Page 4 of The Déjà Glitch

“Fair.” He held her gaze. His eyes searched hers long enough to make her feel like he was waiting for something.

“Are you not going to tell me your name?” she asked with a laugh.

“Yes. Sorry.” He shook his head. “I’m Jack.”

“Gemma,” she said, and clinked her glass against his.

“Pleasure to meet you, Gemma.”

“Likewise, Jack.”

She sipped the harsh, citrusy bite of her drink and loved the way it burned her tongue. Jack did his best, looking like he’d prefer something else.

“Not your drink?”

“Afraid not,” he said with a laugh and a shake of his head. “You must be tough to like these things.”

She almost snorted. “I don’t know iftoughis the right word. My grandmother used to drink them. They remind me of her.”

“Was she tough?”

“Oh, the toughest. I wish I had half her strength.”

“Sounds like an amazing woman, but don’t sellyourself short. You were tough enough to walk over here, weren’t you?”

She sipped again. “Are you suggesting I should be intimidated by you?”

“Not at all. I just get the sense you’d rather be somewhere else, and that socializing with some stranger in a bar is not high on your list of favorite things.” He said it so sincerely, as if he knew her well enough to understand that it was the truth, that she found herself leaning closer.

“Don’t sell yourself short either. I didn’t walk over here for lack of alternative activities.”

“No?” he said with great interest. “What brought you over, then? Aside from your friend who sent you.”

That was an excellent question, and one Gemma still did not know the answer to. Though sitting beside him, she only felt that mysterious pull with more force. She wasn’t sure she would be able to resist if she tried.

She thought of the best way to sum it all up and landed on one word.

“Curiosity.”

“And? Do you like what you’ve found?”

She took another sip. His smile and the liquor along with the sweet memories the song had looping through her mind had her in a very warm, happy place. “I have to say I do.”

“Excellent.”

They slowly sipped their drinks, chatting and casually learning about each other. He was a television screenwriter, which Gemma did not find the least bit surprising, given where they were. What she did find surprising was that he did not name-drop anyone or anything. He spoke of hiswork with pride but as exactly that: work. When she told him that she produced a local radio show, a job she loved despite having had a rough day that day, he leaned in with interest, asking all about the host and the guests they’d interviewed. The topic turned briefly to their families, a subject Gemma skirted other than for one member. By the time she was telling him her younger brother spent half the year in sub-Saharan Africa working at a wildlife conservation institute and actually had been due home that day for an extended visit but missed his flight, their knees were touching beneath the bar.

The sound of her phone screaming from her clutch yanked her out of the moment. She apologized and pulled it out, shocked to see that the alarm she had set for her self-imposed curfew was clanging like a school bell. They had been talking for almost an hour, and she hadn’t even realized.

“I have to go,” she told him with disappointment in her voice.

Jack looked equally disappointed. “Someone waiting on you at home?”

She stood from the stool and dug a few dollars out of her clutch to leave as a tip. “Yes. An old dog who needs his meds before bed.”

Jack smiled with obvious relief. “Well, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for any veterinary emergencies.” He stood up next to her, and she realized she’d had no sense of his height since they had been sitting the whole time. His eyes hovered several inches above hers. She found herself suddenly snared in them as she looked up. Even if she had wanted to break free, she couldn’t have.

“It was nice to meet you,” she told him.

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