Better Than You: part 3

3.

 

“…no, see, I’m not charming. I don’t believe in wasting valuable time trying to sweet talk some crying-into-her-cosmo jilted date to take me home with them.” Jordan pulled a mug down from the overhead rack and put it under the Budweiser tap. “The trick is to find someone who wants exactly what you want out of the night. No clutter. No awkwardness.”

 

“My brother the love doctor,” Mike shook his head and reached for his beer. “Dude, no offense -,”

 

“Hey,” Tam said beside him at the bar, “you don’t have to tell him he’s full of it. Just nod and smile and try not to hurt his little feelings.”

 

“Thanks,” Jordan said, dead-faced. “Thanks for making me feel all grown up and validated.”

 

“For what it’s worth, I agree with you,” Tam said and accepted the beer that was passed across the bar top to him. “But Captain Optimism over there thinks the chase is fun.”

 

Jordan snorted. “Chasing’s not fun. Chasing’s for back of the pack losers who can’t win.”

 

Tam nodded. “See?” he glanced over at Mike. “He’s a runner; he knows these things.”

 

“He’s also a bartender. I think I’ll get my life advice somewhere else.”

 

“I might gag on all this flattery,” Jordan said, and picked up the rag he’d left on the bar. “I’ll check on you losers in a minute.”

 

Of all the coed party bars in midtown – full of drunken barely legal girls sipping bubblegum colored umbrella drinks – Jordan worked at one of the few dark and depressing, good old fashioned grown up bars. Double Down was busy even for a Friday; the long, dark, high-gloss bar that ran the whole length of the main room’s longest wall was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with middle aged men and couples watching the game up on the flat screen behind the bar. With the economy in the shitter, Jordan had moved back in with Mom and Dad (and Jo) and was holding down two part-time jobs, his degree totally useless. He was one of two bartenders – the other a thirty-something bottle blonde with a big rack and a knowing smile – and even if Mike gave his little brother hell about it, Jordan’s flat-faced cynicism was exactly the sort of personality most patrons expected out of a bartender in a place like this.

 

“So, hey,” Mike leaned over on his stool so he could get closer to Tam, close enough to be heard above the din of voices and TVs around them. “I went back to Nordstrom today.”

 

Tam sipped his beer and stared at the back wall, but Mike thought his eyes might have rolled, the light striking off their convex profiles. “Why? Were they having a sale on bath salts, Nancy?”

 

“Uh, no. I went to see Delta.”

 

“And lived to tell me about it?”

 

“Dude, get over yourself.”

 

Tam sighed and turned to face him, his expression disinterested under the black razor slashes of his hair. “Fine,” he said robotically. “How’d it go?”

 

“It - ,”

 

His phone rang.

 

“Hold on a sec.”

 

“Yeah,” Tam’s gaze went back to the TV, shaking his head like he thought Mike was an idiot.

 

Whatever. Mike dug his cell out of his pants pocket and read the ID display; he didn’t recognize the number. “Yeah?” he answered and reached for the bowl of peanuts he and Tam were sharing.

 

“Is this Michael?” a female voice asked and his hand froze. “Michael Walker?”

 

For one shameful moment, he was as excited and jittery as a high school girl. “Yes it is,” he levered a healthy dose of brightness into his voice, regretting his earlier “yeah”.

 

He knew who it was; the little sigh on the other end of the line was all too familiar by this point. He envisioned her red lips pressed together, dark eyes rolling like she couldn’t believe her own stupidity. “This is…um, this is Delta Brooks.” There was a noise like she’d swallowed. “From Nordstrom.”

 

Score! He pumped a fist in the air in silent triumph and Tam was forced to grin, even if it was reluctant. He kept it cool on the phone, though. “Hey, dollface.”

 

“Doll – oh,” she groaned. “You know, I can’t believe I -,”

 

Mike’s confidence fell out through the soles of his feet. “Wait, wait. Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” Tam sniggered into his beer, “are you still there?”

 

She huffed an aggravated breath across the receiver. “Yes. I’m still here, though I don’t know why.”

 

Mike’s brain spun for a furious handful of silent seconds, his pulse thumping in his ears. He had a serious tightrope to walk here, and with victory one step closer, he wasn’t throwing in the towel yet. “Well…” he said carefully, “you didn’t throw my card away.”

 

“No.”

 

“So that’s something.”

 

“Is it?” she challenged.

 

“I think so. I was hoping you’d call.”

 

There was a long pause, a rustle of some kind of fabric, another small sigh. This one wasn’t as agitated. More resigned. Maybe, he imagined, even a little bit sad.

 

Mike tunneled through his memory and dredged up a genuine voice. The kind of voice he’d talk to his mother with because, clearly, there was no charming this Delta girl. “Are you having a nice night?” he asked, all innocence.

