Dinner For Two
Iwipe out the metal mixing cup in a haze.
All I can think about isher.
I glance down at my watch, 5:50 p.m., and I can’t help but wonder — no, sorry — wish that she’ll show.
“How many times are you going to check that thing?” Mac asks. He may not work here anymore, but he has no problem hanging out and hassling me.
“Shut up, dick.” I slam the cup down. “Who do you like in the next race?” I ask to distract him, slyly glancing down at the time again.
“The four and the six,” he offers. “The three was scratched, so there goes my trifecta.”
“Good.” I pull a few dollars out of my tip cup. “Bet whatever you’re betting.” I hand him the cash.
“Done.” He downs his draft then heads over to the outside corridor that has several lines of people waiting to bet.
The bell goes off, and the gates to race eight slam open. Six ponies make a mad dash down the track, kicking up dirt as people scream and yell for their numbers to come in.
“Get up! Get up!” Mac smacks his rolled-up program against his leg as he peers toward the finish line. “Get. Up!” Checking the monitor, I hear him yell, “Yes! It’s your lucky day, bro. We just won. This payout should be okay.” He heads back to the betting area to cash in our tickets.Nice.I can always use the extra cash, and Mac is always good for making some.
I check my watch again — 6:05. One more race left, then the track closes. I serve a few more drafts to straggling customers as Mac throws down my winnings.
“Two twenty. Not bad.”
“Not at all.” I go to scoop up the twenties, and that’s when I see her walking straight toward us. She’s wearing a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses, and her long blonde hair is blowing in the wind. Watching her approach, I feel like a dog wagging its tongue.
“Looks like it really is your lucky day,” Mac comments.
“My lucky life,” I respond under my breath.
“Hi,” Alana breathes shyly when she finally reaches us. “Remember me? The drunk girl you put in a cab last night?”
Remember you? I’ll never, ever forget you.
“Yeah, Laura? Right?” I kid.
She chews her bottom lip like she’s annoyed. “Close enough. Here, I brought you this.”
She drops a blue gift bag on the bar. “I figure I owed you.”
“For me?” I peek in the bag, shuffle around the tissue paper, and pull out a shirt. A really, really, nice, expensive, white linen sports shirt. Holy cow.
“Lacoste isn’t the first brand I usually gravitate to, but this seemed like your style,” she remarks all business.
“Ah, thank you,” I stutter as I hold probably the most expensive piece of clothing I’ll ever own in my hand. “You really didn’t have to.”
“Well, I did. Now we’re square.” One side of her mouth twists up, then she turns around and walks away toward the grandstand. I glance at Mac confused, and he just shrugs.
“Watch the bar,” I impress Mac and go after her, her tight ass shimmying ahead of me. “Hey wait.” I grab her arm. “What’s the hurry? Stay and have a drink.”
“I can’t drink.”
“A soda then.”
“No thanks.”
“Did I do something to upset you?”