Page 7

HARLAN

“Asher.” I greet the the source of my problems with a casual smile.

“Fuck.” He turns a lighter shade of pale when I take a seat in front of him at the bar. “I mean Mr Waters.”

“We need to have a talk, and you’ve been avoiding me, not taking my calls. Did you forget I have a key to your front door?” I remind him. “Get me a glass of red wine, good wine, not the house shit, please,” I ask, getting comfortable and making him very jumpy. The woman with fiery red hair in the black dress he was chatting up seems to think this exchange is rather funny. She isn’t his usual type. That’s my first thought as I look her up and down. She’s older than him, and definitely from better breeding. She’s wearing Jimmy Choo shoes, even if they are flat, and her dress is designer. In all likelihood custom-made just for her.

“Here you go, Mr Waters.” He puts down the wine glass on a paper coaster. “I’m so sorry, I’ve been busy.” Liar, liar Asher’s on fire.

“I know how busy you’ve been. Busy, getting busy. The neighbors have told me all about it, Asher.”

“It’s not like—” he tries to interrupt me, but I silence him with a flick of my wrist.

“Be quiet, boy, before you make me angrier than I already am because I had to come find you at work on a Friday night when I could be at home.”

“Sorry, I can’t answer my phone when I’m at work.”

“Asher, you work two days week.” I sigh. “Don’t try to worm your way out of this conversation. The wild, loud, wall-banging sex orgies have got to stop. The band practice has to move to another venue, and for the love of fucks please park your bike somewhere else. When you start it underground, it can be heard three blocks over. I know you pay your rent, but I can still evict your irritating ass.” The redhead at the bar has the giggles now, covering her mouth with her hand. Asher looks up at the door, and pauses for a minute. Then ignores me and looks to her. “Olivia, your date just came in but he saw you and fled. Sorry,” he says, and he actually does sound sorry. “Can I get you another gin?” She looks over her shoulder at the door.

“Yes, please.” She sighs, and her shoulders slump slightly. “Shit,” she mutters under her breath.

Asher carries on doing his job, moving about trying to avoid actually talking to me. He thinks I’m going to leave. The fool. I’m not going anywhere, not until he agrees to stop being the world’s worst tenant. I have all night and uncomfortable silence is a hobby of mine. Oh, I should tell Paige I do have a hobby. I keep glancing at the redhead, unable to decide if she looks relieved about being stood up or if she’s going to burst into tears. She drinks her gin too fast, and waves at Asher to bring her another. I almost want to stop her, but it’s not my place. If she wants to get smashed after being stood up, no one should stop her.

“I really needed that date,” she tells Asher, sounding defeated. It’s a very odd statement, to need a date.

“My offer stands to set you up,” he says, putting her drink down on the smooth bar counter, wiping the water marks from where he clears the empty one.

“I doubt your friends will be helpful with what I actually needed from my date, Asher. They’re way too young to know what they want.” She looks like she might cry again, so I look away. I don’t do drunken ugly crying. It’s just awkward.

“No one knows what they want Olivia.” Asher laughs at her, and makes eye contact with me. Yeah, I’m still here, fucker.

“I know what I want, I have a list,” she says to him, like that isn’t at all strange. No wonder her date ran away, he was probably not on her list. I can’t help but let out a laugh. A list. “Is that funny to you, Mr Waters?” She spins on her seat and looks straight at me. “That I know exactly what I want.”

“I’m with Asher, Miss. As much as it pains me to agree with the idiot. No one knows what they want. Even when we have it, we don’t know it.” She scowls at me, looking me up and down like she’s trying to figure me out.

“Well, I know.”

“Was the guy who did a runner on the list then? Is he what you want?”

“Lord, no. He was for research purposes.” She’s a fruit-loop. Great. Asher should cut her off before she gets any weirder. “I needed to know what it is that men going on blind dates want. What they expect to get from it?”

“Sex.” Asher and I answer in unison. He laughs, and goes back to drying glasses. The crazy lady is looking at me now, waiting for the rest of the answer. “It’s simple, any man going on any date is hoping to get lucky. Not rocket science.” I point to my crotch. “We think with that head.” I wonder what in the hell she thought she would find out by going on a date with a stranger. She must be the woman the concierge mentioned was waiting on a blind date.

“So none of you are looking for relationships, wives, the whole storybook ending?”

“We’re men, we don’t care as long we get laid. In these times, most of us don’t want any of those things. Commitment is reserved for buying a house, a car or a pet. We can literally shop for women like groceries on Tinder, or any of those apps.” I keep going, and she keeps getting more red in the face. She asked, I’m just answering. “Most women only want those things if they’re attached to a healthy bank balance anyways. I’m sure Asher can tell you, he can get sex, but a wife — no one is touching the barman-slash-musician with less than six figures in the bank with a wedding stick.” The bane of my life nods in agreement.

“He’s not wrong, Olivia. No one buys that whole happy ever after thing anymore. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”

“You know I make my whole living off the notion of happy ever after Asher, so thank you for letting me know I’m soon to be out of business too. Not only will I die the lonely goldfish lady, I’ll have to start writing books about one night stands and manhookers like you. I knew this night was going to be horrible, I should’ve just stayed in bed.”

“Hey, it could’ve been way worse. If that weirdo hadn’t cut and run, you would’ve had to pretend to be nice while he lied to you in the hope of getting some,” Asher says, obviously trying to cushion the blow.

She’s horrified. “Why would he think he’s getting any? I didn’t say ‘lets hook up’! I made sure he knew this was a dinner date for research, for my book. He knew!” She’s getting louder now, and rather animated. I want to laugh, but hold it in so not as to embarrass her more than she is.

“You invited him to meet you at a hotel bar.” Asher pauses to let that sink in. Her eyes slowly get wider, they’re the most gorgeous shade of turquoise green. Realization slowly dawns on her.

“He did not think that’s why I asked him to come here,” she says, mortified. “Really? No.”