The Fallback

by Dietz, Mariah

  “Your deterrent isn’t working very well; he was about to come over here.” He dips his chin, nodding toward the bar, where I’m still holding the glass with both hands.

  My brow furrows with confusion. “My deterrent?” I twist around, looking around the club for whatever he’s referring to.

  “He’s definitely going to come over here if you’re already looking bored,” he says, a smirk pulling his lips into a crooked smile. “You’ve been holding that same drink for at least ten minutes and haven’t taken a single drink.” His eyebrows rise with question. “I’m betting you ordered it so no one would offer to buy you one.”

  My mouth feels dry, my tongue swollen, and every ounce of common sense seems to drain from my open mouth before I snap my lips closed and try on a tight smile. “If I did, it’s clearly not working, is it?”

  He chuckles, and the sound is a deep rumble, his shoulders falling with a sense of rapport the two of us don’t share. “We’ll have to work on your second line of defense,” he tells me. “Because by posing that challenge, men are going to either”—he holds up his index finger, watching me carefully as though to ensure I’m listening—“think you’re challenging them and therefore will likely act ridiculous all night, or”—his middle fingers joins his first—“submit you to the worst pickup lines you’ve ever heard.”

  “It might be option C, which is ‘leave me alone.’”

  He nods, though the movements are short and jerky before he shakes his head. “Your chances for that are very slim.” He shifts so his hip leans against the bar as he surveys the club. “In a place like this, you have to up your game.”

  “Up my game?”

  “You’re smirking at me!” he cries, shifting so his elbow farthest from me rests on the bar, opening his chest toward me. “You think I’m lying, don’t you?”

  I shrug. “Or maybe just delusional.”

  He grips his chest. “I could leave and prove you wrong.”

  My eyes narrow, and my lips slip into a smile I can’t seem to stop. “Are you daring me?”

  He lifts both hands, placing them in front of his chest, palms facing me. “Just listing your options.”

  I glance around the crowded club again, nothing standing out throughout the dark space. “I don’t see anyone leering.”

  “Watch.” He smiles blandly and turns, disappearing from the bar, confusing me. I watch him cross the room, where he stands against the wall, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other is splayed low on his chest. He dips his chin, nodding toward me.

  And this is why I don’t date. Men are crazy. All of them.

  I shake my head, and he nods again, a faint smile visible.

  “Hi there.”

  I turn back around, discovering a boy. He’s not a man. He doesn’t even look twenty-one. I look from him to the stranger in the back. Still watching me, his smile wider.

  Dammit.

  “Hi,” I reply, taking a drink of my beer.

  “I think we met a couple of weeks ago,” he says.

  “Really? Here?”

  “Yeah.” His voice rises, and he grins.

  “Yes. On the dance floor, right?”

  “I knew you’d remember.” He slides closer to me.

  “Definitely. And I’m so glad to see you again because I thought I should tell you”—I lean closer—“I’m late.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I’m late,” I say again.

  “Late for what?”

  A throat clears behind us, and we both turn, discovering the blond man from before, his hand still splayed on his chest but this time higher as he cocks his head to the side and looks at the boy standing beside me. “She tried to accuse me of being her baby’s daddy, too. Trust me, you should run.”

  “Baby’s daddy?” he asks, his attention swinging from me to the stranger.

  “You don’t think a couple of beers will hurt, right? I mean, it’s still early.” I clasp a hand to my stomach.

  “You’re crazy!” The boy backs up, spins on a heel, and quickly vanishes into a crowd.

  “That wasn’t nearly as fun or satisfying as I’d hoped,” I admit.

  He laughs, resuming his initial spot beside me and flagging the bartender down. “A snakebite,” he says.

  “Men aren’t easily deterred, especially not by a full drink. To some, that makes you a better target because they can be cheap.”

  “How did you become such an expert?” I ask.

  11

  He lifts a single eyebrow and one shoulder. “My guess, you’re either in a long-term relationship or recently broken up. Engaged?”

