Page 5 of Off Camera
I hadplans to head back to my apartment thirty minutes ago, but I haven’t been able to pull myself away from this woman.
She’s funny. Quick-witted and smart. Gorgeous and a total knockout.
And when she dropped a comic book title into casual conversation like she was talking about the weather?
My heart almost fell out of my chest.
I wouldn’t be surprised if I have a dopey smile on my face or big cartoon heart eyes. If Dallas and Maverick, my two best friends, could see me, I’m sure they’d give me hell for grinning so hard.
I don’t even care that she probably lied about her name. The silver necklace with the letter A resting against her collarbone tells meClaireisn’t what she normally goes by, but I don’t give a shit.
I motion to her empty glass. “Can I get you another drink?”
“A drink sounds great.” She smiles big and bright. There’s a dimple on her left cheek. I noticed it the first time she laughed, and it’s as distracting as the bright red lipstick on her mouth. “What are you having?”
“Gin and tonic, which I realize isn’t as badass as your whiskey neat.”
“Thank my father,” Not Claire says. “It was his drink of choice, and I’ve taken it upon myself to carry on the family tradition. At least three fingers. No ice. It’s the only way.”
“Shit.” I run my hand through my hair at her use of the past tense. “I feel like a dick for bringing up a hurtful memory, and I’m sorry for your loss.”
“He passed a long time ago. Therapy is a game changer, and I like talking about him.”
“Cheers to paying people to sort through our shit so we don’t have to do it alone.”
“You go to therapy?” She quirks a playful brow. “Care to share what for?”
“My childhood wasn’t particularly fun,” I say. “My dad wanted me to play baseball. I wanted to sit in front of a computer and learn to code. Add in yelling and being told I wasn’tman enoughbecause I didn’t know how to put on a baseball glove, and there’s a lot to unpack.”
“Shit,” she echoes. “NowI’msorry.”
“Call it even?”
“Okay.” She smiles again. “If you say so.”
The bartender comes over, and we order another round of drinks. Once we’re topped off with fresh alcohol, she raises her glass in my direction.
“What are we toasting?” I ask.
“To nights ending better than they started,” Not Claire says, and she clinks her drink against mine.
“That’s a little premature. I still have time to ruin your evening.”
“Not possible.” She hides her grin with a sip of the amber liquid. “This is the most fun I’ve had in a while.”
“How’d you end up here in the first place?”
“Dating app fail. You don’t want to hear the whole story. I’ll sound pathetic.”
“Try me,” I say.
“One night, I was feeling lonely after a couple glasses of wine and a night out with friends who are in relationships. I downloaded the dating app where I matched with Tweedledee, agreed to meet up with him, ingested mozzarella sticks that I’m sure are going to give me food poisoning, and now I’m here talking to you.”
“If you end up with your head in a toilet, I’ll hold your hair back,” I tell her.
“Go on. Tell me I’m pathetic.”
“I won’t. I understand the loneliness.”
