Charmer

by Loring, Kayley

  I worked as a bartender at The Hotel Café for a while, years ago, when I was transitioning from an acting career to music. It was a great job and I still did it off and on, just for fun on busy nights, up until almost a year ago. That place has been my home away from home.

  But this place has rocketed to the top of my list of favorite bars in LA, if only because it’s the place where I finally get to do my thing with Katherine and all of her syllables.

  “You’ve been drinking gin,” I say to her, from the other side of the polished wood bar counter.

  “How’d you know?” she asks, taking a seat on a stool.

  Curling my index finger at her, I lean in, bringing her in closer so I can whisper into her ear, “I could taste it on your tongue.” I pull away to grab the bottle of Nolet’s Silver Dry Gin from the well-stocked shelf, and when I turn back to her, her eyes are closed again and she’s biting her lip. “How much have you had to drink so far tonight?”

  Her eyelids pop open. “Why?”

  “Just trying to decide how much alcohol to add to this drink. I don’t want you too drunk.”

  She runs her fingers through her thick beautiful hair, her gaze lowered to the countertop. “I have had a glass of wine and one and a quarter cocktails.”

  “Dinner?”

  “Yes sir.”

  I nod. “Your mom looking after Tate tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “How’s my buddy Tate doing?” I ask, while tossing a few quarters of lemon, lime and orange into a glass, drop in some mint, pour some sugar on it.

  “He’s good,” she says, crossing her arms in front of herself on the counter. “He’s got his first loose tooth.”

  “Yeah? He excited about that?” I muddle the citrus fruits with the mint and watch her watch me do it.

  “He’s totally stoked. But I’m an emotional wreck.”

  “You figured out what the tooth fairy’s going to bring him?”

  “I actually picked a couple of things up today, just in case.”

  “He still believe in Santa too?” I need to know, so I don’t ever blow it with Tate like I almost blew it with the twins this past Christmas. You don’t make that mistake twice.

  “Oh sure.” She gets a dreamy expression on her gorgeous face. “He still believes in everyone and everything. I’d do anything to help keep him like that forever.”

  She’s all misty-eyed and sweet and God help me—she’s hugging herself and it’s pressing her tits together and I just want to stick my face right in there and tell her everything will be alright. “He’s into card tricks, huh?”

  “Yep. Magic tricks of all kinds, really.”

  “That’s cool. I went through that phase when I was a kid. Briefly.”

  “Really?” She’s wrinkling her nose and smiling, and God help me, I just want to kiss her again.

  “Why is that so surprising?”

  “I just can’t picture it. It’s sort of nerdy.”

  “You do realize you’re talking to a guy who played a wizard on The Disney Channel when he was a teenager, right?”

  “Yeah, but you weren’t a nerdy wizard.”

  “So you have seen the show?”

  Even in the dim light I can see the color of her cheeks change before she lowers her head to the counter and buries her face in her arms, and God help me, I want to bury my face in her everything. She trembles from laughter and finally flips her hair, trying and failing to rearrange her expression into something serious. “I saw a few episodes when it was first on, sure. My friends were really into it.”

  “Oh yeah? But you weren’t?”

  “I mean, I liked it. I didn’t rearrange my schedule so I could watch it or anything. But it was fun. You guys were cute.”

  “Yeah,” I nod. “We were.” It is so fucking adorable how embarrassed she is right now. I’ll get off this subject, because the truth is it’s deeply embarrassing how happy I am to find out that she actually knew who I was back then. Even if she wasn’t a fan. I measure out the gin and pour it into the glass, then add soda. “Your friend having a good birthday?”

  She glances over at Pink Hair. “Ivy. Yeah. I’ve never seen her so happy.”

  I look over at Ivy and see her frowning at a group of guys. “Yeah,” I deadpan. “Looks like she’s having the time of her life.”

  “They’re playing a drinking game called Straight Face. She’s winning.”

  I scoop some ice into a Boston Shaker, slap it over onto the mixing glass and shake the bejesus out of this drink, grinning at Kat and watching how she stares at my biceps the whole time.

