Page 21 of Dirty Martinis

Mark stuck out his hand with an arrogant smile that said he was sizing Michael up the same way my friend was sizing him up.

“Mark Barone. You’re the roommate?”

“You’re the boss?” Michael countered.

The two men glared at each other.

“What’s going on here?” I asked in confusion as my gaze bounced between them.

They both ignored me.

“Oh hey guys, you beat me here.” A woman’s voice interrupted the standoff between the two men.

“Oh good. Hi, Lainie,” I said, getting up to give Mark’s wife a hug. “I was hoping you’d join us.”

Lainie shoved Mark over, breaking his stare-off with Michael, then looked at Michael curiously.

“Lainie, this is my friend and roommate, Michael.”

She held out her hand and gave him a smile. “Oh hi, I’m Lainie, Mark’s wife.”

Michael instantly relaxed, which just made Mark look more entertained. I never understood why men were so weird.

“I’ll have a dirty martini, please Michael.”

He got drink orders from Mark and Lainie and walked away. As soon as he left the table Lainie looked at her husband and raised an eyebrow.

“What was going on with Mark?”

“Olga’s roommate was feeling a little possessive,” Mark said. “I didn’t realize you two were dating.”

“We’re not,” I said. “I don’t know what that was about. I’ve never seen him act like that.”

“He was jealous,” Mark said. “He has feelings for you.”

I looked around to make sure that Michael was still behind the bar.

“No he doesn’t,” I said. “Does he?”

“Definitely,” Mark.

Michael

As I made drinks for Olga, her boss, and his wife, I chastised myself for acting like a jealous asshole. I had no claim on her, although God knows I wanted to.

Seeing Olga come in talking and laughing with the guy in the designer suit had sent me into a jealous rage, which was weird, because I’d never been in a jealous rage in my life. It was a good thing the wife had come in, otherwise I might have been tempted to punch that smug asshole in the face and carry Olga out of the bar over my shoulder.

“Manuel, can you run the bar?” I asked the employee who was coming on shift.

“Yeah, boss, sure.” His eyes lit up. Tips at the bar were always higher than waiting tables.

“Just call me if you get backed up.”

Even though they hadn’t ordered food, I put in an order for Olga’s favorite appetizers: a platter of nachos, spinach artichoke dip in a bread bowl, and some asparagus fries. Then I took over their drinks as well as something for myself and slid into the booth next to Olga.

“Mind if I join you?” I asked.

“Of course not,” Olga said.