Page 29 of You Can't Fight Lightning
Damn my damn curse.
It was hard to get back to sleep after I woke up from the gravesite part of my dreams. When I did, I dreamed of having lunch on a bright, sun filled patio with Z. He smiled sweetly at me as he handed me food. Grapes, oranges, strawberries. It felt like somewhere other than here.
When I woke, my first feeling was disappointment that I wasn’t on that sun filled patio.
What was it about him? I’d managed to avoid any entanglements for the last year without any problems. It wasn’t like I didn’t get hit on at Big Pete’s. I got hit on plenty. But the regulars knew that I wasn’t interested, and a lot of them knew why I felt the way I did. Most were empathetic. A few had a “get back on the horse” philosophy, but overall, people here respected my choice. And when people who were not local tried one on with me, the locals set them straight.
So why couldn’t I get rid of this guy?
Damn it.
It was Saturday night, the busiest night of the week. With the warm weather, the back of the bar would be packed, and people would be celebrating. It had been a long winter. People were antsy.
I added a bit more in the makeup department, bumped my hair up, and then sprayed myself with glitter. Silly, I know, but it helped. I felt better, and I made better money.
Z Olimbos was going to leave. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—but he’d leave. And he’d leave alive, which wasn’t a sure thing when you got close to me. I’d be sad, but I wouldn’t lose the last piece of my heart that was left to me.
That more important than anything. I wanted him to stay alive, obviously, but if I lost my heart again, if I had to bury another piece of my heart that resembled Swiss cheese more than anything else, that would be it.
I wouldn’t be able to go on.
With my head high and my heart hopeful, although for what, I couldn’t tell, I walked into work.
The energy in the bar had an electric feel. This would bear watching. It could end in a fabulous night, or an ugly fight. Right now, I couldn’t tell which way things would go.
In my scan of the bar, I didn’t see Z, and my heart deflated a bit.
I’d hoped to see him.
Even though I kept turning him down.
Thoughts of Z or anything else went out the non-existent window because the moment I stepped back behind the bar, things were hopping, and I had no time to muse over the state of my non-existent love life.
“Hey, honey.” A graveled voice called out behind me.
My back was to the bar as I rang up drinks for a customer. “One sec.” I half-yelled over my shoulder.
“Honey, I’ve been waiting.”
I hated guys who called me honey. They inevitably tried to grab your ass before the night was over.
Refusing to look at the honey man, I handed the change back to the woman I’d rung up, then turned toward him.
He was everything I expected. Leather jacket, bandana around his head, probably to cover a hairline he wasn’t happy with, and about forty. He was a weekender, with his red forehead and lower cheeks indicating that he was wearing goggles for a large part of the day.
“What can I get you?”
“Two of the ambrosias, and your number.” He leaned an elbow against the bar like he was Cary Grant.
For hell’s sake. Like I hadn’t seen, heard, and ignored this crap a thousand times before.
“You want to run a tab?”
“No, I’ll pay cash.”
I made his drinks, and when I set them on the bar in front of him, he had a large wad of bills folded in his hand, and an expectant look on his face.
Jee-zuz.