  I flip the shaker, toss the mixing glass aside, slide a napkin in front of her, then fine-strain the cocktail into an old-fashioned glass. Finally, I grab an orange rind and ask Eli for a lighter. I hold the orange rind up over the rim of the glass, and the blue flame makes Kat jump and then exhale, smiling in exactly the way I wanted her to. I rub the flamed orange zest around the rim of the glass and drop it in before sliding the glass right in front of her. “Voila. One Alohomora for the lady. Please enjoy it slowly and responsibly.”

  “This drink is called an Alohomora?”

  I wink at her. “Signature drink, made just for you.”

  “The Unlocking Charm?” she says, rolling her eyes. “Just how much gin is in this thing?”

  “It’s not the gin that’ll unlock your heart, darlin’.” I rest my hands on the edge of the counter and lean forward. “It’s the Nico.”

  “Oh my God,” she laughs, shaking her head. “Is there an off switch?”

  “For what?”

  “The flirting.”

  I lose the grin. “Would you like me to stop flirting with you?”

  She thinks for a moment, before answering. “Not tonight.” Then she takes a sip of the cocktail. “Wow. That is magically delicious.” She takes a big gulp. “I mean it’s really, really good. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Don’t drink it too fast.” I grab a bottle of whiskey to make something for Troy, but I just want to watch her lick her lips while savoring the taste of something that I made just for her. I don’t even care how dirty that sounds.

  “Exactly how many women have you made an Alohomora for?”

  I clutch at my heart like she’s stabbed me in it. “Exactly one very skeptical woman.”

  She tries to purse her lips, but she’s smiling too hard. “Come on.”

  “One and one only. I just made this up on the spot for you.”

  “Come. On.”

  “You come on… So did it work yet? Did it flip the on switch?”

  “For what?”

  “To get you to start flirting with me.”

  She covers her face again, for a second. I like her fingers. She has very elegant but capable hands. “I don’t think I remember how to flirt.” She twists her lips to one side and shrugs, an expression that I’d imagine she picked up from her son. “I don’t flirt anymore.”

  “Probably a good thing. I’m sure most men can’t handle all your flirts.”

  She laughs at that, staring down at her drink, running her thumb along the edge of it where I rubbed the flaming orange peel and then she lifts that thumb to her lips and gently sucks on the tip while staring up at me. “Probably true,” she says.

  Fuck me.

  I have to clear my throat before muttering, “Good thing I’m not most men.” I somehow manage to throw together a few ingredients, shake ‘em up, and pour them into a glass. She watches me the entire time. “I’m gonna make something for the birthday girl. She looks like a vodka kind of woman.”

  “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

  “I’m never wrong about vodka. And only occasionally wrong about women.”

  She almost spits out her drink, laughing at that.

  I go about making Ivy a Caipirovska. “You been playing Straight Face with those guys?”

  “I was about to, but then I saw you walk in.” She says it so earnestly, I guess it’s true that she doesn’t f
lirt. And yet, almost everything she says gets to me. More so than my bullshit charm tactics seem to be getting to her.

  “I like the sound of that.” I am still playing it so cool right now, but I really want to jump up on the bar and dance around like 1980’s Tom Cruise. Instead, I say, “Tell you what. How about I join you for a round or two?”

  “You’ve played it?”

  “Please. I’ve played every drinking game known to man and several that very few people have heard of.”

  She smiles. “Okay. You’re on.”

  “Why don’t you take this to your friend. Lemme just tidy up back here, take Troy his drink and I’ll join you.”

  “What are you drinking?”

  “I’ll stick with club soda. I’m driving. Plus I gotta keep a clear head around you.” I toss a shaker from one hand to the other and point it at her. “Don’t want you taking advantage of me.”

  She shakes her adorable head. “I’ll try real hard to control myself.”

  “You keep trying, Katherine. Alohomora.”

  9

  Kat

  Trouble.

