Page 23 of The Last Session

“Just thirty more minutes,” Dom had shouted when I’d tried to leave. “He’s on his way!”

After a few drinks, I was yearning for human touch. But it was near midnight—way past my bedtime. I ordered one last IPA and opened my phone. I’d posted on Instagram during the first set, a video of the band. The bartender set down the glass, but when I picked it up, the guy to my left bumped me, jostling my arm. Amber liquid sloshed over the rim.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” he said.

I turned, slightly annoyed, and found myself staring into warm, brown eyes. They were buttressed by under-eye circles that gave up-all-night-writing-poetry vibes. I zoomed out: heavy, concerned brows, a full lower lip, slight stubble, a mop of curly dark hair.

This guy was gorgeous.

“No problem.” I flashed him a grin.

“It’s crazy here tonight.” He was so close I could smell him: a mixture of laundry detergent and a woodsy, smoky cologne.

“I know.”Be cool be cool be cool.But I couldn’t help but glance down at his left hand resting on the bar. No ring.

“I’m Jonah.” He held out his hand. “Let me buy you a fresh one.”

“Oh, it’s fine. And I’m Thea.”

“Great name.” His mouth quirked in a cute smile.

“Thanks.” What was happening? Was this overly hot man flirting with me? True, I’d been told that I underplayed my own attractiveness—seeing my skin as pasty, not ivory; my green eyes as muddy instead of catlike; etc. Still, Jonah might really be out of my league.

But who knew? Some guys really, really liked red hair.

“It’s not like this on weekdays normally.” He took a sip.

“Come here often?” I cringed at the clichéd pickup line.

But he just nodded. “All the time.”

We chatted through one round, then another, which he insisted on paying for. The rest of the loud bar receded into the background. We leaned in, and it felt like we’d entered into a cozy sonic cocoon.

At one point, Dom brought up a wan, blond boy. We shook hands before I turned back to Jonah. She gave a subtle wink as they left.

“My friend was trying to set me up with that guy.” I rolled my eyes, secretly thrilled that Jonah had witnessed it.

“Ah yes.” He nodded wearily. “The ol’ setup. I get that sometimes too.”

So he was—confirmed—single. I rejoiced inwardly. The next round I somehow forced myself to order a water, knowing I was ready to tip over into too-drunk at any moment. I’d learned Jonah was a software engineer, he was teaching himself piano, and he was dad to two cats his ex had left behind. And then, somehow, he was saying those magical words:

“Do you want to get out of here?”

We took a cab to my apartment; I texted Dom to let her know I’d left the bar—with him.

GET IT,she responded.

By the time we walked up the four flights of stairs to my apartment, I was giddy with anticipation. After the stress of the past few weeks—hell, months—maybe years?—the universe seemed to be throwing me a literal bone.

But when I ushered Jonah into the apartment, he kept his black coat on and beelined for the couch. That was fine. We had all night. I grabbed two beers—I would just have a sip or two, no more—and sank alluringly beside him.

“Nice place.” Jonah slung his arm over the back of the couch.

“Thanks.” I had the sense, suddenly, that Jonah was a bit skittish. I couldn’t make any sudden moves or I might scare him away.

“So.” He fixed me with those soulful eyes. “Tell me more about your job. It sounds fascinating.”

“Oh.” The last thing I wanted to talk about was work. “It’s interesting, that’s for sure.”

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