The Stolen - Jason Pinter [7]
lot of effort went into her appearance. Probably too much.
Her jeans were tight, light blue tank top with a neckline
that plunged far down enough to catch the eyes. Her
cheeks and eyelids glistened with sweat on top of sweatproof makeup. She was probably a natural beauty but
simply didn't trust herself. I thought I noticed a small dark
spot, a mole perhaps, by her right collarbone, but quickly
realized it was a passing shadow. She was the prettiest girl
I'd noticed in Finnerty's in a long while. Either that, or I
just never bothered to notice.
"Here," she said, putting down the soiled napkins and
reaching into her purse, "let me buy you a drink. Least I
can do, right, since you're being such a gentleman? What
kind of beer is that?"
I shook my head. "No need. It happens." I caught the
ball game from the corner of my eye. The fans were on
their feet. Looked like someone had hit a home run.
"Well, can I just buy you a drink to buy you a drink?"
I looked at her, a cautious smile. My beer was almost
empty. And my wallet was running light.
"It's okay," I said after a moment. "Really, it's not necessary." She put her purse away, eyed me with a combination of skepticism and curiosity.
"Are you here with friends?" she asked.
"Nope. Just watching the game."
She glanced around the bar, watched the guys with
gelled hair and long button-down shirts hanging over expensive jeans, high-fiving one another while a gaggle of
girls cheered every dart throw.
"So you're just here to, what...hang out by yourself?"
"That's the idea," I said. Her smile turned demure. I felt
her move closer. Her arm brushed mine, and for a moment
The Stolen
27
I felt that tingle of electricity. It had been so long. I didn't
move my arm.
"That's kind of cool," she said. "Lot of guys try too hard
to be all macho and stuff. It takes confidence to stay quiet."
I had to stop myself from laughing, considering I was
afraid of my own apartment and came here precisely so I
could avoid the braying of testosterone-drenched i-bankers.
"Trust me, it's not confidence," I said. "Just comfort."
"See, that's confident right there!" Then she extended
her hand. "I'm Emily."
"Henry," I said. For a moment I waited, then shook her
hand. Didn't want to be rude.
"I'm here with some old college friends who are in
town for the weekend," Emily said, "but we're probably
going to ditch this place soon and go somewhere else
more, like, alive. I know you're happy to be by yourself--"
she used finger quotation marks to accent this statement
"--but it might be cool if you came with us."
Right then I could see the night laid out before me. Two
paths. I could accept Emily's invitation, and presuming I
played my cards right, that electric sensation of skin on
skin would later become a wildfire.
Or I could sit here, sip my beer, stare at my reflection
in the mirror and think about all the other paths I'd simply
passed right by.
"I appreciate the offer, Emily," I said. "But I think I'll
stay here for the night."
"You sure?" she said.
"Sure."
"Suit yourself." She grabbed a clean napkin from the
bar, removed a tube of eyeliner from her purse and painstakingly drew something on the paper. When she was
done, she smiled, handed me the napkin and walked away.
28
Jason Pinter
Her phone number was written in black, smudgy ink.
Emily offered one last wave as she went through the door,
pausing for a moment to give me one last chance to reconsider. I raised the rest of my beer to her. She shrugged and
left. Then I let the napkin fall to the floor.
I downed the last of my beer. Seamus took a pair of
empty pitchers down off the bar and came over to me.
"Another?" he said.
I looked at my glass, felt the buzz swirling in my head
and decided against it.
"That's it for me tonight." He took my glass and went
to serve a man shaking his glass for a refill. I stood up,
steadying myself as the blood swam to my head. When my
equilibrium settled, I left the bar.
I checked my phone. Four missed calls, beginning at
11:00 p.m. They were