Page 10 of The Contract

I feel like I’ve been covering it well until Saylor takes my tray and says, “I’ll deliver. Pour a Pig Whistle?”

“Oh. Sure. Thanks.”

When she comes back, we’re in a lull. We start racking glasses.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“What? Yeah. Of course.”

“It’s just … he might not be the best one to start with.”

My face flames. “Oh my god.”

“Dante’s not exactly,” she shrugs, “normal. And this is, like, new, right? For you?”

How is all of this obvious? Do I have a stamp on my forehead that says,Never been fucked, wants to try?

But I don’t want to address that, so I only say, “I’m well aware he’s not normal.”

Normal people, after all, don’t corner you and bite your ear. Normal people don’t bend you over a couch and spank you.

Saylor sighs and shakes her head. I glance at her from the corner of my eye, wondering what this is about. I don’t figure it out until after last call. It’s time for her to leave. I’m closing, so I’ll stay for the last few late-nighters then cash out.

“You have my number,” she says as she shoulders her purse.

“Yeah, but I got this. You walked me through it last night.”

She rolls her eyes. “You are killin’ me, boss.”

I blink.

“You can use it for non-work things,” she emphasizes.

I’m still a little lost, but I think she means I can call her if I need something. Call her as, I guess, a friend? My throat tightens a little. I’m too embarrassed to ask her if that’s what she means, so I just nod.

When everyone’s gone, I collect the last glasses and load them into the dishwasher. I wipe the tables and the bar. I cash out.

Fuck, I’m depressed. I didn’t realize it before, but now that I’m alone, with no one to put on a mask for, I feel the familiar drag.

It’s physical, that sensation, like a weight inside. Or like my body, which does feel like a car that I drive around in, is out of gas. What’s the point of going anywhere? There’s nowhere, really, to go.

Nothing’s real. Nooneis real. Like, Saylor was nice, but what does that really matter? It doesn’t come to anything. Some of the people in the foster care system are nice too, but you’re just another person passing through their life, there and gone. Pretty meaningless in the end.

It’s a thing I’d come to accept about life, but goddamn Dante woke something up inside me. When he’s around, I’malive. Angry usually but, shit, for those moments, I actually feelsomething, and he’s there to receive it. With him, everything is present and real.

But then he’s gone again.

See, it’s a mistake to think you mean something to someone, that they’re actually interested in you. They aren’t. You’re just another car on the road, and they’re going somewhere else.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Fuck!” The pen goes flying out of my hand.

I glare at Dante as he walks up to the bar. He has a file folder in one hand. In the other, he’s carrying a takeout bag from a high-end sushi place down the street. Obviously, I’ve never eaten there, but I walk by it all the time. The bag has a lot of boxes in it. He sets it on the bar.

He’s wearing a black V-neck t-shirt and black jeans. For the first time, I see his arms. They’re highly defined. He’s powerful but not bulky. The t-shirt hints at the contours of his chest.

I still don’t understand why I’ve never noticed that I find the male body attractive. It’s not like he’s the only fit man in New York.

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