Page 5 of One Night with the Werewolf
I shake my head. “It was my son.”
The bouncer stares at me, then snorts and waves for us to go inside.
We beeline for the bar, and now it’s my turn to buy her a drink.
“Ready?” I ask, as her friends get IDed out by the door.
“For what?”
I wave a hand, and a bartender immediately comes over. “For a great night. Can you grab this woman an amber ale, please? One for me, too.”
He nods and takes off.
“How did you know?” Emelia asks. “About the amber ale?”
“You always order it at dinner. And you keep some at Jason’s house.”
Yeah, so maybe I pay too close of attention to Emelia’s habits. I also know that she loves fried chicken more than anything—not like microwave chicken tenders, but real, honest-to-god triple-dipped fried chicken—and she’s really not a cocktail person unless someone puts it in front of her. Then she smiles and nods like she did tonight.
It’s too bad I won’t see her again after this. I discovered a really great chicken and waffles place on the other end of town that I’m sure she doesn’t know about. Maybe I’ll tell her before we wrap up.
“Huh.” She gives an approving nod as the beer arrives. “Thanks, Roscoe.”
“No problem.”
We take our plastic cups as the rest of the cavalry arrives. Once everyone’s got a drink, we head toward the open area near the DJ where people are dancing and lights are flashing. It’s not really my thing to get up on the dance floor and shake it, so I head off to one side to grab a table and sit down, planning to people watch for a few hours.
I’m surprised when Emelia joins me, as do her two friends, Harry and Arin. I made a point of introducing myself to each ofthem and repeating their names a few times until I had them memorized.
“You should be dancing,” I tell Emelia. “Getting messy. That’s what you call it now, right?”
“I hate dancing with a drink. I’d rather drink the drink,thengo get messy on the dance floor.”
Hm. I have to admit it makes sense.
We watch the other three, who introduced themselves as Becks, Kim, and Kimmy, head out into the throng, waving at us as they go by. Look at me, remembering all those names. Emelia waves back, sipping her beer.
“Thanks for the drink,” she says, as if we’ve run out of things to say to each other that aren’t about Jason.
“No problem. I’ve been working a lot of overtime, so it’s not a big deal.”
“Are you still with that surveying company?” she asks. Ah, so she remembers. I think I’ve only mentioned what I do once or twice, because Jason is usually dominating the conversation. That boy loves to talk about himself.
“Sure am. We’ve been busy lately. Lots of new construction.”
She nods. “The city’s growing fast. It’s kind of sad to see—all these fun old spots going away and becoming apartment buildings.”
Interesting. So she’s not in favor of development. I agree with her, but at the same time, it’s my job and has been my whole adult life.
“You missed about a dozen others before you got here,” I tell her. “The city is always changing. You can’t stop it. But new places to enjoy will pop up somewhere else.”
“Yeah, but the history. Like Elroy’s. There’s something special about that bar. I think this town would lose something if it disappeared and became a high-rise.”
I see where she’s coming from, and I appreciate that she’s concerned with such things.
“But there’s a big demand for housing, too,” I say. “Rent is skyrocketing and everyone needs a place to live. We can expand up, or we can expand out. If we expand out, we take more land away from wild areas. I would rather go up.”
Her mouth opens like she’s going to speak, but then she closes it again, tilting her head at me.
