Page 2 of Reaper
My heart hitches, which surprises me — I’d thought it was dead. “Not interested.”
Her smile curves downward; her eyes keep burning. “Oh? Why?”
I shake my head and regret it; dizziness crashes over me, my stomach feels like it’s on a roller coaster, and my booze-swollen brain smacks into the sides of my skull. “Thanks for the drink, but I’m not looking for anything else.”
Not even from you. Even though there’s something about you that makes my heart bump in ways it hasn’t since…
“We can just hang out, if you prefer,” she says, her voice small, fading.
I want to tell her to leave, but I know that’d hurt her — and she looks like someone I don’t want to hurt. What is it about her that makes me feel this way? Why do I care so much about what she might feel when I don’t give a damn about living anymore?
Words form on my lips, words that would tell her to go fuck herself and her suspiciously recognizable features and those eyes that burn something inside me, and then I remember she bought me a drink and might be inclined to buy me more if I’m not a total asshole. “We can talk. And I’m sorry for being a jerk earlier. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
Which is saying the least of it — I’ve got an entire life weighing on my mind, my heart, and hopefully soon, weighing me down enough that I’ll sink six feet under.
Those words seem to soothe her, and that smile brightens again.
“Good. So, Ricky DeMarco, where are you from?”
There’s a pause between when her question hits my ears and when I answer — I take a long drink of ‘Rootin Tootin Granddad’ whiskey, which comes from a plastic bottle that looks and tastes like it used to hold family-sized Thousand Island salad dressing — and then I speak. “Boise, Idaho.”
She nods. Her eyes burn brighter. “I’m from Illinois.”
Odd thing to seem so excited about, but I have free whiskey, so I don’t give a fuck. “Nice.”
Another drink. Half of the Rootin Tootin Granddad is down my throat.
It doesn’t even taste bad at this point; it tastes horrible.
“You got a girlfriend, or…?”
I finish Granddad with a long drink, letting him slide down my gullet with a fiery burn; I don’t so much swallow him as I envelop him with my tongue, my mouth, and my willing throat. This question hurts. “No. I’m alone.”
“Me too,” she says.
“My glass is empty,” I say.
She nods, smiles, picks it up. “Not for long. I’m glad I found you, Ricky.”
Odd thing to say, but she has a nice ass, a beautiful face, and the inclination to buy me more alcohol. I stay silent.
When she returns and sets the full glass in front of me, I raise it to her.
“Thanks. It’s been nice meeting you, too, Adriana.”
She taps her glass to mine. “Cheers.”
I take a sip. Then another. My world swivels, and I chase away the sensation with another long drink. “So, what brings you into this bar?”
Another smile that’s like the sun emerging from behind thunderclouds.
“You mean, why am I in the bar that’s also attached to a shady underground casino?”
I nod, throwing a look over my shoulder to the set of double doors that lead into a room that I was recently thrown out of by a trio of fat Russian men over some outstanding debts.
“Yeah, that.”
“I went through a rough patch recently. Someone I was really close to died, and so, you have a tragedy like that, it really makes you think. It makes you question everything, you know? I took some time off — well, no, really, I quit my job — and I went out to find some answers. Somehow, and I don’t know why, I wound up here. Next to you. And I know it seems crazy, but I’m glad I did.”