  I scoff. “If you cover all bases, you can’t be wrong, can you?”

  He leans farther on his elbow, opening his chest toward me again as his gaze becomes appraising. “Recent breakup?”

  “No.” I avoid his stare, my attention drawn to his rounded lips and the shallow creases created on both ends when he smiles. They remind me of parentheses, pointing out that his smile is maybe a best-kept secret but not the most obvious. This foreign thought has me reaching for my beer to take another drink. The alcohol tickles my nose and buys me a few seconds to focus on something aside from this stranger in front of me and the brewing onslaught of feelings that make absolutely no sense. “Are you trying to hit on me?” I blurt the question.

  Those parentheses around his mouth stamp deeper as his smile grows, and his bright-blue eyes flash with amusement, or is that approval? “I’m Levi,” he says.

  “Brooke,” I tell him almost reluctantly. My eyes narrow again, looking more closely at him when he again avoids another question.

  “Are you from Chicago, Brooke?” He has to yell as a new song comes on with a techno beat that has the crowds cheering. Something inside of me likes that he tacked my name onto the end of his sentence.

  I shake my head. “I’m from—”

  He leans closer, dipping his face close to mine. His ear is facing me, removing the intimacy of how near he is, but the scent of his cologne has me stumbling over my thoughts, forgetting what I was about to tell him. In a building filled with perfumes, sweat, and alcohol, he smells clean, like stepping outside after a rainstorm during the summer when the sun makes everything smell sweeter—better.

  “What were you saying?” he asks.

  “I’m from Indianapolis,” I tell him.

  He shifts, facing me with those vibrant blue eyes. “So, what you’re telling me is that you’re an imposter?”

  I laugh. It feels like a reflex, instant and unforgiving, and his eyes somehow shine brighter. “I take it you’re from Indiana?”

  “Born and raised.” He raises his chin higher.

  “And clearly proud of it.”

  He flashes a smile. “What gave it away?”

  “It was just a wild guess. You were so subtle about it.”

  His laughter brings another wave of his cologne to wash over me. “I’m glad you think so. My ex always told me I was arrogant and over the top about things.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  “Me either!” he cries, feigning surprise.

  “There’s something to be said for people who know what they like and like what they know.”

  He raises his drink. “I’ll drink to that. People who don’t know what they want bug the hell out of me. For example, when someone tells me they like both the Cubbies and the Sox, I can’t even continue a conversation with them.”

  “Are you telling me I have to decide or I’ll need to leave?”

  His chin jolts forward, and his eyes round. “Stop.”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “I know nothing about baseball.”

  “How is that even possible? What do they teach you over there in Indie?”

  “That our Hoosiers wipe the floor with your Fighting Illini.”

  He clasps his chest with both hands, dropping his chin back dramatically. “Way to hit a man when he’s down.”

  “Sore spot?” I tease.

  “Jus
t lie to me and tell me you’re a Cubbies fan.”

  “You’re convincing me to be a White Sox fan.”

  He smiles triumphantly. “You really are stubborn, aren’t you?”

  “Hey! No Jedi mind tricks! I changed my mind—Cubbies fan.”

  His smile widens, confusing me further.

  “You’re not going to tell me which team you like, are you?”

  “You may now call me the Jedi Master.” He grins.

  “I really can’t understand how anyone could’ve ever mistaken you for being cocky.”

  Laughter sparks in his gaze, and then the deep timbre of his amusement pulls my lips into a matching smile. “So, you’re from Indiana, you don’t like baseball … but know you like the Hoosiers more than the Fighters, and you drink your beer very slowly. Tell me what you like to do in your free time.”

  I shrug. “I’m sort of in the process of reinventing myself,” I say, sharing my newly discovered epiphany that this evening has reinforced.

  Levi raises his brows. “I’m intrigued. Did you join a roller derby team? Underground fighting?” He snaps his fingers. “Are you a member of one of those flash dance mobs?”

  I slap a palm to my face. “You’re making me regret being honest with you.” I take a deep swallow of my beer.

