Page 7 of Nine-Tenths

It's just curiosity. It has to be. Because of theaccess, right? It would have been the perfect excuse to finally bridge that customer-service gap. Sidle up to him, actually meet in a place where I didn't work to distract me, where I could casually drop the fact that it was my birthday and I wouldn't say no to a celebratory drink.

Actually get a conversation out of him.

Yeah, right.

He nevertalksto me. I stopped trying to start a conversation with him over a year ago, because he'd always looked like I'd smacked him between the eyes with a wet fish whenever I tried. It seemed kinder to just let him hide behind his newspaper—an honest-to-godpaperpaper—and stare at me.

And hedoesstare. Sometimes I think the staring is the kind you do when you appreciate the look of another person. Sometimes, I think it's some weird split-tongue thing. It's gotta be, ‘cause if he was into me, he would've said something by now, right?

The part of me that’s still a writer sometimes makes up stories about my fussy regular. Why he's here. What he's thinking about. Whether he really sleeps on a pile of gold (if that’s not a speciesist stereotype.) What the no-doubt beautiful maiden he goes home to every night thinks of his morning routine. Or if maybe he’s into something a little more me-shaped.

Oh my god, I am such a romance novel cliché right now.

Also,dammit Colin.Maybe focus on the person you areactuallytrying to get between the sheets?

"Hi." I slide onto the bar stool beside the guy.

"Hi. I hear it’s your birthday." his voice is softer than I expected and I look again. Not a guy, but a butch gal. Still snacky.

"Yup." I flash her a smile.

It's about half the wattage I can usually manage.

I'm tired. The long train ride, the unexpected surprise... and I remember doing this with Caden. And from Caden, my brain jumps to Rebekah, and how last year for my birthday we'd done one of those boat cruise dinners at Niagara Falls, and I’d had a ring burning a hole in my blazer pocket, and…

… I just don't wanna anymore.

"Sorry," I say, before she can suggest anything. "I thought you were someone else. I shouldn’t have… my bad."

I don’t wait for her response and slink back to the table.

"Not into you?" Mauli asks.

"I’m not up for it."

"Upfor it," Mauli snickers, and I pinch them hard on the shoulder.

I leave at closing time, after a few beers too many, frustrated and manhandling Mauli into one of the cheap cabs that prowl downtown for desperate fares. Dike had headed off with one of the ladies hours ago, and Hadi had bailed before I’d even returned from my failed attempt to hit on the guy at the bar.

Happy birthday to me,I think morosely as I trudge home.

Alone.

Chapter Three

You remember what I told you about the Inciting Incident? Well, this is where it matters.

Because that alarm clock?

Itsucks.

Stu was right, and I can't tell when the light gets bright. I am stupid-lucky my brain wakes up on its own, shoutingsomething is wrong! It takes me thirty solid seconds of staring at the display to figure out what 'something wrong' is.

I am very late.

I am also hungover ashell.

I run the four blocks to Beanevolence, throbbing head down, gulping on air to keep from puking, and hoping I don't bowl someone over. I'm envisioning a line of pissed off suits waitingby the door, tapping expensive shoes on the filthy pavement. Or Hadi writing out a pink slip to fire me. She'd do it, too, even if she had to go buy the pink paper specifically for the dramatic gesture.

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