Liar

by Zahra Girard

  Why do I care who flirts with Luca?

  “Oh, I know,” Sabrina says, nodding slowly. She’s three-quarters of the way through her Singapore Sling and it’s starting to show that she doesn’t drink much. Her cheeks are beet red. “Can you tell me some stories about your fights?”

  I roll my eyes and Luca waves to the waitress for another round for him and I.

  He sits back in his chair, throws a handful of peanut shells on the floor, and then settles into a story.

  I half-listen, half just watch him.

  He gets this far-off look in his eyes while he starts telling his story. His hands clench into fists and he moves in his chair as he describes every punch and slip and dodge of the fight, which suspiciously sounds less like a boxing match and more like a street fight.

  Especially once he makes a passing reference to a broken bottle and a trash-can lid.

  But still, the way he tells it, it’s like I’m there. I feel the rush of adrenaline as fists come up and punches fly.

  Sabrina eats it all up and drinks every last drop of her Singapore Sling. By the time Luca finishes his story, she’s halfway into her second and a deep red blush is creeping from her cheeks to the rest of her face and chest.

  She kind of looks like a tomato.

  “Wow,” she says. “Wow, wow, that is so exciting.”

  Luca grins. “Was. Those days are behind me.”

  “Why?” she says.

  That’s the same thing I’ve been wondering.

  The way he talks about it, he enjoys the rush of whatever it was he was doing.

  And he was good at it.

  “Yeah, why?” I say, echoing Sabrina.

  He shrugs. “Needed a change, is all. It was a good living, but it’s one of those occupations that, when the end does show up, it ain’t pretty. Most guys, doing what I did, don’t last nearly as long me. By my age, they’re usually dead. Or worse.”

  I don’t know what he was mixed up in, but it was more than boxing. Maybe it was illegal fighting, or whatever the hell is popular among ripped guys who like to punch each other in the head. I’ve seen more than a few of those guys up in the ER with similar injuries and paper-thin stories about how they got hurt.

  Usually, those guys are the skeevy type that make me want to get as far away from them as possible. I can’t count the number of times I was asked to step into the supply closet for a quickie.

  Luca finishes the last of his beer and sets the empty glass on the table.

  “I’m glad you’re still around, Luca,” Sabrina says, her speech slow and a bit slurred. “I wouldn’t want you to die.”

  She’s practically fawning over him, and I’ve got two strong Singapore Slings inside me and I’m ready for my third, and it’s not like I’m jealous or anything, but I’m ready for her to go home.

  Besides, she probably should go home. She has to work tomorrow.

  I give her a look while Luca’s turned around waiving for Alice to bring us another round.

  She gets the hint.

  “Hey, so, it’s starting to get late, I’m going to head home. It was nice drinking with you both.”

  Luca rises at the same time and puts his arm around her. She leans into him.

  Poor girl, she’s going to be feeling it tomorrow.

  “I’ll be right back once I’ve got her a cab,” Luca says over his shoulder.

  Our next round comes around the same time Luca gets back and he settles into his chair. I waste no time getting into mine. These things are strong and tasty.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve been out with anyone. It’s been a long time since I’ve even felt comfortable enough to do anything other than go to work, go home, and do my best to not run into Vladimir or anyone in his gang.

  But right now? I feel good. Warm. Buzzed.

  I do not want the night to end.

  “Just boxing, huh?” I say, stirring my Singapore Sling with my straw and smiling at him.

  “I had to make it PG. Didn’t want to scare her.”

  “I think you could’ve told her you clubbed seals for a living and she’d be asking you what size club you prefer and if you’ve fought off any polar bears.”

  He laughs. “Oh, come on, she’s a sweetheart. Don’t tell me you’re jealous?”

  I make a face.

  “Not at all. I’m not nearly as naive as she is. I think I grew out of my bad boy fixation by the time I graduated high school.”

  “Is that so?” he says, arching an eyebrow and looking at me with a half-smirk on his face. “The good-hearted nurse is too smart to fall in with a bad boy?”

  “I most certainly am,” I say, taking another drink of my Singapore Sling and realizing I’ve about finished it off and, even though it’s not the smartest idea, I’m waving for another. “Do you know how many ‘bad boys’ wind up in the ER? How many of them have some ‘tough guy’ story that begins with them telling their buddy to hold their beer and ends up with them in the hospital?”

  “From personal experience, I can tell you it’s somewhere between ‘most of them’ and ‘all of them’.”

  He finishes his beer and waves for another, too. As soon as it comes, he takes a big, long drink.

  Once my drink comes and it hits my lips, I can sense it — this is going to be one of ‘those nights’.

  I feel like I’m back where I really belong — at the hospital — just finishing a shift and kicking up my bone-tired feet with some of my co-workers, ready to stay out until the bar shuts down, sharing stories of unbelievable injuries from the job or our time at med school or our stupid teenage crushes or whatever other embarrassing personal stories we can come up with.

  I can feel it, and I can tell he feels it to.

  This is going be a long night. In the best way possible.

