Jason
I still can’t get over this chick. She’s gotta be in her fifties but is dressed like Shirley Temple and has an honest-to-God glass eye.
Still, she’s kind of hot, in a creepy way—plus she’s buying, so I’ve been flirting my ass off. “So…Angela.”
“Angelique,” she corrects with a raised brow.
Aw, shit. “Angelique!” I lean against the bar, trying to be suave. “How could I forget a name like that?”
She barks out a laugh. “You’ve forgotten it three times already.”
I start giggling like an idiot. “My bad. I’m a little drunk…”
“A little?” She drums her fingers over the dark wood of the bar, matching the wood paneling on the walls. Water stains cover most of the ceiling, and the white wall behind the pool table has turned a sickly yellow.
Yep. I’m back in the Patch.
I try to say her name again, but I know I’m too drunk to pronounce it correctly. “How ‘bout Angie?” I suggest. “I’ve always thought that name was hot.”
Hopefully this is landing…
She smirks and says, “I’ll allow it, but only because you’re cute.”
I crack up, then rest my body on Angie and pull her into my embrace. “How ‘bout one more, babe?”
She waves her hand in front of her face. “Your breath alone could make someone drunk. I’m a bartender too, hot stuff. I know when someone needs to be cut off, and you’re long past that point.”
“Psha! I don’t need to be cut off. I need another drink. Bartender! My good man! Another round for Angie and me.”
The bartender, a heavy-set dude with a long beard wearing sunglasses for some bizarre reason, struts over. “I think you should take a hike, pal.”
I close one eye to get a good look at him. “ A hike? I’m a paying customer!”
“She’s a paying customer. You’re her gigolo for the evening.”
“Gigolo?” I ask. The word feels funny in my mouth, so I say it again, slower. “Gigolooooooooooo. What’s that?”
Angie leans in and whispers, “It’s a male prostitute, hon.”
I think about that. “Why do they get a special name and women don’t?” I ask.
Angie looks at me for a moment, then cracks up. “You make me laugh, sugar.”
Not sure why being called a dude prostitute is making me feel smug, but it is. “You think I could be a gigolo?” I ask her with my chest puffed out.
“Gigolos usually know how to hold their liquor,” she replies while wiping away some beer from my chin.
I pat my stomach. “I’m holding it. I’m holding it right here.” I lift my shirt to flash my abs. “See? Got it all stored here.”
Angie notices the stomach—it’s a trademark feature of mine. Not sure where I got washboard abs from, considering I eat nothing but garbage, and Doug looks like the Michelin Man, but whatever.
“Maybe you could be a gigolo,” she croons with a sexy little grin.
“Yeahhhhh, I could. Get paid to have sex? Come on, Angie, be my pimp! What else am I going to do in this piece of shit town?”
Angie shakes her head and says, “I deal with enough assholes at my real job, but I’m sure I know a guy or two in the HellCats who wouldn’t mind a roll in the sack if you’re selling.”
That word rings an alarm in my head. “You know the HellCats?”
“Work for them, babe.”I perk up, excitement blazing within me. “Are they looking for new recruits?”
She gives me a once-over. The flirtation drains from her face, and, for the first time all night, she looks completely sober.
“You don’t want to mess around with a group like that,” she warns.
“Yeah, I do! They run the show, and that’s what I want. Respect. I’m a fighter—I know I've got what it takes,” I say, pounding my chest.
Angie rolls her eyes. “They’re killers, honey. There’s a difference.”
I wave my hand and say, “Nahhhh, I’m tough.”
The bartender knocks his hand on the bar. “No, you’re smashed. Go home.”
Home.
“I don’t got a home!” I scream at the top of my lungs while kicking the bar. “No one wants me. I want another drink.” I reach into my pocket, hoping that, by some miracle, money magically fell in there, but no such luck. “Fuck.” I give Angie my best puppy-dog eyes.
“Nuh-uh,” she says, pointing her finger at me. “I’m not contributing any more funds to the mess you’re becoming.”
Goddamn, I need another drink. I look around and see a group of guys playing darts.
Bingo.
There's water on the bar, so I snag it and down the full glass in one gulp before making my way to the group.
But then I stop.
My eyes land on a man with dark, wavy hair. His back is to me, but I swear it’s—
Did he follow me here?
Butterflies take flight in my stomach.
Did he ignore me?
He had to have seen me—he just shows up to play darts with his friends and freaking ignores me?
I rush forward, closing the distance between us, but when I turn the guy around, it’s not Gabe.
