Page 55 of Catfish

Some time to myself because Mama and I have been shopping all day, I’ve answered a million about my job, she’s paraded me around to all her friends at the small craft store she frequents. Then I had to sit with Bonnie, her neighbor friend, for over two hours and listen to her bitch about her husband always being out of town.

I don’t understand what’s so hard to comprehend about a truck driver, that’s what they do.

Meanwhile, Sadie's pristine ass gawks around the bar like we just walked into Candyland. I don’t think she’s ever been to a bar. It’s not her scene, I get it, her idea of a fun night is Netflix, pizza, and a book. I'm not knocking those ideas, I just need something more some nights.

“This place is so crowded,” she raves, taking a seat at the bar top and hanging her purse off the side of her chair. I take the spot next to her and move her purse onto the countertop mindlessly. “Oops, sorry. I forgot, thieves one oh one.”

“Habit,” I deadpan, flagging down the bartender.

“Yeah…” She doesn't know what it was like living in the slums of Daphne where people would jump you for a five-dollar bill.

That you couldn't turn your back for more than a few seconds because someone might fight you for your T-shirt or the shoes you were wearing. Not that mine were much of anything, but they were clean, thanks to Uncle Johnny, Sadie's dad.

The middle-aged bartender comes over and asks us what we want, eyeing Sadie a little longer than deemed necessary. He rubs his ZZ Top beard like he’s contemplating on giving Sadie a go on his cock.

Good luck.

He’d have to be part of N’SYNC before she’d even considerate.

And even then…

"Strawberry margarita with an extra shot," I blurt, snatching his gaze. "My girlfriend will have a martini, please, no olives. Thanks."

The corners of his eyes wrinkle, my dismissal isn’t lost on the asshole. “Do you want it frozen?”

“No. Can I smoke in here?”

He gives me a dismissive shrug and walks away to make our drinks.

“I thought you quit,” Sadie censures.

I pull a pack of Marlboro Lights out of my clutch. “Do you ever really quit?”

“You said you did.”

“Guess not.” I flick my lighter and hover it under the end of my cigg.

If she doesn’t want to smell it, she can move. If she doesn’t want to deal with it, I never asked her to come here.

“What’s up?”

“With what?” I pull out my cell to buy a distraction. Anything but to have Sadie’s brown eyes sear the truth out of me and make me her next fixer-upper.

She’s good at fixing people, problem is, little Miss Sunshine thinks afterward rainbows and candy are going to shoot out of my ass.

I don’t need saving, don’t need to be in the scope of her help.

Again, I just want space.

“Thirsty,” I convey when she remains silent.

“You don’t drink tequila unless there’s a problem.”

“The problem,” I reply, turning my body towards her, “is that when we get back home, the work will commence again.”

Will I miss Mama—yes.

Is that the problem—nope.

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