever we can to be together. On the one hand, I’m not enjoying the deception. On the other hand, anticipation for our nights together has been very good for my daytime attitude.

My smile is far less plastic these days, even if my family doesn’t know exactly why.

Before I get out of the car, I check my phone. There’s a text from “Selena.” 1. The new code for the door is 6969. 2. Be naked when I get up upstairs. 3. Don’t be alarmed to spot a cat in my apartment. His name is Bukowski. He is an asshole but mostly harmless.

A cat? I didn’t take Alec for a cat person. But that man is full of surprises.

Grabbing my duffel out of the back, I leave my car and use the new code to let myself into the private entrance. I climb the two flights of stairs slowly. The mill has high ceilings, so the flights are long. Also, the late nights are starting to tire me out.

But that’s a good thing. I no longer lie awake at home wondering where I went wrong. Even when I’m not with Alec, I fall asleep more easily now.

It’s not a myth that a healthy sex life is intensely relaxing.