My heart sinks to my stomach.
He didn’t follow me here.
The stranger looks at me as I sway on my feet. “You good, man?” he asks.
His question reminds me that I’m not good. I’m broke as fuck and need another drink.
I press my finger into his chest. “You’re pretty shitty at darts, you know that?”
He shoots me a look. “The fuck you say?”
“I bet you couldn’t hit a blimp three feet in front of you,” I add.
A second guy with a red bandana on his head steps forward. “Why don’t you go fuck off before you get your ass beat?”
Perfect. There’s always one that takes the bait.
“Ha!” I get right in his face. “You? Beat my ass? I bet you fifty bucks I’ll have you on the ground in less than five minutes.”
Bandanna Joe laughs and yells to the bartender. “Hey, Sammy. This guy wants to bet fifty bucks he can whoop my ass.”
“Take it in the alley—none of that shit inside,” the bartender hollers back.
Angie comes over. “Sugar, why don’t you go home? You’ve had yourself a fun night on my dime; now get some sleep.”
I lean closer and whisper, “Wanna see a show?”
Even in my drunk state, I can see the flash of excitement in her face. I tear off my shirt and toss it on the floor, flexing the lean muscle I hide beneath my clothing.
She looks me up and down.
Yep. She likes what she sees.
I waggle my brows at her and say, “You know you wanna see this in action, babe.”
I flex my arms to show off the guns.
I’m being a meathead right now, but I need money, and she’s my collateral.
Our eyes meet, and she sighs. “Why do I have such awful taste in men?”
I chuckle, then turn back to the guy. “Let’s do this. Fifty for the winner. My lady friend, over here, has the money.”
Sammy, the bartender, screams, “You really gonna give those fellas fifty bucks to whoop that kid’s ass, Angelique?”
Angelique shoots me a sly look and then smiles. “I don’t know. I think he’s got the fire in him,” she replies, never taking her eyes off me.
I turn back to Bandanna Joe. “Let’s do this.”
He looks at his friends, and they nod their approval. “Whoop his ass, Fred.”
Fred…nah. He’s Bandanna Joe from now on. BJ for short.
BJ… Hahahaha!
Blowjob!
That’s his new name. Blowjob faces me with his shoulders squared, trying to look intimidating. He’s not.
He gets right in my face and says, “Looks like I’m buyin’ the next round, boys.”
We make our way to the side door and spill out into the alley. It’s cooler now, and the breeze tickles my skin.
I arch back and stare up at the moon.
I’ve always loved the moon.
I stretch my arms, basking under its glow, and take a deep breath.
“Hey, jerk-off. Let’s fuckin’ do this,” Blowjob screams.
I shoot him a surprised look. “Blowjob’s got nicknames, too?”
“What did you call me?”
I inch a little closer and say, “Blowjob,” elongating each vowel sound.
“Why, you little—” He lunges forward, and I let him get the first swing in.
His fist cracks against my face, and my vision blurs for a second.
Good.
I needed one good pop to get my head on straight.
He bounces back and forth on his feet like he knows what he’s doing, and a jolt of energy surges through me—nothing gets me going like a good fist fight.
I crack my neck and motion for him to come and get me. He lunges forward again, but this time, I throw a left jab right to his head. He hits the ground like a brick, and I pounce, beating the hell out of him.
His friends run over, screaming and cursing.
One tries to pull me off, but I jerk my head back and slam it right against his nose. He falls back, blood gushing, and howling in pain. The other one dives on top of me and grips my throat.
There’s a bit of a struggle before I knee him in the nuts, sending him tumbling sideways.
“Choking me?” I ask. “Are you trying to turn me on, big boy?”
My foot connects with his ribs, but Blowjob spins me and punches me right in the eye.
I stumble back, landing on my ass, and he leaps on top of me, swinging like a maniac.
I use my arms to protect my ribs, and my fists to cover my face.
I let him get good and tired, and then I hit him hard in the ribs.
He rolls off, and I get on top, reeling my fist back to unleash hell.
Three slugs to the face.
One.
Two.
Three
And he’s out.
I look at his friends. They’re both writhing on the ground, groaning as they try to nurse their wounds.
My eyes pan over the crowd that’s formed—the whole bar is watching, and they just gawk at me.
I smile at Angie, knowing my teeth are covered in blood, and say, “Told you I’d put on a show.”
Then I lean down and tell my new best friend, Blowjob, that he owes me fifty bucks.