Chapter 6: The Lovers
Leo slid onto his stool. His glass of rye sat exactly where he left it, a ring of condensation pooling on the mahogany. The ice had melted, diluting the amber liquid.
Before he could pick it up, the empty stool next to him squealed.
A man sat down, immediately spreading his elbows wide. Slim-fit navy crewneck. Pants that hugged tight and showed off exactly what he wanted to show off. He smelled intensely of Santal 33 and dry cleaning. He slid his phone onto the bar top, pushing it just over the invisible dividing line between their spaces. It was the exact scent profile, the exact confident spatial invasion, of the condo Leo had abandoned two hours ago.
"Rough night?" the guy asked. He kept his eyes on the mirror behind the liquor bottles, checking his jawline.
"Just starting," Leo said.
The guy turned his head. Flat, assessing brown eyes swept over Leo's messy hair and tense shoulders. "I'm David." He raised a hand, snapping two fingers at a barback hauling a bin of crushed ice. "Get him a vodka soda with a lime. Tall."
Leo’s stomach completely dropped.
Vodka soda. The default. The drink that didn't leave a stain. The drink his ex ordered for him every single Friday night for five years because dark liquor made Leo "too loud."
David shifted his weight. His knee brushed Leo’s thigh, radiating a heavy, familiar warmth.
The gravity of the moment felt physically oppressive. Leo's brain practically screamed at him to just nod. To say thank you. If he let David buy the drink, he could hand over the wheel. He wouldn't have to figure out where he was sleeping. He wouldn't have to navigate the rest of the night alone. He could just slip right back into the passenger seat, safe and numb.
Leo looked down the length of the bar.
Silas stood by the taps. He held a rag, completely motionless, watching them. His dark eyes locked onto Leo. He didn't shake his head or offer a lifeline. He just waited.
The barback set a sweating pint glass of clear liquid and a lime wedge on a napkin.
David smiled. "Drink up."
Leo let go of his watered-down rye. He reached out, grabbed the vodka soda by the rim, and slid it directly back across the wet wood. It stopped an inch from David's phone.
"I'm drinking rye," Leo said. His voice shook. He hated the tremor, but he didn't try to clear his throat to hide it.
David’s smile vanished. The easy posture shattered, replaced by a flash of genuine, ugly annoyance. He scoffed, grabbed the glass, and turned his back, instantly scanning the crowded room for an easier target.
Leo exhaled. His lungs burned. His hands were shaking worse than before, but the suffocating weight in his chest had evaporated.
Silas tossed his rag over his shoulder. The sharp smirk returned to his face. He reached under the counter, grabbed a fresh bottle of rye, and started walking over.
