Chapter 3
It’s early, and the bar isn’t even at quarter capacity. It’s easy to find a space at the bar, and I pull out my credit card to open up my tab.
A bartender so beautiful I find it hard to formulate words comes over to take my order. She has the body of a model, and I can’t tell what race she is. She has an other-worldly face, fair skin, and a perfect black bob hairstyle. Her beautiful full lips move again, and I replay what she just said in my head.What can I get you?
“Um—sorry. Whiskey sour, please.”
She takes my credit card and comes back with my drink a few minutes later.
“Here,” she says. “I like your accent.”
“Thanks.” My face grows hot, and it’s not the whiskey.
“¿Hablas español?”
My head snaps up to her in surprise. Her Spanish is impeccable. “Sí,” I say. We switch back to English after that. “Where are you from?” I ask.
“I’m Chicana. Mom’s Mexican, and dad’s Chinese. It throws people off. I know.” She laughs easily as she says this. “I haven’t seen you around here. You work at the hospital?”
“No. New in town,” I say.
“I’m Sofia,” the bartender says and stretches her hand out to me. “I own the place.”
I shake her hand and smile. “Valentina. Nice to meet you.”
“Welcome to KC. Let me know when you want another one, okay?”
“Thanks.”
Sofia walks away to flirt with two customers a few seats down the bar. Poor suckers don’t know she is playing them so that they buy more drinks. I smile. I like this woman.
Sipping on my cocktail, I scan the room for a potential one-night-stand. Someone muscular and handsome who won’t need to ask for my phone number after. Someone alone, and more importantly, someone single. Nothing on the menu is appetizing yet, so I order a second drink and nurse it as I wait for the place to fill up.
A few guys come up to hit on me, but they aren’t my type. I don’t feel any attraction physically, and if Mandy is right and this is my last hurrah for a while, then I want something yummy. I mean, someone yummy. Fuck it. Men objectify women all the time, so I have exactly zero qualms about objectifying them just this once. They would be doing a humanitarian service, I decide. Would they go for it if I sold it as some sort of make-a-wish-for-adults service? No. That would probably kill the mood.
A third man walks over to hit on me, clearly inebriated. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Could he even get it up, as drunk as he seems to be? Probably not. I smile and do my best to be nice to him—though I hate that’s my impulse.
He sways a bit, but it’s enough for me to notice. His black hair is slicked back with gel, like this is the nineties or something. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asks.
I point to my glass, showing it’s half full. “Got one. Thanks, though.” I smile curtly and divert my eyes from him, hoping he takes the hint.
“Oh, I like your accent. Where are you from,señorita?” he asks.
I do roll my eyes this time and take a sip of my drink. “I’m from Mexico. Where are you from?” I ask pointedly, though I probably shouldn’t engage him any further.
Sofia looks at me with a question in her eyes. I roll my eyes and shake my head as if to sayI got it, thanks. She tips her chin, and I know she’ll throw his ass out if he gets rowdy. Hopefully, I can get him to back away without having to make a scene. I am here to catch a big fish, after all. I won’t have a bite if I come across as drama before the night even starts.
“I’m from this here, the U.S. of A.” He grins, and it feels eerily like he is about to pound his chest with his fists like a Neanderthal. He is somewhat handsome, tall, black hair, blue eyes. If he wasn’t that far drunk, and he hadn’t opened his mouth, I may have considered him as my boy-toy for the night. “I’m Doctor Keach,” he adds. When he saysdoctor, I take it I’m supposed to be impressed.
“I’m actually waiting for someone, so if you don’t mind . . .” I trail off, hoping he gets the hint this time.
“Oh, come on. You look so exotic, like a spicy Latina.” He says Latina with a mocking accent that I can only assume is meant to mimic my own. My nostrils flare, and I count to ten.
This idiot doesn’t realize I could have him on the ground and begging for his mommy in less than ten seconds flat.Don’t use your power on civilians, Valentina.I remind myself of Chema’s anger management lessons. Leave it for the cage.Never out in everyday life.
“We can have a good time, honey,” he slurs.
“Sorry, buddy, she’s with me.” A voice much too deep for the body it came out of turns both our attention. I do a double-take when I see Rory, who is in the process of placing his hand on the small of my back. He doesn’t make contact with me, though, and instead lets his hand hover over my backside. He wants drunky here to believe it, and he is selling it good.