Page 14 of The Delivery

“What do you mean? Are you talking about Gunnar?”

“It’s obvious he likes you, but when you’re not available he’s all over me. Then he switches when you walk in. He’s like a dog who focuses one hundred percent on whoever has the treat.”

“Most men are like that. Don’t throw him a bone if you’re not interested. You don’t have to give him your treat.”

“Well, if he wants my treat, he can’t get distracted. He has to slobber for my treat and my treat alone.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, grabbing a shot one of the cocktail waitress’ hands me from her tray as she makes her way across the dance floor. I tip it back and wince at the burn. Janey and I come here a lot and we tip really well, so one of the perks is the staff gets us drunk.

“Speaking of distracted, what’s with you? Is it that kid?”

“What kid?” I say with my very best Muppet eagle scowl.

“Pfft! You are so ridiculous, Lana. The kid with the hair. The one you stare at like you’re going to bore a hole through his head with your laser lust beams.”

“Funny, Janey.” But now I’m blushing, sweating and feeling like a criminal.

“Oh sensitive subject,” Janey says as she shakes her hips and runs her fingers through her hair. “You can tell me, Lana. What? I won’t tell anyone. Who am I—the crush police?”

“I am very uncomfortably attracted to him, and I hate myself for it. There I said it. Happy? You got me. Now lock my ass up and throw away the key.”

“Because he’s a delinquent or because he’s young?”

I can’t dance and talk about this, so I walk toward the bar.

“Neither! Because he’s smart and articulate and a crazy-talented artist and because he happens to be way too sexy to be only eighteen!”

“I meant why do you hate yourself. I can see why there’s attraction. He’s hot, for a rotten little teenager.”

“Oh,” I say, pouting while I order us two gin and tonics.

“Look, there’s Gunnar salivating all over that chick’s milk bone. Fetch, Gunnar. I hate him. He’s such a dog.”

“Maybe now he’ll leave us alone. Wait, I don’t mean that. It sounded really mean. I respect Gunnar. He’s great at what he does, and he helps so many kids.”

“You don’t have to be a diplomat. We’re getting drunk at a bar. You’re allowed to live a little. Don’t hate yourself for a weird, inappropriate crush. We’ve all had them. When I was seventeen, I was in love with my gyno. Took everything I had not to grind in the stirrups.”

“Oh God, Janey that’s sick. I love you, but you truly are a demented soul.” I slam back another tequila the bartender has placed on napkins in front of us, presumably free of charge. My heart blurs a little as the alcohol rushes to sedate me.

“Don’t look now, Doc, but teenage dream just waltzed in the front door. Apparently you’re not the only one who can’t tell he’s underage.”

“What?” I say, whipping my head around to see Mozey in his signature black t-shirt and jeans, hands in his pockets, confidently casing the place.

“Oh, God. Jennifer told him we come here. I don’t think this is safe. I’m drunk, Janey. Can you get me out of here before he sees me? Do something to distract him! Can you cover for me?”

Janey pays me no heed and is already absorbed in monitoring Gunnar and his conquests.

“The blonde didn’t want to share her treats,” Janey says, staring in Gunnar’s direction and slurring ever so slightly. “He’s got a lot of nerve. He came here with me! I’ma go keep him company.”

“Please don’t leave me, Janey. I can’t deal with this!”

Mozey spies us and raises his eyebrows in greeting. He’s so cavalier, as if this were casual, as if we had all planned on meeting here. I snatch the drink in front of me and quickly down the rest of it. My brain races, searching for the right thing to say to quickly excuse myself without causing any embarrassment.

Mozey saunters up like the panther he is and without taking his hands out of his pockets, puts his hip against the bar and smiles at me. It’s a lazy, seductive smile oozing with confidence. How fast can he forget our conversation on the stairs? There is no part of him that is afraid or that holds any apprehension. I’m boneless, like a blob of jello and quivering in his presence. I bet he’s got a serious bone to contend with.

“I’m off duty. I can’t give you any advice or advocate for your benefit. I’ve had too much to drink—otherwise I’d report you. You either lied on your application or you’re in here illegally.” I say with little emotion. I’m okay with “your ass is busted mode.” It’s a part I have to play everyday at work.

Mozey’s smile lingers warmly in his eyes as he takes me in. He moves his hands to his back pockets and directs his attention to the bartender who has thrown down a cocktail napkin in front of him.

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