Page 13 of Bastard Bartender

Nic’s brows rise at the sound of his full name on my lips.

“Yeah, man. Nice to meet you.” Paul extends a hand.

Nic shakes it with a firm tug that has Paul stretching his fingers out as he pulls it back and places it in his pocket.

The blonde shimmies in her heels, waiting for her introduction.

Nic places his hand on her back. “This is Arianna.”

With the four of us introduced, Paul and I move to make room for Nic and Arianna.

“Is this a first date for you as well?” I ask them as Arianna adjusts the top of her dress to keep her bra from popping out. She gives me a nod in reply. “Where did you meet?”

“Dancing at a disco. I was on top of a speaker when it fell over. This strong guy was there to catch my fall.” She places a hand on Nic’s bicep as he orders their drinks.

“That’s so romantic,” I muse, picturing the scene in my head. It’s like the opening meet-cute in a Hallmark movie—without the booze and techno that was most likely at the event.

“We started talking, and you know, one thing led to another.” Her eyes look side to side as she dances with her words. Nic hands her a glass of wine. “So, here we are! I should know better than to be dancing on speakers though. Back home, Friday nights are reserved for tailgating, not belly dances for crowds.”

Paul chimes in, “Same for me. Hoosiers are passionate about pregame parties, so there’s always one to go to. Actually”—he laughs—“I think the tailgate is more important than the actual game.”

He’s still chuckling as Arianna puts her wineglass down and looks up at him with wide, openmouthed shock.

“No way! You’re from Indiana? Hold on. Big question for you. Are you IU or Purdue?” she asks as if Paul would know what she’s talking about.

“Indiana University, of course.”

Arianna claps emphatically as the two of them in unison say, “Go Hoosiers!”

Nic holds his finger up in question. “Wouldn’t the fact that he said he’s a Hoosier imply he’s an Indiana Hoosier fan?”

She shakes her head and waves a hand at Nic’s comment, not even bothering to look at him. “Being from the state of Indiana means being a Hoosier. Your team is a different story, and this man chose the right one!”

“Wasn’t Hoosiers a movie?” Nic asks.

“Best film of all time,” Paul says, his eyes fixed on Arianna, who is nodding in agreement.

“Why aren’t you called Indianans?” I ask, and they both turn to me with a death stare, like I suggested we kill their sister.

My eyes meet Nic’s as I lift my shoulders, as if to ask, What did I say wrong?

He shrugs. I have no fucking clue.

Arianna and Paul are back in conversation, talking about things like “pop” and “cornhole.” I’m pretty sure I hear the words crawdad and puppy chow.

“It’s like how everyone thinks Indiana is just cornfields,” he says.

“The stereotype is totally inaccurate. I mean, we have soybean fields too,” she jokes, and Paul thinks she’s hilarious.

“That said, I could totally out corn-maze you.”

“Uh-uh. I could race you through Waterloo.”

“I’ll bet you a sugar cream pie you can’t.”

“You dog!” She slaps him in a flirty way, right in the chest. The action makes the two take a step toward each other as they laugh and smile.

A sideways smirk tips Nic’s lips as he leans onto the bar and orders a Macallan for himself. “And another Jack and Seven for the lady too.”