  Levi shakes his head, placing a hand on my arm. His skin burns against mine as though branding me. I glance down, tracing numerous scars that mark the back of his fingers. “Tell me.”

  “You’re expecting something that will make me sound super unique to an impressive degree. Lower your expectations!” I warn him with a grin.

  “As long as you don’t tell me your hobby is sleeping, you’ve got this nailed.”

  My cheeks ache from the smile that’s had my lips stretched since we began talking, and as much as I will the muscles to relax, they maintain the same happy expression. “I’m starting a blog.” The words tumble from my lips before I realize I’ve been considering it since speaking to that woman going rock climbing the day I moved out of my shared apartment with Gabe.

  He tilts his chin, eyeing me closely. “Seriously?”

  Nerves have me gripping my beer tighter, and I nod.

  “Why would I laugh at that? That’s awesome. What are you blogging about?”

  “Trying new things. New experiences.”

  “Really?” he exclaims, standing taller, as though he actually finds the idea intriguing.

  “Yes … but I’ll continue to maintain my street credit by binge-watching every episode of The Walking Dead and Game of Thrones—of course.”

  “Of course.” He chuckles again, stepping closer as a couple approaches the bar on the other side of him.

  “What about you? What are your hobbies?”

  “Food.”

  “Food? Like eating? Cooking?”

  “Both.” He leans his elbows on the bar again, extending his forearm toward me. The black cotton of his shirt slides up on his wrist, revealing the dark stain of tattoos that distract me as I work to decipher them as he continues. “I just love food, I guess. I like creating it, tasting it, experimenting with new techniques and flavors.” He lifts his shoulders with a casual shrug. “I understand food better than people.”

  “Is that where these came from?” I trace a deep scar on his thumb. “Cooking?”

  He nods. “I’ve been known to be a bit competitive.”

  “Was that why you came over, or were you really trying to warn me from the kid with the fake ID?”

  “Both.”

  “And you did this thinking I was engaged?”

  “But hoping you weren’t.”

  I try to hide my smile with another drink. It feels strangely good to have him admit this—and even better to know he noticed me and had payed enough attention that he knew another might be interested.

  “You’re a little intimidating though,” he says.

  “Intimidating? How am I intimidating?”

  “You’re…” He runs a hand in front of his face.

  “What does that mean?” Nervous laughter spills from my lips as I straighten, uncertain if I’m offended or curious.

  “You’re beautiful,” Levi says, keeping my stare when I attempt to glance away. “And you haven’t looked at a single guy since you’ve been here, not even when they danced with you.”

  “Should I be creeped out or flattered that you’ve been watching me that long?”

  He chuckles. “I work here. It’s my job to pay attention to people.”

  “You work here?” I glance around. “What do you do?”

  “This and that.”

  “If my nickname was ‘honesty,’ yours would be ‘vague.’”

  He laughs. “I’m in management. But you should probably pay a little more attention to those who are watching you. If I hadn’t been, you’d still be trying to explain to that kid what you were trying to insinuate.”

  “I recently got out of a long-term relationship,” I admit. “I’m sort of learning how to be single again. Flirting, blatant or otherwise, is a bit foreign to me.”

  “I have a feeling you not noticing has a little to do with something more than just you getting out of a long-term relationship.”

  I lift a shoulder. “Maybe it’s because I’m intimidating?” I tease.

  His smile is polite but unamused. “Is the single thing a good thing?”

  I nod. “I didn’t think it was initially. I mean…” I shake my head. “I guess you could say it’s been a little messy. But it will be. I’ve just been in relationships for so long I don’t know how to be single. That’s what’s inspired this blog.”

  “So, what are you going to tackle first as a single woman?”

  “Decide if I’m a Cubbies or White Sox fan,” I tell Levi, bumping him gently with my elbow.

  He stares at me; it’s so intense his gaze feels almost heavy. Then he shifts to face the bar and raises a finger in the air. “Hey, Tony,” he calls.

