Page 8 of Moth Manager
My face feels warm at the casual compliment. His antennae swivel around, his hand still at my side, squeezes lightly. “Your friend… is she alright?”
“What?” I look around for Anam and Kelly.
The Mothman’s head swivels, turning a full 180 on his neck to face behind him. I step to the side and I spot them at the bar.
Kelly is holding up a wobbling Anam who knocks a plastic cup from the bar. It smashes to the ground, splashing dark beer all over a stranger.
“What the hell, you stupid bitch!” a white woman in a witch costume, who is now also wearing most of an IPA, yells.
Kelly, always the guard dog, is already supporting Anam with one arm and shaking her other finger in the witch's face.
“Crap.” I move past my Mothman toward my friends, putting myself between Kelly and the strange woman.
“So sorry, so sorry,” I tell the witch. “She’s just a little drunk.”
The witch's mouth presses into a thin line, her eyes flicking to the space over my shoulder.
“It’s fine.” The witch is still scowling, but her tone calms surprisingly fast.
“Why don’t I cover your tab for the night?” The Mothman’s voice surprises me at my shoulder. I glance back at him and consider protesting, but if he wants to throw money at a problem that isn’t his…well, I was already planning to sleep with him tonight.
I move to help Kelly wrangle Anam. “How are you feeling, sweetie?” I ask, putting a hand on my friend’s shoulder. “Ready to go home?”
“I’m fine! Let’s stay and party!” Anam rolls her eyes.
Kelly gives me a half-hearted smile, it's obvious she's already tried this approach.
“We should get some food in her.” Kelly wraps her arm through Anam’s elbow.
“Oh my gawd, yes! Let’s go and get some french fries! Please!”
A large bouncer appears at their back. “I gotta ask you ladies to leave.”
“I’ve got them,” the soft male voice at my shoulder assures the bouncer. There's the faintest of touches as his hand moves to my hip.
The bouncer's eyes shift to the Mothman's hand before he nods. “Whatever you say, Ant.”
I glance at my Mothman looking for some clue how he knows the man, but the Mothman says nothing as he leads us to the entrance. He holds the door while Kelly and I guide Anam outside into the chilly October air.
“Do you work here?” I ask him.
“Not exactly.” He doesn’t clarify further, just points down the block. “If you need to eat, there are a couple food trucks on the corner open late for bar goers. Tacos and cubanos.”
“Yes! Oh my god!” Anam stumbles toward my Mothman a few steps and grasps one of his arms in her fingers. There’s an unreasonable little curl of jealousy in my stomach when she touches him. “The only thing that sounds better than French fries is tacos! Piper! Kelly! Can we go and get some tacos? Please, please, please?!”
“Of course, sweetie.” Kelly only sounds a little exhausted. “We’ll get some food in your stomach before you go to bed.”
“Yes! You are so smart!” Anam straightens her bee antennae with one hand and taps the Mothman’s chest with the other. “You are a freaking genius, and he's kinda cute! Piper! Bring the cute genius with you!”
The Mothman’s antennae twitch when Anam’s hand meets his chest. He shifts away from her, steering her back into Kelly’s waiting arms. I’m surprised how much comfort that brings me.
“Would you like to—” I run my tongue across my bottom lip feeling self-conscious before I actually get all the words out, “boldly go on this adventure with us?” I bark out a nervous laugh at the end of my question and wince at my own terrible joke.
His wings shift at his shoulders. “You want me to follow you?”
“If you want—I had a nice time—I amhavinga nice time—“ I pause on the sidewalk a few steps past him, my friends attempting to forge ahead. “I wouldn’t mind?—”
His eyes dart from my friends to the food truck and back to the bar. I am being too pushy, asking too much of this stranger. He’s not looking for some needy lonely woman to cling onto him all night.
