Page 34 of Café Diablo

“Why is it so hard for you to admit you’re into her?”

“Because it’s so much more fun to watch you act like a dipshit,” I toss back.

“I’m only trying to get you laid.”

“Which I can do on my own, thank you.”

“Can you though?” Connor says, tilting his head to the side in mocking. “I can’t even remember the last time you had a date, much less made it to second base.”

“Well, if you knew how close I was to getting laid this afternoon, you wouldn’t be asking that question!” I shoot back, and suddenly Connor’s finger is in my face.

“Ah ha! I knew it!” He gloats and I bite my tongue for falling into that little trap. “That girl is going to be so damn good for you!” Suddenly, Connor’s arm is around my neck and I’m in a choke hold as he drags me back to my seat at the bar. “Now tell me everything!” He releases his hold and knocks on the counter for Mason. “Shots, and a lot of ‘em. I just cracked ol’ iron lip here and we’re about to open Pandora’s box!”

“You realize I’m never speaking to you again, right?” I bite out.

“Yes,” Connor nods serious, knowing mocking me only makes me clamp up tighter. But then he turns and pushes one of the shots Mason’s poured in my direction. “But that isn’t going to change the fact that I’m going to celebrate getting that one tiny bit of information.”

I don’t touch the shot. I glare instead.

“Fuck, you little devil,” he praises, throwing back his shot and eyeing me. “Almost got laid today, huh? That would have been in your office.” He gives me a wicked grin of approval. “That’s hot, man. Really fucking hot!”

I still don’t react.

“Welcome to the fun,” he says, reaching over and taking my shot for me. “I can’t wait to see who you are when she’s done!”

I shake my head at him and he just keeps on smiling.

Jesus.

My brother is a relentless ass, and the worst part about it is he’s just getting started. Give the kid a cookie and he thinks he owns the whole damn Nestle empire.

“If you sayanythingto Olivia, I will kill you.” I point a finger at Connor and he makes a ‘my lips are sealed’ zipping his mouth gesture.

“Mason,” Connor says, waving him over. “We need the whole bottle of whiskey over here, because the brotherly bonding has begun!”

14

Ned

It’s 7:53 PM on Thursday and I’m standing outside Zelda’s Secret, not sure if I should walk in. It’s an updated twenties speakeasy with an elaborate art deco door that looks like something from aGreat Gatsbymovie with chevrons and interlocking metal flourishes.

It reminds me of the fact that F. Scott Fitzgerald’s wife’s name was Zelda, and suddenly, the whole theme and vibe of the bar starts to come together. The good news is I’m not under dressed, since I’m still wearing my suit from work. I can only imagine everyone inside is wearing some excessive feather-plucked attire, glittering and flapper-inspired.

I grab the door handle and fashion myself with a frown. Connor told me to be myself. For a man who claims to be the pussy whisperer, he sure gives the most cliché advice in the history of the universe. Be myself? Granted, he followed it up with about three-hundred sexual positions I ought to “brush up on” so I don’t embarrass myself. And now I thoroughly regret even mentioning the note Olivia left on my desk and the fact that—our first two encounters aside—I suppose you could actually call this a date.

I start opening the door and brace myself for—who knows what. It’s not like Olivia hasn’t thrown me for a loop every time she’s been within five feet of my person. A little sweat trickles down my neck because Ihatewalking into a situation without an inkling of where it’s headed. I want to be in control and know what’s about to happen, when it happens, and why it happens. And admittedly, the whole secretive speakeasy vibe itself has me on edge. I’m expecting to be led through a maze of back hallways and through a fake wall, behind which will be all manner of sleezy and dark things—purple smoke, drugs, a dog-fight ring. When it comes to Olivia, I haven’t a clue what to think.

I step through the door and to my surprise Zelda’s Secret isn’t a dark, mysterious, cavern of steampunk lore. In fact, the place is brightly lit and airy, with an old-fashioned gramophone in the corner swooning out a scratchy old song in a foreign language. It feels like I’ve walked inside an art-deco jewelry box, with chevrons painted on the floor and tufted booths like in a fancy high-end coffee shop. And if that wasn’t charming enough, everything is lit by large glass globes that rise out of gold metal stalks in the floor like over-sized dandelions.

It’s actually playful.

It’s not the sultry late-night den of sin that Flambé is, and as I look around, I’m starting to think it’s not even trying to be a modern-day speakeasy. It’s … well, cute. It’s Willy Wonka’s classy nineteen-twenties fizzy-pop bar with alcohol on the menu.

And weirdly, the whole shopfeelslike Olivia (if such a thing is possible). She’s sexy but petite. She rides a speedy mint-colored scooter like she’s in an action film. She’s cute, and dirty, and classy all wrapped up into one big contradiction. Zelda’s Secret justseemslike the kind of place she’d fall in love with.

I look around and most of the booths are taken, filled with hipsters wearing bowties and suspenders, or horn-rimmed glasses and blocky-print t-shirts that say ‘#blessed’ and “Grandpa, the man, the myth, the legend.” That last one is worn by a guy who barely looks twenty. Oh, the wit and the irony. I grit my teeth; this is definitely not my scene.

And, I don’t see Olivia.

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