Page 53 of Leave a Mark
Wren:Yes. I’ve moved on to slaying tequila.
This news intrigued him. She was out but still texting him. He gave in to his curiosity.
Lee:Where is this doomed tequila?
He texted her as he took the elevator from the maternity ward down to the cafeteria. Lee was hoping to get a sandwich before his next delivery — and maybe a nap.
Wren:Agave. Top Shelf Margarita. In a cactus glass.
Lee grabbed a turkey avocado wrap with a fruit salad and a bag of chips. He’d usually go up to the breakroom on third and see if Mercer wanted to play cards or watchThe Daily Show, but he didn’t want to put away his phone. He wanted to know more about what Wren was doing.
Lee:Are you hanging with friends?
Wren:Sort of.
Sort of hanging? Or sort of friends? Was she with a guy? If she was, what did texting him mean?
Lee:Sort of???
Wren:Too hard to explain in a text.
Lee didn’t wait to respond. Instead, he tapped his screen and put the phone to his ear. It rang three times before she answered, and music blared out of the phone.
“I can’t hear a thing. Hang on,” she said by way of greeting.
Lee smiled as he took another bite of his wrap. She’d taken his call. While at Agave. That had to be a good sign.
He heard a muffling around the din, and a moment later the noise faded but didn’t vanish.
“That’s better,” she said, coming back to him.
He put down his wrap. Her voice in his ear commanded his full attention.
“Sort ofbecause my best friend Cherise is a bartender here. I sit at the bar, and we talk when we can. But it’s packed tonight with the leftover Downtown Alive crowd, so, yeah. Sort of. But it’s cool.”
“So, when she’s busy, are you… just… alone?”
Wren laughed across the line. “Relax, doc, I’m not that pathetic. I used to work here, so I know practically everybody — all the staff, all the regulars. I’m pretty much at home.”
He could well-imagine that Wren wouldn’t want for company, especially male company. He pictured her indigo T-shirt with the quarter sleeves showing off her bougainvillea and hummingbirds. And the curve of her hips in that clinging gray skirt. The sight of her bottom perched on a barstool probably drew men in off the street.
“And the regulars at Agave have to be, what, like fifty and bald with excessive ear hair, right?” he asked hopefully.
Her laughter lit up his brain’s pleasure center. It was worth hearing, even if it meant he was dead wrong about the clientele.
“No ear hair in sight,” she said, sounding highly amused.
“Damn,” he muttered, trying to picture where she was. Agave usually had live music, and it had sounded like a band playing in the background when she answered. The bandstand was on the patio outside the bar. Between it and the outdoor tables, there was a small dance floor. Guys would see her sitting alone at the bar and ask her to dance. “Do you dance?”
“Sorry?” Only then did he realize how random his question sounded. Lee tried to recover.
“Do you like to dance?”
Wren paused. “Um… yeah, sometimes.”
“I love to dance,” Lee told her honestly.
“Really?” He could hear the smile in her voice, and it felt like victory.