  I settle in. Look him right in his green eyes.

  “Who are you really, Luca?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Luca

  I set my elbows on the table and lean in towards her. “What are you getting at, bella?”

  She peers at me over the edge of her glass. I don’t know if it’s just the drink, but there’s a light in her eyes I haven’t seen before.

  “I’m not just some innocent nurse from Arroyo Falls. I’ve seen men like you before. You’re not just some guy who manages a boxing gym and sells dehumidifiers to old women.”

  There’s enough liquor in her that this reserved, normally-scared woman is feeling a little bold.

  And I’m loving it. Fiery is a good look for her.

  It’s the same way when she’s training and really getting into it — there’s just something about the way she’ll purse her lips, or the way her voice changes, like she knows she’s tougher than she gives herself credit for.

  It’s sexy as hell.

  I’ve got to give her something. But I’m not going to make this easy.

  “Alright,” I say. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  She blinks. “What?”

  She might be drunker than I thought. Four Singapore Slings will probably do that to you.

  “You heard me.”

  “Are we talking about anatomy?” she says.

  I shake my head. “We can if you want to, bella. I’ll show you whatever you want,” I say, pausing a second to admire how sexy it is when she blushes. “But how about this: I’ll tell you what I did before I bought into Reyes Boxing, if you tell me why you’re really running the hardware store instead of working in some hospital somewhere.”

  Frowning, she shakes her head. “I told you already, my dad got hurt.”

  “Months ago. How long does it take to get over a hip injury?”

  I’m good at smelling bullshit. You don’t make it to where I’m at without having some skill at it.

  There’s a second of hesitation. A sigh, like she’s admitting defeat. “With good rehab, you can be walking in a few weeks.”

  “So, do we have a deal? You get my story, I get yours.”

/>   She still doesn’t look into it, so I press on.

  “I’m not here to judge. I mean, look,” I pause a second and pull my shirt up to show her some of my ink. I’ve got a lot of tattoos, some of them represent meaningful things, while some represent stupidity.

  “Do I look like a guy who’s always done the right thing?” I point to one of my tattoos – one of my earlier ones, that I got when I was seventeen. Some kid named Tommy Noonan drew it for twenty books. It came out good for a cheap tattoo, but it’s still a giant fucking scorpion and if I could go back in time, I’d kick my younger self’s ass. “I know what it’s like to make the stupid choice just because it might feel good or because I’m angry and want to get back at somebody. I’m not a saint, Stephanie — but you sure as hell can trust me.”

  “A scorpion? Why?”

  “Why? Because seventeen year old Luca thought scorpions were badass, that’s why. Seventeen year old Luca was a fucking moron. But that’s not the point. The point is you can trust me. I’m not the type to judge.”

  I keep my eyes on her the whole time I’m talking, staring right at her, willing her to open up to me. Not because I need to hear the story. But because I want to find out more this woman that I just can’t seem to get out of my head.

  “Fine,” she says. She takes a drink. “But you go first.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I lean back in my chair, get comfortable, and wet my lips while I grind the gears in my head trying to figure out just what to tell her.

  I can’t give her the whole truth — she’d run if I told her that — but I’ve got to tell her something.

  I want to get closer to her. I want her to trust me.

  “I made some choices when I was younger that weren’t the smartest. My big brother got involved in some serious shit, but he made a name for himself, and I saw the way everyone in the whole fucking Bronx respected him. I wanted that. So I made some similar choices.”

  “And then what?” she’s got a combative edge in her voice. I don’t blame her — I pushed her about her dad, I expect her to push back. That’s one of the things I like about her. “You don’t just move to the other side of the country and do something totally different because you’ve had a change of heart.”

  I call over the waitress and order one of those Singapore Sling things because I need something stronger than beer at this point. They’re fruity as hell looking — they’ve got a pineapple in them and they’re bright fucking red and I wouldn’t normally be caught dead drinking the fucking thing — but I figure there’s no one else here who knows me and, if the drink’s so famous, it’s worth a shot.

  I take a sip. Not too bad.

  “So?” she prompts.

  “So I saw where I was going to end up. Up close and personal. And I realized I’d be a shit person if I let my nonna and my mother outlive me. I left after that. Made a good decision, for once in my life.”

  I realize I’m sounding angry — Stephanie’s giving me this look like I need to calm the fuck down — and try and soften my voice and expression up.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. But that’s it. It feels like my story hasn’t quite landed. “Can I ask you something else?”

  “Anything.”

  “Why are you so interested in me?”

  I think for a minute, shrug to loosen my shoulders and roll my neck while thoughts bounce and assemble in my head. “This isn’t just sexual. If it were, I’d tell you, and afterwards you’d be telling me that it was the best you’ve ever had.”

  “Is that so?”

  “You asked for honesty, and I can only repeat what I’ve been told plenty of times by others.” I take a sip of my drink. “The truth is, bella, I’m trying to figure out this regular life thing, which for the longest time I thought was just bullshit. But you’ve planted this idea in my head that maybe there’s a point to it. Maybe there’s a reason to be a better person.”