 

Another pause. “Not really,” she said, something lacing her voice he hadn’t heard at the store earlier.

 

“Why not?”

 

“My dinner didn’t agree with me.” And for some reason, he didn’t think she was talking about her stomach.

 

Jordan came back down the bar. “Do you jerk-offs -,” Mike silenced him with a wave.

 

“What’s his problem?”

 

“He’s getting rejected,” Tam supplied.

 

Mike plugged up his free ear with a knuckle. “I’m sorry,” he told Delta.

 

“Yeah, well…” she trailed off and took a deep breath, let it out again. She was wrestling with her decision to call him, he could tell, chastising herself.

 

He was over the moon, though. “How ‘bout if I make tomorrow night better? You wanna have dinner?” She was silent. “I mean, unless you’re still seeing someone…”

 

“I’m…I,” she sighed again, “I can have dinner.”

 

Mike grinned and shot his brother and best friend the bird. They both rolled their eyes. “Tomorrow, then. I’ll text you the address.”

 

**

 

When Mike left, Tam stopped even pretending to smile. Jordan had watched the guy’s depression deepen and darken over the past three or so years and it was exasperating. He worked the bar and took Tam refills and waited, because the question always came, always said in that same sad-sack, kicked-puppy voice.

 

Jordan was reaching for a fresh mug from the overhead rack when Tam’s eyes flashed up to his face.

 

“How is she?”

 

Jordan sighed. Jo was probably the only person alive who didn’t know that, nearly four years later, Tam was still hung up on her. “If you’d just nut up and call her, then you’d know how she is.”

 

Tam made a face and stared down into his beer, shaking his head.

 

“She’s got a cold,” Jordan finally relented. “Keeps the whole house up at night coughing. But she’s fine.” Tam nodded. “And she handles single life better than you, dude.”

 

**

 

She was making a huge mistake.

 

“You have reached your destination,” the computerized GPS voice announced as Delta turned in at the address Mike had sent her. It was a bowling alley. “Let’s meet for dinner,” he’d said, and she was at a bowling alley. Either he thought this was a cute joke, or this was his idea of a date. Neither was comforting for someone who was allergic to all things impulsive and frivolous.

 

Delta parked her Volvo and then stared up at the glaringly bright neon sign above the building’s front entrance. It had been years since she’d been in a pair of bowling shoes; she’d spent every summer up until she was fifteen with her grandparents – her dad’s parents – and her grandfather had been in a bowling league. Her parents were stiff and stern and polished, but her grandparents…she’d been a kid with them. Not anyone’s collection of expectations, nobody’s princess – just a girl who went bowling with her grandpa. The old memories, sepia-toned and curling at the edges, came flooding back to her, bringing with them a nostalgia she didn’t want to feel when she met Mike Walker inside. She dated the right kind of men these days, not…whatever he was, and she didn’t want to be full of warm fuzzies and reminiscing when she was supposed to be scrutinizing his faults.

 

With one last check of her lipstick – she’d gone with nude to complement her smoky eye shadow, the effects of which would be lost in the dark interior of the alley – and took a deep breath. Here went nothing.

 

The place was one of those loud bowling/arcade combos, a staff member stationed at the door to snap a plastic over-twenty-one bracelet around her wrist. The lighting was poor and the thumping music competed with the electronic chimes and kids’ shouts over in the arcade, but despite the chaos, Mike was easy to find. His height and the width of his shoulders made the other guys sitting at the bar with him look like children.

 

As she stared at his back, thinking about leaving, he turned to survey the room and spotted her. He waved. And she had to admit his big Captain America smile was cute, if nothing else.

 

You’ve lost your mind, she told herself, and walked over to meet him.

 

“Hey.” He did not, thankfully, get up to give her one of those little date hugs strangers gave each other. He slid a frosted mug in front of her when she climbed onto the empty stool beside him. “I got you a beer.”

 

She glanced sideways at him; he was in jeans and a navy long-sleeved t-shirt. Much more casual than she was.

 

“It’s a light beer,” he gave her the up-down look. “Wow, you really dressed up.”

 

She tugged at the hem of her black sleeveless dress with an unhappy half-smile. She was in tights and knee-high boots, her long wool military coat. She’d spent a half hour sorting through outfits. “If I’d known we were bowling…” she let it hang, his sheepish smile signaling he knew she was unhappy.

 

“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d come if I told you what we were doing.”

 

Her reply died in her throat; he was right. “Yeah.”

 

“It won’t matter,” he slid off his stool, beer in hand. “Come on. Nobody ever said you couldn’t wear a little black dress with red clown shoes.”

 

Even pissed off about her wardrobe, Delta almost smiled. She didn’t, but she kind of wanted to.