14 Days, 7 Prompts, 1 Story (Feb 2010)

Jäger and Other Bombs

Tory would bet money that everyone talking around his leg was beginning to chafe.  Why else would he have looked stunned and then gratified at a harmless bit of teasing?  She understood it was tricky, finding the balance between teasing and offense.  But still.  Thank God he took it her teasing in stride. 

Think before you speak Victoria.  Life will be so much easier that way.  Another one of her mother’s truism.  But if she’d thought about it, she wouldn’t be sitting here right now, and wouldn’t that be a shame.  So take that Andrea.   

Slamming his drink back on the counter, John gave her a squint-eyed glare.  “Fuck me, what was that?  That was vile.” 

“Vile?  Delicious is more like it.  Nectar of the gods.  Or drunken monks.”  To prove her point, she finished her drink in two swallows, reveling in the licorice burn. 

“Whatever.  You like it so much, you get to pay for it.  I’m putting those on your tab.”  When the bartender looked their way he ordered.  “A seven-and-seven and another one of these,” he said, looking at her for confirmation.  She nodded.  “Here, take mine.  It’ll tide you over.”  He handed her the half-finished drink so violently it sloshed onto her hand and the bar.

“Sorry about that.  My mother’d have my hide for being such a punk.  But you have to admit that drink is nasty.”  Determinedly not looking her direction, John handed her some bar napkins to clean up with. The bashful note in his apology reminded her of her eight year-old nephew.

Though now she was sticky on top of having very, very wet clothes and being dog-tired, she couldn’t think of anywhere else she’d rather be. What could be better than a drink at the end of a long day?  And, if she was being honest, having a handsome man next to her while she drank it? You need to slow down Tory, before you get smashed.  Which was a distinct possibility, since she was a complete lightweight.

“Buddy, I work at a restaurant.  You couldn’t come up with a swear I haven’t heard.  And this,” she gestured grandly, tinkling the ice cubes in the glass, “is a red-headed slut.  Liquid deliciousness.  But I guess you don’t like gingers.” 

The bartender came by with a new round.  She blinked a couple of times but there was still a fuzzy corona around him.  Too late.  A fit of drunken giggles overwhelmed her.

“What’s so funny?”  She shook her head and got herself under control.  “Are you drunk already?” he asked. 

“Nope.  Not me.  You?”

He laughed.  “I haven’t had anything yet.  Let’s change that.”  She snorted derisively and rolled her eyes when he sniffed his drink appreciatively.  None of which kept her from watching him with furtive pleasure.  “Never come between a man and his liquor.  It’s a sacred bond.” 

The statement was light but he finished his drink like a man possessed. 

She’d forgotten that this wasn’t a real date.  That John was a man smarting from rejection.  He’d never have given her a second look otherwise.  That sobered her up.  Tory was never good at ignoring the obvious.  Another character flaw, her mother would have her believe.  It was obvious what he needed was a shoulder to cry on.  If she was lucky, he’d want to see her again afterwards.  But she wouldn’t count on it. Now’s as a good a time as any.

Taking a fortifying gulp, she placed her hand on his and leaned in close.  “Tell me about the girl that stood you up.”

--

Her words were a kick in the back of the leg.  Why the fuck am I so surprised?  She’d told him from the beginning, hadn’t she, that he looked like he needed a friend?  Tory was a gorgeous, gregarious woman; her flirting was nothing more than friendliness.  That didn’t make the hurt any less.

“I don’t feel like talking about it.”  Pulling his hand away, John gulped down the rest of his drink, not even tasting it.  He needed another drink, badly, if he wasn’t going to make a bigger ass of himself.  Luckily the bartender caught his desperate gesturing and brought him another seven-and-seven. 

Of course she barreled right past his attempted defenses.  Putting her hand on the knee of his bad leg, the smell of strawberries wafting from her skin driving him insane, Tory moved closer.  “I can’t help if you don’t talk to me,” her soft voice reminding uncomfortably of his pathetic situation.

“Damn it, I didn’t ask for your help.  Or anyone’s.”  The hurt flashing in her eyes made him regret the words, and the shouting.  Months of frustration had bubbled over into this one moment.  Getting a hold of himself, John deliberately made his voice neutral.  “I don’t want to be an object of pity.  Can you understand that?”  He looked her in the eye, willing her to understand. 

She didn’t move her hand away, but her tone, when she responded, was tight with anger.  “Do you think I go up to every strange man I see in the diner and offer to take them out for drinks?  That’s insulting.” 

“That’s not what – ”

Making sure she held his gaze, she cut him off.  Her anger struck him like a blow to the solar plexus.  “You want people to stop pitying you?  Stop pitying yourself.  I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re lame not dead.”  Having said her piece, she picked up her bag and left him sitting there, not even bothering to finish her drink.  He saw her walk to the other end of the bar. 

--

I can’t believe I just did that.  Rather than offering a shoulder to lean on, she’d probably driven John further into the clutch of whatever demons were eating him alive.  She was normally so even-tempered.  But he’d struck a raw nerve. 

“Date gone bad?”  The bartender, Nick she thought his name was, had brought her over a fresh red-headed slut.  She gave him a weak smile and nodded. “Want to make him jealous?”  The non-sequitur startled her and Tory gave him a more heart-felt smile. 

“Thanks for the offer but no.  I’m just going to sit here and get myself good and drunk.  You can call me a cab home in about,” she looked up at the wall clock, “two hours.” 

“Can do. But,” Nick said, bringing her a glass of water, “have this too, or you’re going to regret it tomorrow.”  While she appreciated the concern, Tory looked forward to the pleasure of drowning her embarrassment. 

Clearly she was mistaken in thinking John was attracted to her.  Sighing deeply, she stared at her drink with sudden disgust.  Fuck it, I’m going home.  A man she’d just met was not worth getting herself tied in knots for.  Dropping some bills on the bar countertop, she made to leave.

A hand on her shoulder stopped her.  She knew it was John even before he spoke.  “If I apologized again for being an ass, would you stay?”

Tory was tempted to say no and storm off.  But one, that kind of dramatic exit was her sister’s forte, and two, she figured there was no harm in hearing him out.  “Depends on the apology.”  No sense in making it too easy for him. 

“How about I start by saying you were right, I was an ass for snapping at you, and I would love not only to sit down and talk with you, but to take you out on as many more dates as you are willing to have me around?”  Wow.  Whatever she expected, such a sincere, self-deprecating apology was not it.  She patted the empty stool next to her. 

“I’m not saying I forgive you.  I don’t think I deserved your frustration.  But I’m nosy and have a tendency to push too far.  So,” she took a steadying breath and smiled tremulously at him, “you need to know if you stay, I’m going to keep asking questions.”

In response, he sat down next to her, his cane clattering against the bar stool, and took her hands.  “Ask away.”  Now that she had carte blanche, Tory didn’t know if she should.  Well, might as well start at the beginning.

“What happened to your leg?”