Page 64 of Love at First Sighting
“I don’t think about the darts that often, either,” Marcus adds, locking up his office.
“Sorry, boss.” Brad shrugs his jacket on with a hefty grunt and the agents begin to file their way out. I dismiss Toby, shut down the computer, and end up walking side by side with Marcus as we exit. He lights a fresh cigarette once we’re outside. I was never averse to the smell of smoke. It was the smell that came with each summer barbecue, sitting out by the deck with my dad and Marcus. I’d savor my breaths of fresh air after the fact. Then, when I moved in with him, it was as present as oxygen.
I pop a fresh piece of gum.
“What made you change your mind?” Marcus asks.
I shrug. “Figured I should get out more.”
“Really? That’s all?” he says with a laugh. A shiver runs up my spine. I know I’m no master of subterfuge, but I figured I could manage something as simple as getting drinks at the bar without blowing my cover. I was never good at it when I was young, either. If I came home inebriated, I could never convince him I wasn’t. Usually, he’d toss me a bottle of water and a box of crackers and tell me to get some rest.
“Yeah…”
Marcus raises his brows, and waits for me to come up with something different. Brad interjects, calling his name and urging him to the front of the crowd. Marcus taps me on the shoulder and pushes past me and the rest of the gang.
Bender’s Beer and Billiards can best be described one way: sticky. The floors, the tables, the bar. There’s a single popcorn machine in the back corner for customers to sober up with, along with several pool tables and, of course, Brad’s favorite: the darts.
I listen to the other employees grumble about how they hate their wives and can’t get laid. They recommend hair regrowth shampoos for one another, and Brad tells them he has no problem growing hair, which I don’t want to hear. Marcus, however, doesn’t partake. Instead, he’s a casual observer. He orders his go-to: a neat scotch.
Marcus has always been hard to read. I never knew if his momentary absent stares were disappointment or disinterest. After a couple of years on the job, I’ve learned his quietness is a tactic. He sees everything, keeps his cards close to his vest, and is unknowable, even to me.
I shed my jacket and find a seat at the bar, not sure where I’m going to fit in with this conversation. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I look down at El’s message.
El (6:23 pm):Oh good, Lea is trying to bring back #Kony2012 this week.
“What are you smirking at, kid?” Marcus asks, peering over my shoulder. I don’t know what he saw, but I hope he didn’t notice the name of the person I’m texting. I’ve kept her case open and pending until I have more concrete proof—something that doesn’t incriminate both of us—so I hope he doesn’t remember her name.
“Uh…” I stutter. “A meme.”
“What’s a meme?”
“It’s like an internet joke. Usually there’s a picture attached to it.”
“I see a lot of those Minion posts on Facebook. Is that a meme?”
“Uh…no idea, honestly.”
Marcus leans back on the bar and orders me a drink—the same as him. Marcus was never oblivious to the fact that I was getting up to all kinds of teen debauchery, so by the time I was eighteen, he’d let me have drinks in the house while supervised. Since I had no clue what good or bad alcohol was, I let him decide. Now, six years later, he thinks my intention to impress him is a demonstration of my own tastes.
I shoot a text back to El.
Carter (6:24 pm):Thank god she’s on the job.
Carter (6:24 pm):Doing some undercover work tn. Call you later.
Even knowing there’s a conversation with El in the future makes whatever bullshit I have to deal with far more worth it. I don’t know what to call us. I don’t think having illicit sex in the workplace or in the back of my car when I dropped her off really counts as a relationship. I can’t stop thinking about the feeling of her nestled on my chest, promising she wasn’t going to leave.
On the days I don’t see her, we text most of the day. I usually call her on my drive home or once I get back to the apartment. She tells me about her day, who she had to shoot content for, what her followers are saying about her this week. It seems like her sponsorships have stopped dropping her drastically, but she’s still trying to shake off the rumors and chatter about her UFO sighting.
“Cheers,” Marcus says, passing me my drink. This scotch tastes like wood chips but is still a lot better than Ian’s vodka. “Are you working on that case? The model girl?”
I nod. “Yeah. A little slow going, but—”
“It’s been a couple of weeks.”
I swallow. Some agents wrap up a case in a couple of days. Sometimes less. Cases are fluid, since it can take time to tell if a subject has quieted or not.
“Training Toby has been a lot, too, so I haven’t had the same kind of time. The Keurig broke three times this week. So…”
