Page 110 of Power Play

Great. Just fucking great.

Of all the gin joints…

I took a gigantic swig of my margarita as the dark-haired man kissed the bartender on the neck and pinched her ass. “This,” he said with a heavy accent, “was mistake. I’ll take them to the park.”

“Okay,” she said and kissed him back. “Thanks.”

“Your brother,” he said, “is a fool, but he means well.”

“Fuck off, Novek,” Dillon said. “You thought it was a great idea. In fact, you said, and I quote, “Our children need to be tougher. I knew how to roast a goat when I was their age.”

Novek looked at the bartender with big sheepdog eyes. “I never said that. Our kids are perfect.”

She laughed and swatted him with the bar towel over her shoulder. “Get out of here. I’ll see you later.”

Dillon laughed and so far seemed not to notice me. Which was awesome. He walked to the bar fridge and I stepped back away from the stool, looking to go hide in a booth.

“Too late,” Dillon said, smiling at me as he popped open the top of a can of soda. “I saw you.”

“Hi, Dillon,” I said, like he was a proctologist, and I needed an exam.

“You two know each other?” The bartender asked. She had a red bandana holding back her hair and she gave real Rosie the Riveter vibes.

“Kit, this is my sister Wendy. Wendy, this is Kit.”

I waited for the shoe to drop. For him to say something about how we knew each other. He testified at my dad’s trial, because my dad stole a shit ton of money from him. Not the best conversation starter.

I braced myself.

“She’s taking care of Tess, the little girl with Liam,” he said instead.

“Nice to meet you, Kit,” Wendy said, shaking my hand. “And how is that Liam?”

“Good,” I lied. “You know Liam?”

“Sun shines out of his asshole,” Wendy said. “Game two of the Stanley Cup final, that man carried the whole fucking team on his shoulders.”

“That’s kind of his thing,” I said and immediately regretted it. I took a giant sip of my margarita.

Dillon made eye contact with me as if to say he understood what I was really saying. Wendy went down the bar to help the two other guys and Dillon leaned forward to keep chatting with me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

“The thing I know about Liam,” Dillon began,” is that he hugs people with one arm and pushes them away with the other. I’ve never met a man with less privacy and more boundaries.”

I gaped at him and he shrugged.

“I know. I’m basically a genius with people. It comes from working in a bar my whole life.”

“This is your family bar?” I asked.

“It is!’ He said, turning sideways to show me the framed picture of what looked like an old-fashioned professional wrestler. “My dad owned it and then Wendy took it over and I came back every summer on the off season to put in my time and give my kids a beach summer. Now I’m here more than I’m not, as an old retired man.”

“Sounds really nice. Your dad still around?” I asked and then wanted to kick myself. Bringing up the subject of dads with this guy was idiotic. But then, I realized this was what Liam did, he skirted around the conversations and just worked really hard to seem like it didn’t bother him. The best thing to do here was just…maybe…say the things I feared saying.

“He died a few years back.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry about your dad, too,” he said, and our eyes met over the bar.

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