  Nico Todd really is every kind of trouble and every part of me wants to get into all of it.

  Not all the way in. Not right away. But I can turn off Mom Brain for an hour and probably still manage to keep my clothes on.

  Tonight, anyway.

  Probably.

  He looks unbearably beautiful, and so out of place in this dive bar, although he somehow manages to act like he’s right at home. Straight from a photo shoot, of course he’s been groomed and had a haircut. He has that supernatural quality that people have when they’ve been prepped for high resolution cameras. I thought I was hallucinating when he walked in, but I realized exactly how much I wanted him to be here and my feet just started carrying me toward him.

  I don’t even know who started kissing whom first, but he was in it to win it and I bought everything he was selling.

  I don’t want to get too drunk either, but I could have watched him mix drinks all night. Instead, I get to watch him try to keep a straight face while saying ridiculous things. Ivy insisted that he get himself a glass of beer instead of club soda, since this is a drinking game. He takes a seat next to me on the low bench around the table, his hand barely grazing the small of my back and sending delicious shivers through that part of me that only he can bring to life these days.

  Nico introduces himself to the three other guys who are playing and repeats each of their names when they tell him. I don’t know who raised him, but I hope Tate grows up to be this genuinely polite. He catches me studying him and rubs my back. It’s the opposite of a wink, this gesture. Reassuring in a boyfriend-y way. Maybe he is more than just sex on a stick. Maybe he’s sex on that keepsake silver platter that my grandmother gave me when I graduated. Or maybe I’m a little tipsier than I thought I was.

  Jared, the guy who will probably be engaging in birthday sex with Ivy later tonight, hands out slips of freshly torn paper and pens. I need to ignore the sexy man’s thigh that’s pressing against my thigh and the sexy man’s arm that’s rubbing against my arm and the heady scent of a candied pine forest so that I can think of funny sentences to write down. Sentences that don’t have anything to do with Nico’s mouth and tongue and hands, even though they’re all I can think about. Sentences that are designed to make the person who has to read them out loud laugh, so that they’ll have to take a drink…

  I got nothin’.

  Maybe we should get out of here. Is what I’m thinking. Is that funny?

  Please put your mouth on my mouth again for like forty-five minutes.

  I’m sure it will be totally possible for me to make out with you once, and then go back to living the kind of responsible, balanced life that I want to live for my son. See now, that’s a hilarious sentence. I’m not going to write it down, but I will keep telling myself that.

  Everyone else has finished scribbling and placed their pieces of paper into the bowl. I manage to string together some non-Nico words and toss them in. Ivy mixes the paper up while staring me down. I meet her gaze. I know what she’s thinking. “You’re going to get it on tonight,” is what she’s thinking. I slow-blink at her, tossing my hair over one shoulder. “Not tonight, birthday girl,” my look tells her. “But someday.”

  “Okay,” Ivy tells me and Nico, “if you smile, grin or smirk, you drink once. If you full-on laugh you drink twice. If the person who’s reading the sentence doesn’t smile or laugh, then the person who wrote it has to drink. You have two seconds to read the sentence and then you have to say it. Those are the rules. Kat, you’re up first.”

  I grab a piece of paper while arranging my face into a frown. “Everyone say their favorite Sex and the City character. I’ll go first. Frodo.” I do not smile or laugh while saying that, and judging by the way Jared is snickering, he must have written that sentence. He takes a drink of his dark ale. Judging by the way Ivy is looking at him, she may have to find someone else for birthday sex.

  Nico grabs a piece of paper and keeps things moving, so Jared doesn’t realize that no one else is laughing. “I’m a little teapot. Short and stout. Here is my handle here is my—oh shit my mom’s home.” Nico looks up from the paper, without smiling. Jared takes another drink. “That one’s a thinker,” Nico says.

  Ivy bursts out laughing and holds up her hand for Jared to high-five her. “I get that! That is some next-level shit!” And Jared is back in the game.

