"This is Bruce Springsteen," I said.
She responded with a confused shrug.
"The boss?" I added.
"The boss of what?"
"Everything." I set down her drink and moved to walk away, but a whole bunch of girls started making their migration toward the bar at the same time. Evan had just announced they were taking a break.
"I think tonight's the night. He's looking right at me," the girl said to one of her friends.
My head jerked toward the stage. He was looking at her. Then again, I was standing there too. A slow smile crept across his face and he winked. Who's that wink for? I shook away the thought, angry that I was acting petty and jealous.
"You ignoring me, Price?" he asked, coming behind me as I attempted to recreate Tilla's version of a perfect margarita. Please let the noisy blender block out the loud thump of my heartbeat.
"No."
"I have a feeling I did something wrong, but I have no idea what it is."
That made two of us.
"I still have my penny, if that's what it takes to get your thoughts."
"I'm just trying to get acclimated to everything." The enthusiasm in my voice sounded forced.
The bar had somehow gotten narrower. Even though we weren't touching, it felt as if he was pressing against me. His warm breath washed over me as he leaned in, his mouth hovering next to my ear. "If you say so."
Then he was gone again, lost in the sea of obnoxious girls who vied for his attention. Who would win the battle tonight, I wondered. Would he take one of them home? Dear God, would I have to listen to it?
Thankfully, the night was just busy enough to distract me from the menagerie of my suspicious musings. When Mike finally started his a cappella version of Closing Time, I was both relived and surprised the time had gone by so fast.
When he got to the part about knowing who he wanted to go home with, he grabbed Tilla around the waist and spun her around. My laugh died in my mouth though when the redhead threw her arms around Evan and whispered something in his ear. He shook his head, managing to detangle himself from her.
"You guys go home," Evan said to Tilla and Mike. "Billie and I can close up."
"Don't have to tell me twice," Mike said, clasping his wife's hand.
Tilla looked at me for reassurance.
"Yeah, we can do this," I confirmed.
"You did good tonight, Billie."
Evan placed all the chairs on the tables and mopped the floors. I wiped the bar and finished the dishes. He whistled while he worked. I don't know why, but I joined in.
It didn't take long for me to realize we were actually whistling Whistle by Flo Rida. Shit … how did that happen?
"We're done," he said, taking the last glass out of my hand and placing it on the shelf. "How bad do your feet hurt?"
As soon as he asked, they began throbbing. "Bad."
"I can fix that," he said, taking my hand. He led me to a bar stool and turned it, sitting on the one next to me. Before I knew it, my right leg was in his lap and my flats were off.
He rubbed my ankles with a firm, soothing grip.
"That feels good." I moaned the statement more than spoke it. His arms flexed with each movement.
"Glad to oblige."
I got lost in him for a minute. I could just make out the small white scar on his strong jaw, which was almost covered by the perfect smattering of stubble, and his lips moved slowly as he hummed a tune I didn't recognize. And those warm brown eyes were so deep I could sink into them. His worked his fingers down to the sole of my foot, relieving the pressure. Then he gave the second the same treatment. My feet looked smaller in his large hands.
"Want me to fuck you, Price?" he asked in with that slow, sexy southern drawl that hypnotized me.
"Yes, please."
"Okay, I'll be back," he said, gently taking my foot off his lap.
"Huh?"
"You said you were hungry. I'm gonna get us food."
I did? I blinked my eyes, coming to the realization that I'd somehow imagined the question I wanted to hear.
"Is there a restaurant that's open this late?" I asked, trying to recover from my own stupidity.
"Yep, my favorite kind of restaurant."
"Which is?"
"The twenty-four-hour kind. Chinese okay with you?"
"Super."
He gave me a double take, probably because the amount of glee I'd said that one word with didn't make much sense.
"Lock up and I'll meet you upstairs."
When I reached my apartment, I wondered if I had enough time to take a cold shower. I decided to change into sweats and a hoodie instead. I grabbed a bottle of wine, uncorking it carelessly. I opened the window to let in some much-needed fresh air. I sucked in a deep breath, surprised that Chicago smelled good for once. A fingernail moon graced the dark, starless sky. I climbed out onto the fire escape, taking the wine and two paper cups with me. A subtle fresh breeze provided the right amount of coolness while the temperatures were warm enough to be pleasant.
"Billie?" Evan called out less than twenty minutes later. I wasn't sure if it was from my room or his.
"Out here."
He popped his head out of his window.
"Do you mind if we eat on the fire escape? It's a nice night."
"Sounds good to me."
The view wasn't much. Just a narrow alley where two brick buildings stood close to each other with a few lampposts providing some light. The food smelled almost as good as him. I pulled my legs against my chest. He let his dangle over the edge.
"Sorry, I forgot to ask you what you wanted."
"It's okay, I like anything. What did you get?"
He took out two containers, setting them between us. "Orange beef or cashew chicken, but I really hope you opt for option three."
"What's that?"
"We switch halfway."
"I can go for that."
"Fork or chopsticks?"
"Fork, please."
He rummaged in the plastic bag. "Chopsticks it is. They didn't give me forks."
"I can deal." I held up the wine. "I have wine. I hope you don't mind the paper cups."
"Nah, this is great."
I filled a cup for him. "I have wine glasses but Dillon noticed spots on them so he took them home."
"He took home your wine glasses?"
"Yeah, he said he has a special solution to clean them. I should get them back in about two weeks." I had no doubt they'd sparkle too.
We ate in silence mostly, commenting occasionally about the bar or music-safe topics.
"I should go," he said, picking up the empty containers.
"Wait. Did they forget the fortune cookies too?"
"No, but I never eat those things. I don't think anyone does."
"I do. That's the best part, Evan."
"Says who?"
"Me. You can't ignore the fortune cookie." I rummaged through the bag and found the two plastic wrapped cookies. "Pick one."
He gave me a dubious look but took one from my hand. He broke it apart.
"What does it say?" I asked, peering over his shoulder although it was too dark for me to read it.
"You have been blessed with many gifts, but the best is yet to come."
"That's a good one. You have to eat the cookie now."
"What?"
"If you don't eat the cookie, the fortune won't come true."
"I feel like you're making this up as you go along."
I took one of the half shells in his hand and held it against his mouth. "C'mon, Evan, it's a good fortune. Don't let it go to waste."
He opened his mouth hesitantly, chewing slowly. "I think it's stale."
"I'm sure it's fine."
"Open your cookie."
I cracked it open, taking out the small scrap of paper and holding it toward the light. "You cannot have passion without a purpose." Was that word following me around?
I shrugged and shoved the paper and cookie back into the plastic bag.
"What the hell, Price?"
"I didn't like that fortune so I don't have to eat it."
He arched his eyebrow. "How's the weather over there?"
"Where?" I asked.
"In Crazy Town, where you live."
I laughed. "Oh, probably about the same as Surly Ville where you reside."
He bumped my shoulder with his and almost knocked me over. I shoulder-bumped him back. He barely moved.
"We didn't finish the wine," I said with regret, holding up the almost full bottle. "I broke the cork when I opened it so I can't close it back up."
"We can fix that."
"Do you have a wine stopper?"
"Do I look like someone who would own a wine stopper? Besides why would anyone want to stop the wine? We'll drink it."