Page 8 of Choke

I can’t believe she’s here, in a restaurant on another side of the country.

“She’s hot. Chicks with tattoos? Freaks in bed, no question,” Nate says, laughing as he grabs another beer.

Laughter ripples across the table. I glance at the server, catching the flicker of disgust she barely hides. It confirms what I already know.

“Enough.”

My empty glass slams into the table, and my low, steady voice cuts through the laughter. It feels like the entire restaurant goes silent.

“That’s enough.”

My chest is tight, anger simmering just under the surface. I have no right to feel this way—I don’t even know her last name—but hearing them talk about her like that?

I can’t fucking take it.

The silence stretches, heavy and awkward. My chest feels tight, my pulse pounding in my ears.

Ronan laughs.

“See, guys? I told you he’s in looove.”

The team erupts with laughter, and the discussion continues, but this time, the focus stays on me, my terrible dating history, and how she’s the one who got away.

As I listen absent-minded, another woman walks inside. She looks at our table, sighs, and calls for the server.

I hear her say, “I’m so sorry about that. Can I please get our bill?”

My body decides before my mind can stop it, and I’m on my feet, cutting through the tables to where she’s standing. She glances at me out of the corner of her eye, her posture rigid, like she already knows what’s coming. When I reach her, she exhales, turning slowly to face me. Her expression is calm, almost resigned, but her eyes—sharp and assessing—tell a different story.

Good Times

Lex

5 years ago

I don’t know why I’m still here after my shift. Good Times—what an ironic name for this bad-time bar. The neons scattered around the walls buzz faintly. It’s a sound I can hear regardless of music—I can hear it for hours after I leave. Those dingy old lights bathe the entire place in a sickly glow. No matter how much we clean at night’s end, the place looks dirty and used. There is a brief silence as the song changes, and the high-pitched screech of the old speakers makes me cringe. I take a deep breath, questioning my sanity over agreeing to a drink with the guy following closely behind me: Adrian. His presence feels like a weighted shadow on my back. He’s enormous, both in height and sheer mass. I almost tripped when I noticed he needed to turn slightly to pass between the tall bar tables I moved through with space. I keep my eyes forward—something about him makes me hesitant to look over my shoulder as if I’ll see some monster stalking behind me.

The stench of vomit makes my stomach spin. It doesn’t matter whose it is—mine, someone else’s, even my cat’s—it all turns my gut inside out. He makes me uneasy; however, the visceral need to escape the pile of puke left by the girls who weren’t even old enough to drink wins out. Reaching the bar, I reclaim the seat I abandoned to start a fight with his friend, who has a proclivity for girls far too young for him. Adrian looks older than me, as did his friend. Those girls must’ve used a fake ID to get in here. They looked barely out of high school. If I cared enough, I’d tell Rob, the bar owner, to talk to his bouncers, butit would be pointless. The only ID they care about is cup size and IQ points.

I can’t wait to be done here.

When I moved back to the area, I applied for jobs everywhere. But, being a small town with limited employment options, I’d settled on the first offer I received. This. Fucking. Place. It’s been the Hail Mary I needed since returning. I can admit to myself that Costa Rica wasn’t my best-laid plan. I went to spend time with a friend, but I didn’t speak Spanish, couldn’t find a job, and felt alone and bored. By the time I came home, my bank account was empty, and I needed therapy. Since then, this place has kept me afloat. As revolting as it is, it’s usually slammed, and the money has been good. It’s the only bar within thirty miles.

I touch the tip of my nose at Jay, the bartender working the close shift—a silent code from working together letting him know I want another round. I sense the heat from Adrian’s body sliding into the seat next to me. This man’s immense size instantly makes the room seem smaller. Out of the corner of my eye, I take in that he’s all muscle - thick forearms with winding veins and a sharp jaw that flexes as he lowers himself onto the stool.

“That is a neat trick,” He says; the low timbre of his voice is almost distracting. “Does it work for everyone or just pretty girls?”

I cringe -pretty.

Pretty is so fucking paper-thin. The word men use when they want to be charming or get their dicks wet but can’t be bothered to put effort into it. Pretty fades.

Jay passes me my drink, and his eyes move between me and Adrian. He must have clocked my cringe because he asks, “Lex, you good?”

I clear my throat and reassure him, saying, “Yeah, fine.”

I pick up my drink, taking a slow sip. Adrian stares intently at my face—I haven’t turned to face him directly, but I’m sure he hasn’t blinked. He’s locked in on me; the intensity makes him impossible to ignore.

“Lex,” Adrian repeats my name, sounding sinister on his tongue. It shouldn’t sound like that. It shouldn’t feel like that.

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