  The bartender appears with a wide smile. “Yeah, boss?”

  “Do you have a pen back there?”

  The bartender fishes in his pocket and pulls three out, which he fans out in offer. Levi selects one and grabs a drink napkin, jotting down a number. “It’s your lucky day. I happen to know someone who has season passes for one of the teams.”

  “Are you by chance that person?”

  “Maybe…” A slow, lazy grin stamps those faint parentheses back into his cheeks.

  “You know, your secret will be revealed, and I’ll know which team you are rooting for.”

  “I said maybe. That doesn’t mean they’re mine.”

  I take the napkin before this alien sense of confidence wears off and fold it before placing it in my purse. Maybe it’s the dark lights, maybe it’s the endorphins from dancing, or maybe being single won’t be such a bad thing.

  12

  My phone rings from my nightstand, and I reach forward, my eyes heavy with sleep as I slide my hand across the screen, attempting to dismiss the call and send it to voice mail.

  Much to my relief, it silences, and I drop my head back to my pillow.

  Seconds later, it rings again.

  I groan my protests but reach for it again, this time forcing my eyes to open. Catherine’s name on the screen has me groaning louder.

  “Hello?”

  “Were you sleeping?” she asks. Before I can remind her that it’s Saturday, she continues, “I need you to pass a couple of projects off and focus on something for me. My son is opening a new bar, and I want the grand opening to be flawless. Do you recall last year when we did the soft opening, and then grand opening, for that bakery that everyone was dying for? I want that but even more extravagant.”

  “When is it opening?” I ask, holding my breath.

  “Eight weeks.”

  “Eight weeks?” I croak.

  “It was supposed to be later, but his business partner just got engaged, and they want to open before the wedding. It’s a mess, but I know if anyon
e can make this happen, you can.”

  I want to tell her that she can. That Glitter and Gold is her business and this is her son. I already have a full plate, and though she’s suggesting I remove a few things from my already-hectic schedule, pulling off two grand openings is a full-time job.

  “Is it established? Is there a guest list?”

  “This will be unique, and I’ll help as much as I can, but this will be June, and I’ll be swamped with weddings and events.”

  I clamp a hand to my forehead, pushing my hair out of my face.

  “I’ve already set up a time for you to go to the bar so you can meet him and get a feel for the place and where things should go. He’s insisting on making it minimal, but he doesn’t understand that PR help is what will make or break this venture, so you’ll need to be firm with him, and if he gives you any grief, just let me know.”

  Perfect.

  He’s just like his mother.

  “You’re meeting him Wednesday at noon.”

  “Wednesday at noon,” I repeat back to her. “I’ll add it to my calendar, but I’ll need your help. Sue Ellen was handling most of the restaurants and bars and had connections with the reviewers.”

  “I’ve already sent you a list. Haven’t you checked your emails yet this morning?”

  I roll to my side and look at the red digits on my alarm clock. “It’s not even seven.”

  “Exactly. The only people who sleep in this late are on drugs.”

  My face contorts with objections, which exhaustion nearly allows to escape.

  “Check your email, and don’t forget—Wednesday at noon.” She hangs up.

  “I quit,” I say, dropping my phone to the nightstand. “You’re crazy! Crazy!”

  Annoyance has me too tired to fall back asleep. If this was six weeks ago, I’d get out of bed and go make a fresh pot of coffee and flip through the paper to see wedding announcements, a tradition that hasn’t fully retired since it still holds the thrill for many parents and brides-to-be. But it’s Saturday, which means Dan likely has Gemma and Theo downstairs, watching cartoons and playing—splayed out across the living room. He does this each week so Felicity has the rare opportunity to sleep in; however, I’ve quickly learned he looks forward to this ritual, enjoying their special bonding time. So, I lie back on my pillows, enjoying the comfort of my bed and the warmth and weight of the comforter. Thoughts of last night bubble to the forefront of my mind. Recalling the warmth of Levi’s touch, the timbre of his voice, and ease of his laughter.