Page 13 of Long Shot

“Eh. They were harmless. Could’ve been worse.”

“I guess. Luckily, Marco, Beck, and Cade don’t usually let things get too out of hand here.”

“That’s true. And I appreciate it.”

“Are you working Wednesday night at the tequila-tasting event?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m off Wednesday.”

“Ah. You should come for it, then. It’s usually fun.”

“Are you going to be here?”

“Yeah, and Hayden.” Beck’s wife. Carrie and Hayden are best friends. “We can all taste tequila and have some fun.”

“Oh.” I blink. Is Carrie actually inviting me to . . . socialize with her and Hayden? I don’t know what to make of that.

“You probably don’t feel like hanging around here on your day off,” Carrie adds slowly. “I get that.”

I find myself wanting to accept the invitation. I didn’t know anyone in San Diego when I moved here—which was part of the appeal. I wanted to be somewhere nobody knows me, where nobody knows my history. And I’ve been fine with that. I’ve met people, and I now have acquaintances—the single mom and her five-year-old daughter who live next door to me; some of the regulars at the bar I now know by name; and my coworkers at Conquistadors. But I deliberately keep my distance from people so questions won’t be asked.

Lately, though, I’ve found myself feeling a little . . . lonely. Keeping people at a distance is great for protecting yourself, but it also isolates you. Watching my three bosses interact, with their clearly close bonds despite the good-natured competition and trash-talking, also watching them interact with Carrie and Hayden and the friendship between those two women, has only made that loneliness more palpable.

“No, that actually sounds like fun,” I say, smiling back at Carrie. “But I haven’t bought a ticket.”

The tasting events are held once a month. Guests pay for a ticket that includes samplings of different kinds of tequila, along with some bar snacks, and the three owners of Conquistadors give “lessons” about tequila and how to taste it. The events have become popular, and have even garnered mentions on some popular food and travel blogs that has resulted in even more customers coming in.

“I have some pull.” Carrie winks. “Don’t worry about it.”

Reese laughs. “Sounds good.” I notice one of our regular customers at the bar needs another drink. “Excuse me.” I move over to him. “Hey, Dussen. Another beer?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

I get him his usual draft without even asking and slide it over the polished bar to him. “Here you go.”

“You’re my favorite waitress here, you know,” he says.

“So you’ve said.”

“And it’s not just ’cause you’re pretty.”

I grin. “Thanks.”

“Don’t tell the others I said that.”

“I won’t.”

“But you know . . .” He pushes a small pottery bowl that holds some of the avocado and tomatillo salsa over to me. “I don’t care for this shit.”

My mouth drops open. “Oh. Why not?”

He shrugs. “I like the other stuff. This is . . . weird.”

Well, you can’t win them all. I know that. Everyone has different tastes. I learned that early in my career when a food critic trashed one of my creations.

“I can get you some of the regular salsa.”

“That’d be great, sunshine.” He smiles.

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