Jay Crownover - Asa

“Can I have another lemon drop, please?”

My attention shifted back to the smiling lady that had been sitting at the bar since ten. She was a tad bit older, probably in her midforties, but she was a looker. I wasn’t sure how much was natural versus how much was man-made, but she had an amazing face and sleek blond hair, and a look in her dark eyes that let me know she would like me to serve her more than a martini. I thought it was funny since she was with a guy that looked younger than me and he was bending over backward to keep not only her attention but her obvious wealth focused on him. He was glaring at me every time she tried to engage me in conversation, so of course I had played it up all night.

I smiled back, made sure to flex when I shook her drink, and kissed the back of her fingers when she handed me a twenty for a tip. I laughed under my breath when the guy turned beet red and looked like he was going to explode. She was a classy-looking chick, but I wasn’t into being man-candy, so I took her money and fucked with her boy toy for my own amusement. They weren’t our normal type of customer and I wondered where in the world they had wandered in from. I was going to ask but got distracted by a blown keg I needed to change and by a couple that thought they could walk out on Dixie without paying their tab.

I was tired by the time the bar was shut down and Church was getting ready to walk Dixie to her car. They asked if I wanted them to wait for me but I needed a minute to decompress. I had so much stuff floating around in my head: Rome’s offer, Avett’s crappy boyfriend, where my life really was going, and of course Royal. I hadn’t seen her since the hospital, but she was back at work now, so maybe that was enough to have her acting right instead of acting out. I didn’t want her to be all tangled up in my mind and my confusion, but when I closed my eyes to go to bed at night, I still tasted her winter-cold lips against my own.

It was after three by the time I hit the lights and locked everything up. I drank a couple fingers of scotch while listening to the Raconteurs on the digital jukebox before hitting the back door, then I shrugged into my coat for the walk home. I was lucky it was close because I really didn’t love Colorado winter weather. How February managed to be so much colder than either December or January still amazed my inherently southern bones. With my hands in my pockets I put my head down against the bitter wind and started across the parking lot. A soft feminine voice dropping really ugly swearwords brought me up short.

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