Page 57 of Love Her

I hovered at the edge of the bar and bought a Negroni, so that my bitterness inside and outside could match.

It didn’t take long for a woman to slink up to me. She was a little older than the dancing clientele and there were enough lines around her eyes for me to guess that she was working. “Bored?” she asked playfully.

“Not of you,” I said, waving the bartender back over. “On me,” I told him, and she leaned over to order her drink, making sure to flash me a view of her ass.

“Thanks,” she said, sipping something clear.

“Why aren’t you on the dance floor?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she said, putting her hand on my forearm to start to trail it up.

“I’m only a good dancer in bed,” I bluntly teased, giving her a wolfish look. “And preferably while high.”

She scrunched her entire face up, pretending to weigh things in her hands. “New to town?” she guessed, lifting one. “Or cop?” she asked, lifting the other.

I leaned in to laugh. “Try horny—and recently divorced.”

She took a contemplative sip of her drink in my honor. “Someone let you go?”

“Ran away screaming even. She was tired of fucking someone with such a massive dick.”

And that earned me a sputter. “Oh my God! You almost made me waste alcohol!”

I made a disparaging sound, and waved the bartender back over. “Don’t worry—when I’m around, there’s always more.”

Her eyes took on a calculating look. “Well…if you want todancewith me—what do you want to be on, Mr. Big Dick Divorced Man?”

“Whatever that glitter-shit they’re on out there,” I said, angling my head at the crowd. “Touchy-feely. For my dick’s reentry into society—I want to feel you come, inside and out.”

“Promises, promises,” she said, then patted my arm. “Wait here.”

I watched her walk around the dance floor, until she leaned over to talk to someone hidden inside a booth—and when he stood, I knew I had him.

Bix stood up to spot me, wearing a combination of street clothes and a slightly more structured style, like a kid trying to be a grown-up. And when he saw me, greased and shiny, he assumed I was a fool, and waved me over.

“Lucy says you want to party?” he asked as I sat down.

“Only a little. It’s been awhile.”

“You know weed’s legal now, right?”

“Not if you have the kind of job where you might need a piss test in three days.”

That made him laugh. “All right,” he said. “Four hundred for ten.”

I grunted, and leaned forward—and stuck the small black box Sable had given me under his preferred table. “You got any of those little blue pills?”

Bix looked me up and down. “For an extra hundred, I can get you two.”

His prices were usurious—especially for the Viagra, the stuff from India was cheap—but the higher his price, the easier he thought I’d be.

“Thanks, man,” I said, pulling my wallet out under the table, to surreptitiously hand him a wad of cash, which he traded for a small baggie. “And an extra hundred for your trouble.”

Bix gave me a confused look. “People don’t usually tip their dealers, man.”

“You would if you hadn’t gotten laid in three years,” I said, giving Lucy an eager glance.

“Save some cash for me,” she tsked, and gave me a wicked look. “Want to fool around in the back while we wait for your party to kick in?”

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