“You staying?” I take the receipt and cash from the guy sitting next to him and throw the change into an oversized tip jar.
“I thought I’d have a drink.”
“Giving this whole ‘relaxing’ thing a try?” I tease and hand him a menu.
“If this doesn’t work, I hear there are other ‘ways.’” He does air quotes and smiles.
“Hmm, I may know something about those ‘other methods’ but will they be enough to help you forget about all those papers on your desk? Or that PhD program you need to apply for?”
“If what I’m told is true, I should just skip right to that.” His mouth lifts in that adorable crooked smile of his and he tries to hand back the menu. “I don’t need this. I’ll just have a Guinness. On tap.”
I push it back. “I’m guessing you haven’t had anything to eat since you had lunch at eleven. Am I wrong?” I place the Guinness before him. He laughs, shakes his head, and opens the menu.
A scrawny, pasty white kid with a rash of bad acne takes the seat next to Brinn. Not a chance he’s anywhere near the legal drinking age.
“And what can I get for you, sir?” I know what’s coming.
The kid clears his voice and gestures to McRae’s beer. “I’ll have what he’s having.”
“All right. Let’s see your ID.” Out of the side of my mouth, I say to McRae, “This oughta be good.”
“You didn’t ask him for his ID,” the kid says, gesturing to Brinn.
“OK, that’s fair.” I hold out my hand. “Let’s see it, McRae. Hand over your ID.”
McRae puts the menu down, turns to face the kid, and while pulling out his wallet says, “I think I recognize you. We graduate together?” His expression is deadpan.
The kid sputters. “I may have been a few years behind you.”
I stifle a laugh and indicate with my head a group of boys who appear to be the same age intently watching their friend.
I show McRae’s license to the teen. “You see that? That’s the year, and when I do basic math it tells me this guy here is twenty-seven. Oh, but lookie here.” A bubble of an idea pops in my head. “It seems McRae here will be twenty-eight tomorrow. Happy birthday, drinks on me.”
He ducks his head.
“Now, let’s see yours,” I say to the kid.
He sighs heavily, pulls out a license, and slowly hands it over. I scan it before turning back to him.
“Listen, I can appreciate a fake ID like the rest of them but this one is poorly done. It says you’re Hispanic and thirty. If you’re going to invest in an ID, at least try to make it as authentic as possible.” I hope to ease my words with a gentle smile. “You should also know that if I serve you and the police catch me it’s a second degree misdemeanor. Not only could I go to jail for a year, but I’d have to pay a fee that I don’t have. You willing to loan me a couple grand? That doesn’t include what the owners of this place will incur. So I suggest if you want to drink you fly to Europe where the drinking age is much lower. Now, I get that your friends are watching and I’m sorry, but high five for trying.” I hold up a hand and slowly he reaches out and slaps his to mine.
“Here’s what I’m gonna do for you. I’m gonna bring your table some appetizers, on me, and a few virgin drinks. How does that ease the pain?”
The kid shrugs before he smiles and nods. “That sounds OK.”
“Great, but don’t you tell anyone I did this for you or I’ll have kids from everywhere coming in trying to mooch off me. Now scram. Get out of the bar area and get back into the restaurant part.” I shoo him off the stool. “Wait,” I call when he takes a step away. “Tell McRae here happy birthday.”
“Happy birthday,” he mumbles before slinking off. He gives his friends a shrug, but I suppose the mention of free food is what has them high fiving.
“That was nice of you,” McRae says.
“Ha. Poor kid. He’s got balls for trying.” I cut the ID into tiny confetti pieces.
“Remind you of your teenage days?”
I snort. “No, I was too focused on school and college.”
“College? At sixteen?” McRae pauses with his mug halfway to his mouth.
I lean across the bar and come in close. “You may know where my sweet spots are, McRae, but there’re other things you don’t know about me. Like how I finished high school with two years of college already complete.”
“Impressive, and yet I’m not surprised. You try to come off as nearly homeless with your four bags of luggage, yet you can create a spreadsheet in five minutes flat. You act like nothing bothers you, yet your voice breaks every time you talk about your brother. You face off men bigger and stronger than you without blinking and always come out on top.”
What’s with everyone analyzing me tonight? I turn to clear a spot and hide my embarrassment. I hadn’t realized he was paying that close of attention. When I turn back, he’s staring at me, the menu on the counter.
“So have you decided what it is you want?”
“Besides you?”
“I meant to eat.”
“So did I.”
The heat around us shoots up a thousand degrees.
“I get off really late.”
“It’ll be my birthday then.”
I move closer with only the wood counter between us. “What about vanilla scoop over there? She’s been eyeing you since you sat down.” I look over his shoulder and lift a brow.
He turns in the direction, gives her a wave, and then faces me. “That’s Laura. We aren’t dating.”
“I didn’t ask.” I pour him a new draft to help feign my nonchalance.
“Yes, you did.” He leans one arm on the counter and smirks.
“It’s none of my business what you do outside of our time. That’s part of the deal.”
He’s wrapped his large hand around the mug and is rubbing his thumb over the rim. I can’t stop staring.
“I agree. It’s none of your business. But if you wanted to know I’d tell you.”
“What you want with Ms. Uptight Sweater I’ll never understand. She’s not your type.”
“Given this some thought, have you?” He levels me with a stare.
“No, of course not. I made that assessment just now.”
“Because she’s wearing a sweater, she’s not my type?”
“Because her nails are perfect, her clothes high end, and her friends look just like her. She’s high maintenance, and you do not do high maintenance. There’s no time in your life for it.”
“Right now. Once I get into an ownership position, everything changes. I’d like to settle down one day. Maybe have some kids. You don’t think Laura looks like the type to do that?” He shakes his head in confusion. “Point out a girl who does and I’ll go intro myself right now.”
The glimmer in his eye is a first and it dawns on me that he’s teasing.
I respond by throwing a bar towel at his face. “Fine, she’s perfect for you. You can do the missionary position the rest of your life and only kiss with tongue when either of you’ve had too much to drink. Are you ordering food or not?”