  She smiles at me, this light, subtle thing, and blushes, though she tries to hide both behind her drink.

  “Your turn,” I say and wave for another round because booze is the best tool for digging up hard truths and burying painful memories.

  Stephanie takes a long time before she starts to talk.

  “I love my dad. I love him to pieces. My mom died a little over fifteen years ago from lymphoma. It took her fast. That’s kind of why I decided to get into medicine. It wasn’t long after her diagnosis that we buried her. It was hard. And I don’t think it will ever stop hurting.”

  She sighs and fiddles with her straw for a minute, swirling it around. “I think back on those days and I can see how it would’ve been so easy for everything to go sideways after she died. My dad lost half of himself and I don’t think either of us have been the same since. But things didn’t go wrong. It was like my dad, through just this sheer will, became two parents. He did everything.”

  She goes quiet, looking into her glass like it’s a window into better days. And I sit, quiet, because, even a guy like me knows not to intrude on these kind of memories. I might be a criminal, and an asshole, but I’m not that kind of asshole.

  “I don’t know when things actually went wrong. Maybe it was after I went to college, maybe it was before, but at some point, I know my dad borrowed a lot of money to help pay for my school. The store wasn’t making much and it was the only way he had to support me.”

  “So you’re staying around to help him get things put back together?”

  A tired shrug is all I get. “Yeah, I guess.”

  It goes quiet and the two of us drink our next round in peace, lost in our own thoughts. Now I know why she’s so drained, why she’s so drawn and tired.

  And why she’s so frustrated.

  I’d be angry as hell too if I were in her place. If someone I trusted and loved had built this lie and then suddenly I have to give up who I am to come in and pick up the pieces.

  I’m not a good man, but family? Yeah, that speaks to me.

  I call us a final round, because I’ve made one of those decisions that just feels like requires a drink to be in my hand.

  “Stephanie, I don’t know everything that you’re going through, but I know what it’s like to have your life upended by people you trusted. Will you let me help you?”

  There’s what feels like a minute that goes by where she’s just looking at me, thinking.

  And I don’t blame her for being cautious.

  I mean, really, what the hell can I do? Call up Ethel and see if she has any friends that’d also like to buy some air conditioners in exchange for a bit of grab-ass?

  Back in the day, in another life, I had options. They weren’t legal, of course, but they were effective. But this isn’t one of those cases where I can do something illegal. I have to solve this as a better person.

  “What do you think you can do?”

  I’m asking myself that same thing. I’m just a part-owner of some gym and a rookie hardware salesman.

  Stephanie’s not my type. At all. But that might just be what I need — someone who cares about their family, who cares about living a life that actually means something. Maybe I can learn from her.

  Plus there’s the bonus that she’s hot enough that I’m asking myself multiple times a day just what it would feel like to have her soft thighs clamped around my face.

  That’s a question that I need to know the answer to.

  “I’ll be honest with you, bella, I’m not good at thinking my way out of problems, or doing things on the straight and narrow. But I give a God damn. And I know that when my back’s put up against the wall, I’d rather have one person on my side that really cares about me than a dozen that don’t.”

  I clear my throat.

  “So, I guess what I’m saying is: I’m yours. Whatever you need.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Stephanie

  Think!

  Open your mouth!

  Say something!

  I can only stare at my drink for so long befor
e it starts to get really awkward.

  I’ve known him for a couple days. Did he really just say he cares about me?

  What does he mean?

  I’m at a loss.

  It’s one thing to give someone like me a sympathetic ear and say to them “Oh, I’m sorry for the stuff you’re going through, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help” in that kind of way that tells them you actually don’t want to lift a finger.

  It’s another thing entirely to have someone tell you they’re ready to get into it, through the thick and thin.

  And when it’s coming from a hot guy that obviously knows how to handle himself — that I more-than-kind-of wish would handle me — it’s enough to make me pause.

  Do I want this?

  “Thank you,” I say. “I really appreciate that. Honestly.”

  Yes, I do.

  “I mean it, bella: I’m yours.”

  There’s so much heat in his voice that I rush to raise my glass in a toast, just so I take a drink and hide my face. I haven’t been on a date in so long I’ve forgotten how to flirt. But with Luca, I can’t tell what’s flirting and what’s just an honest expression of intent.

  Does he even flirt? Or does he just say what he means and, because he’s this sculpted vision of a man with the attitude of a someone who gets what he wants, it just happens?

  Whatever it is, I want him around.

  We tap glasses and finish our drinks in a flash.

  I feel a little stronger, a little safer, just hearing him say that he’s all in. With me.

  It’d be easy as hell for someone to back away from my situation. And even though I can’t tell him everything — he can’t know how my dad got us in debt, or just who we owe money to because I know for sure he’d run away then — I’m already thinking of ways he can help me.

  There’s one thing that stands out; ideas that I get as I look at him with blurry vision and hot cheeks and realize just how stacked he is.

  It started as an idle fantasy, something that just teased the edges of my mind — the part that realizes it’s been months since I’ve even been on a damn date.