Chapter 28 It Was a Whiskey Sour
Twenty-Eight
It Was a Whiskey Sour
Beck
After I stack my winnings, I gather up the cards and let my hands do what they do best. The cards flow between my fingers in perfect arcs, making that soft whisking sound as they cascade together.
I do a bridge shuffle, letting the cards waterfall in a controlled stream, then split the deck and weave them back together with a rhythmic flick-flick-flick.
“Show off,” Forest mutters, but he’s giving me a sly, sexy smile.
I don’t need to look down as the cards dance between my hands—riffle, bridge, cut, repeat.
The sound is soothing, like rain on a roof.
I glance at Forest and find that he’s still watching me with warm eyes.
Sometimes I catch that look from Forest and I just know we could be more.
I’m not supposed to have those thoughts, though. It’s against the rules.
Then again, he invited me tonight. It has to mean something, doesn’t it?
Denny puts on a hockey game on the giant screen above his fireplace, and Kenji comes back with a new set of cocktails.
“I shouldn’t really drink this,” Forest says. “I’ve had plenty.”
“You go ahead,” I offer. “It’s your birthday. I’ll be the sober driver.”
“Aw, Forest. I like this one.” Denny asks. “Can we keep him?”
If only, buddy.
Forest just smiles blandly.
“To Forest!” Kenji says, raising his cocktail in the air. “And many more trips around the sun.”
“Hear hear!” CJ says.
I dutifully raise the glass that Kenji has set down beside me. It’s rude not to take a sip after cheers. And it’s a tasty concoction. Kenji has used the sour mix from my kit to make some kind of elevated whiskey sour, I think.
But when I look over at Forest, he seems to have a different opinion. I watch his glass stop right under his nose. Something flickers across his face. Then he finally takes a sip, and the look on his face is pure revulsion.
Odd.
“What do you think?” Kenji asks.
Forest takes a shallow breath. “I need some air,” he says, pushing back from the table.
“What?” Big Bob looks up from his phone. “Dude, it’s like twenty degrees out there.”
“Just... need a minute.” Forest is already standing, one hand gripping the back of his chair. “I’ll be right back.” Forest gestures vaguely toward the sliding door that leads to Denny’s back deck. “Hot in here.”
It’s not hot in here. If anything, Denny keeps his place on the cool side.
Forest is already moving toward the door, leaving his jacket behind. Through the glass, I watch him step out onto the snow-covered deck in just his flannel shirt, his breath immediately visible in the frigid air.
The table goes quiet for a moment, everyone exchanging looks.
“That was weird,” Kenji mutters.
Yes, it was. My heart thumps with a warning that something is very wrong. So I head to the mudroom off the kitchen, grab both our jackets, and follow Forest outside.
I find him leaning up against the back of the house his arms crossed against the cold, breathing purposefully, as if trying to stay calm.
He glances up when I come out the door and I offer his jacket wordlessly. “Thanks.” He gives me a wary look. “Is there any world in which you turn around now and go back into the house?”
“Nope.”
“I didn’t think so.” He heaves a sigh. “It was a whiskey sour.”
“The drink? I figured.” But what am I missing?
“It was a whiskey sour that fucked up my whole life,” he says heavily.
Oh wow.
“Right after my last birthday, actually. There was this guy…” He looks away, and his body language is…
broken. I’ve never seen him look defeated before.
“We both swiped right on an app. I invited him over to my place for sex. He pretended to be really interested in all of my bartending supplies. What he was really interested in doing was drugging my drink.”
“Holy shit. Forest.”
He gives me an angry glance, the kind that says: don’t you dare feel sorry for me. “I woke up the next morning, no memory of any of it. Except—before you ask—I was still wearing all my clothes.”
I sag with relief.
“Yeah, in this case, it wasn’t that kind of violence. Instead, he emptied my bank account. I lost more than thirty grand. Money I’d been saving for a down payment on a new truck, plus what I was supposed to be living on for the next few months.”
Jesus. “Can’t they… Did you call the police?”
He gives me a look like it’s a stupid question.
“Of course I did. Two cops showed up, and I spent the most embarrassing couple hours of my life explaining how I let a stranger into my house to poison me. Like the biggest dumbass that ever lived.” His voice is pure bitterness.
“And even after all that, it didn’t help.
I can’t recover anything. It turns out if you authorize a wire transfer with your fingerprint—even if you’re minimally conscious—the bank isn’t always liable. ”
“Oh my fucking God. And they couldn’t find the guy?”
He shakes his head slowly. “He was slick. His account on the dating app wasn’t connected to anything traceable.
They couldn’t find his license plate on any neighborhood cameras.
And he’d wired my savings into a foreign bank account before I woke up, so it’s gone forever.
I even paid some forensic accountants money that I don’t have to dig a little deeper.
But it didn’t matter. The bank isn’t liable for the transaction. ”
I lean back against the wall and look up into the starry sky. I’m not very good at saying exactly the right thing. Everybody knows that. But I give it a shot anyway. “I’m so sorry. That’s so…violating.”
He hangs his head. “Yeah, it fucked me up. It’s not really even about the money.
It’s knowing I let him do that to me. I had to explain to Charlie that his gaming console was stolen, as well as his Bluetooth speaker.
Then I had to explain to his mother why I couldn’t take him at the usual time, because I had to be drug-tested at the ER.
She was actually really helpful, but now, of course, she is afraid for me all the time. ”
“Fuck. I mean—you only did what millions of guys do every day.”
“Yeah, I’m just lucky like that.” He gives a bitter laugh, and it ends up as a sigh.
The night is quiet around us, except for Denny’s laugh from inside the house.
“Look, can I drive you home?” I ask. “I’ll make some excuse inside.”
I expect him to protest. “Thank you,” he says softly instead. “Let’s go.”