Page 51 of Rut Bar

Anthony poursbright blue alcohol into our cups and then pulls over the room’s three other chairs until they form a circle.

“Don’t start without me,” Jamie says from the doorway as he joins us. He’s changed into street clothes, a pair of brown shorts with frayed edges, thong sandals, and a faded white hoodie with a Japanese block print of a sun setting over an ocean full of waves. He’s scraped his hair up into a messy topknot, but a few of the shorter pieces frame his face. Jamie takes his seat and then his drink.

“All right, here are the rules,” Anthony says as he turns his chair around and straddles it. “We’re playing truth or dare. We’ll go around in a circle and you have to pick either truth or dare, and if you don’t like your question or order, you have to drink before we’ll give you another option.”

“Uh-huh,” Veronica says with narrowed eyes. “You’re going to order me to strip and blow you.”

Anthony grins and shrugs mockingly. “Then I guess you’re gonna be drinking a lot, baby. But fair is fair and you get to do it to us too. I have a feeling the game will get easier the longer we play it.”

“You mean the drunker we get,” she says. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“If you want a white knight, baby, I’m not your man. That’s what they’re for. But if you need the heads of your enemies on a pike, you’ve got my number. All I need is a name. Okay, is everyone good with it?”

One by one, they all turn to me expectantly. “Yeah, I’m good,” I say. “I don’t have anything to hide.”

Anthony grips the back of his chair and his drink and grins. “Good. I choose Vee.”

“Shocking,” she deadpans.

“Truth or dare, baby?”

She hesitates for a few seconds before she decides. “Truth.”

If Anthony is disappointed by her answer, he doesn’t show it. “When was your last relationship? And I don’t mean a casual thing or a fuck buddy or a hook up. A real relationship. Living together or staying over and cooking dinner and going on cute dates and shit.”

Her face scrunches, and she takes a while to answer. “I was… twenty-two? That’d be eight years ago.”

God, she’s only thirty.I’m forty-one. I’m a dirty old man for lusting after her.

She looks around the room and folds her arms over her chest with her drink cradled in the crook of her arm. “What? I’m married to my work. It’s hard to date when you never have any free time. My turn now, right? I choose Anthony.”

“Shocking,” he says with a smile, parroting her.

“Truth or dare?” she asks him.

“Dare.”

“Shit, okay.” She takes a while to think. “Okay, I’ve got it. Show us the most embarrassing photo on your phone.”

“Ooh, naughty. I like it.” Anthony pulls his phone from his back pocket and swipes until he finds it. He shows us what looks like an old photo of a little boy with short brown hair and bright blue eyes dressed as a Catholic altar boy in the black cassock and white surplice.

“That is not what I was expecting,” Vee says as she takes the phone from him so she can really study the picture. Her lips curl in a tiny smile that softens her face as she hands it back.

“Church is a big deal for my family,” Anthony says. “But I only go for Easter, Christmas, weddings, and funerals, much to my ma’s complete and utter horror. All right, you’re next, Jamie. Pick someone.”

“Brendan,” Jamie says. “Truth or dare?”

My pulse quickens as I wonder what dare they’d come up with, but I’m not sure I’m brave enough. Or drunk enough. I see why Anthony made the pitcher of booze now. “Truth.”

“How did you end up working as an accountant?” Jamie asks.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by the question. It’s more commonly asked than I’d thought it would be. It’s true that most alphas tend to enjoy more physical or demanding or authoritative jobs. Like construction or surgery or being a corporate executive. White-collar desk jobs are often seen as beta work, although there’s no law about it.

“I played soccer in school and it seemed promising. I got a full ride athletic scholarship to UCLA. Then halfway through my high school senior year, only a few weeks before Christmas, I took a stray kick that shattered my knee in three places and tore my ACL. I lost my scholarship and any chance at going pro in college. I had to have surgery, and that took a few months and a lot of physical therapy to heal.”

I avoid looking at them as I finish my story. Seeing the pity on people’s faces gets old. “I was kind of lost and pretty depressed after. Soccer was all I’d ever wanted to do. But I’ve always been good with math. I can skim a page and add it all in my head. So I taped up a bunch of math related careers on my dart board and threw one. Went to school for whatever it landed on. I got my bachelors, then got my CPA. I worked in public practice for a while, then applied for the IRS.”

The plastic cup dents in my grip, and I force myself to relax. “The pay is fine. You could make more money in LA if you had the right practice and good connections, but the benefits and pension can’t be beat. I think after seeing how quickly you can lose everything, it made me want that security and peace of mind.”

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