Page 28 of Angelic Acts
I also open her mirrored phone and listen in through the microphone. Not a single moment of this encounter will go unsupervised, and I’m only a few feet away should anything go awry.
Chapter 13
Lizzy
Taking a deep breath, I open the door to Duvic’s and walk inside. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a sports bar, and never this one, and yet it’s exactly how I pictured it. Grimy, loud, and dingy.
Taking in my surroundings, I scan the room for Chris. I don’t even realize I’m blocking the entrance until a large body walks into my back, causing me to stumble forward.
“Hey, lady. You’re blocking the entrance,” a gruff voice says.
“Sorry,” I mumble over my shoulder as I make my way to the bar. Sitting at the bar, out of the way, seems to be the smartest move. I haul myself onto my stool, having to grip the bar to climb my way up. This place is clearly made for men. Looking around, I see all the walls covered in sports jerseys and posters.
“What can I get you?” a smooth voice calls from across the wooden divide. My head snaps up, making eye contact with a middle-aged, grizzly-looking man.
“Do you have any wine?” I ask meekly. I don’t typically indulge in alcohol, but I might need it to survive this date. Or being stood up. But my hope is squashed when he laughs.
“I think you might be in the wrong place, sweetheart.” He eyes my outfit speculatively, and I realize Kendra and I were wrong. Only jeans and a jersey would fit in here. I stand out like a sore thumb.
“I’ll take whatever’s on tap,” I amend. He nods and pulls a mug from a shelf. Within seconds I have a beer in front of me. Wincing, I take a pull from it.
He leaves to attend to other customers, and I’m left on my own to drink and commiserate. I check my watch, noting that it’s eight fifteen. I’ll give him another ten minutes before I leave.
The bartender pushes another beer in front of me, catching me off guard. I hadn’t realized I finished the first one. I mumble my thanks then reach for my purse. Part of me is glad Chris stood me up so I can get out of here.
“On the house, sweetheart.” He winks as I pull out my wallet. Smiling awkwardly at him, I put my purse down and start to stand, abandoning the second drink.
“You flirting with my date, Brandon?” a familiar voice rumbles from behind me.
Forcing a smile, I turn to see Chris hovering behind me. This is good. I get to go on my date, I try to convince myself.
“Sorry, man. Didn’t realize she was taken.” Brandon, the bartender, walks away without another word.
“Hey, baby, I didn’t think you were still coming.” There’s a glint in his eye when he says it, but his friendly smile remains. His words confuse me since he’s the one who hasn’t responded to me. But I don’t want to cause any trouble, so I drop it.
“Why don’t we get a table?” I ask instead of following up on his words as I shimmy down my barstool. When his hands grip my waist and help me down, I don’t feel butterflies. I feel discomfort. I fight the urge to brush them off. One hand stays glued to me as he ushers me to a booth. Sighing, I crawl into the sticky linoleum despite knowing it’ll probably ruin my new dress.
We sit across from each other, and I’m grateful for the table separating us. Something about this entire situation makes me feel uneasy. I try to ignore the feeling, even as he studies me, his stare hardening.
“How was your day?” I ask to break the awkward silence.
He relaxes instantly, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest. “It was good. Fixed a few heaters.”
“You didn’t have to reassemble any, right?” When he doesn’t laugh at my joke, I tack on, “You know, like you had to reassemble my oven.”
This time he laughs, a booming sound. “No reassembling. Most people don’t take apart their appliances when they’re broken.”
“Guess I think differently than most people then.” I wince when I realize how closely that sounded to ‘I’m not like other girls.’
Thankfully, he doesn’t think too much about it. Instead, he continues on. “Nope, that’s just you. But don’t worry, I don’t mind a little weird.”
His words sting because of their familiarity. How many people have turned me down because I’m different. Because I’d rather spend my time with animals, reptiles at that, than with people. That I’d rather spend a Friday night at home watching a documentary or doing a puzzle than drinking at a bar. He doesn’t even know these things about me, yet he already thinks I’m weird.
All I can do is smile weakly at his words. He continues drinking and talking about himself. About how much he can bench, and how many video games he excels in. I take a gulp of my beer, enduring the monologue.
“… I won the fantasy football league and got to decide Ernie’s punishment for coming in last–”
“You won your league?” I interrupt to follow up on the only interesting thing he’s said.
