Page 78 of Things We Fake
“We’ll deal with it tomorrow. Let’s shove it into the corner for now.”
We wrestled the box next to the wall, her small pantry now completely obscured by the athletic swingers. Neither of us had the energy to face this tonight. I was actually excited about going out. I would have the chance to be close to casual Sue, and she could see me as just a normal guy, not the CEO who can afford to spend the price of a small car on a fake engagement ring. This was going to be interesting.
She glanced down at her jeans and t-shirt. “Good enough.”
She grabbed a jacket and slipped her feet into thick, leather sports shoes. They weren’t pretty, but I bet they kept her feet warm.
I went next door to change out of my office clothes. In two minutes I felt more like myself in jeans, a black sweater, and my favorite leather jacket.
I followed Sue down the stairs, and we hopped into the Uber she’d ordered.
“So, where are we headed?” I asked.
I wasn’t comfortable trying out new things because they meant getting into situations I couldn’t control, but I was feeling reckless tonight. I was actually excited. I would go anywhere with her.
She grinned. “There’s this hole-in-the-wall spot on West 44th called The Drunken Rat. It’s nothing fancy—dim lighting, good beer, and a kitchen that somehow churns out the best greasy burgers in the city. I think you’ll love it.”
I cocked my head, intrigued. “The Drunken Rat? Sounds sketchy. Is that where you take all your fiancés for a romantic rodent-themed evening?”
“Only the ones with a sense of adventure.”
The Uber driver chuckled softly in the front seat, clearly listening in. “The Drunken Rat, huh?” He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Good choice. That’s where I met my wife.”
Sue nudged me playfully in the ribs. “See? It’s a lucky spot.”
“Well, if you go by the Chinese Zodiac, I was born in the Year of the Rat. Supposedly that makes me lucky. How’d you find this place?”
“Jesse took me there a few years ago. She was dating a guy who worked in the kitchen. He didn’t last, but my love for The Rat did. It’s one of those places you can just sink into—great burgers, cheap beer, no dress code. Therapy on a tray.”
“Sounds like fun—so long as actual rats are not on the menu.”
“I can almost guarantee it.”
The sign above the door featured a cartoon rat—eyes half-lidded, tongue lolling out, and one paw clinging to a bottle of something suspiciously brown. He wore a crooked crown made of French fries, and a slice of melted cheese draped over one shoulder. Behind him, neon letters spelled out The Drunken Rat in a wobbling font that looked like it had been drawn by someone three drinks in. The rat winked as the sign flickered.
I held the door open for Sue, and the warm sound of laughter and clinking glasses poured out to greet us. Inside, the place was exactly as I’d imagined it: cozy and dimly lit, with battered wooden tables, a stage tucked into one corner, and walls plastered with faded posters of rock bands from the ’80s and ’90s. A chalkboard above the bar listed the night’s specials, including “Trash Can Nachos” and “The Juicy Bastard.” The scent of sizzling beef and fried onions wrapped around us.
We picked a table and sat. I scanned the room, my mood upbeat and my stomach growling. “This place hascharacter. Feels like the kind of spot where indie writers come to craft their novels.”
“It would be the perfect backdrop for my life story.”
I chuckled, reaching for one of the laminated menus. “What genre would it be?”
“My life story? Definitely a rom-com.”
“That bad?”
She smirked. “You’re kidding, right? A fake fiancé, a family that belongs in a soap opera, neighbors who’d thrive in a circus, unsolicited sex calls, and a BDSM swing that almost broke my pantry? And this is just in the past week!”
I had to laugh at the imagery. “I really can’t argue with that line-up.”
A waitress in ripped jeans and a Metallica T-shirt appeared, her pen poised over a crumpled notepad. “What’ll it be?”
Sue glanced at me.
I shrugged. “The lady brought me here, the lady will feed me.”
Sue turned to the waitress. “Two Juicy Bastards and fries. And two beers.”