  Everyone besides Nico and me are pretty drunk by now, so it’s a given that they’re going to laugh at anything. When Ivy picks up a piece of paper and reads it, she blows air out of her nose and covers her mouth, before saying, “Is that Ivy’s natural hair color?” She erupts into a fit of giggles—the likes of which I have never seen before. “Why is that so funny?! Who wrote that?”

  “I was just wondering if you were born with that shade of fuchsia or a lighter pink,” Nico says, straight-faced.

  Ivy crumples up the paper and tosses it at him. “You’ve ruined me!” She takes two big gulps from her glass.

  It’s my turn again. “Why did the mushroom like to party so much?” I laugh. I can’t help it. “Because he was a fun guy.” Ivy and the three dudes groan. I cover my face. “That is only funny because I almost wrote down that one.” I take two sips of my Alohomora and when I put the glass down, Nico is holding his hand up for me to high-five him. “That was you?!”

  “I’ve got a million of ‘em. My sister and I used to tell each other jokes when we were kids. It was either that or we fought with each other.”

  He reaches for a slip of paper and starts smiling as soon as he reads my goofy words. “A sandwich walks into a bar.” He looks over at me, quietly laughing. “The bartender says, ‘I’m sorry—we don’t serve food in here.’” He nudges my shoulder with his and then takes two sips of his beer.

  From then on, we both have big dumb smiles on our faces the entire time, which means we are losing at this game but winning at something else entirely. By the time I’ve finished my drink, I have to tap out of the game. I’m feeling warmer inside and loose-y goosier than ever, but one glance at my watch and I know that I have to go home. It’s too dark in here for me to actually read my watch to see what time it is, so I check my phone for that—but I know I have to go.

  “It’s a school night,” I say, apologetically, to Ivy and the gang.

  Both Ivy and Nico know that I am used to working until three am on school nights, but I need to stop drinking and get home before eleven if I want to be the mom who doesn’t smell like booze while having breakfast with her kid.

  And also, I want to get to the saying goodnight to Nico part of the evening ASAP.

  “I’ll drive you home,” he says, as I’m opening up the Uber app.

  “Thank you, but it’s out of your way,” I say. “And there are far too many places for me to ask you to pull over so I can climb on top of you between here and there.”

  He smirks, brown eyes fla
shing with heat and humor. “If it helps, I’d be happy to let you climb on top of me where I’m parked right now. Get it out of the way.”

  He watches as I confirm the Uber pickup, and I have to give him credit for not being pushy. He twirls his key ring around his finger. “Right. I’ll wait outside with you.”

  “Yes please.”

  He pauses by a table, to tell them that he’ll be back in a bit, and then strides ahead to hold the door open for me.

  The night air is crisp and refreshing, the street as quiet as it was when I came out earlier. I stop a few feet from the entrance to the bar and he stands in front of me. “A car will be here in five minutes,” I tell him, sliding my phone back into my pocket.

  “Damn you for being so efficient, Uber,” he mutters. “Damn you for being so beautiful, Katherine.” He hooks his fingers into the belt loops on either side of my jeans, glancing ever so subtly but longingly down at my awesome pushed-up boobs and cleavage. Thanks, Mom!

  I’ve been looking forward to the goodnight kiss for an hour, and now that he’s making a move, half of those drunk stomach butterflies are like “YAAAAAHHHH! GET IT GURL!” and the other half are all, “Excuse me, but this is not merely a goodnight kiss—this is the beginning of the rest of your life.”

  Fuck you, butterflies. You’re no help at all.

  His face is inches from mine, waiting for me to tilt my chin up.

  His lips brush against my right cheekbone.

  The tips of his thumbs slowly and confidently explore the skin between the waist of my jeans and the hem of my shirt.

  This certainly does feel more like the beginning of something than the end of some random night.

  “I’m glad I got to see you tonight,” I whisper, barely loud enough for me to hear myself.

  “Me too,” he exhales, as he presses his lips against my left cheek, so close to my mouth.

  “I need you to take things slow with me. Okay?”