All of the Lights (5 page)

"Nice try. I guess we're on the right side of town for that one," he shudders a little through his chuckle and then snaps his fingers. "I've got it: you have 206 bones in your body. Let's add one more."

I resist the urge to swat him on the shoulder.
Do not get engage physically. Pretend he's a creeper. God, if this is what a creeper looks like, then sign me up. He must have a waiting list.

I get the sense our little game has reached its end because he glances covertly around my shoulder and cocks an eyebrow at me.

"I'm not gonna have an angry boyfriend all up in my face now, am I?"

This time, I don't miss a beat. "Geez. That's probably the worst line you've used on me this entire time. Not very subtle, my friend. Not. At. All."

He holds his hands up in defense. "Just tryin' to cover all my bases before we slide into home later tonight."

"Oh God," I grumble. "I take it back.
That
was the worst one. And no, there's no angry boyfriend, so you can rest easy while you watch the fight now."

Grey eyes squint back at me for just a second and then one side of his face curls up into a smirk. "I wasn't that worried," he slips his phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen before tilting his chin up to me again. "Got a little time before I have to head back inside. You're comin' in for the fight though, right?"

"Ah, no. I wasn't planning on it," I shake my head at him and his eyebrows fly into his forehead.

"What?" he frowns. "What are you doin' then? And don't take this the wrong way, but you really shouldn't be out here by yourself. You're lucky as shit it was me who walked out that door and not someone else."

"I know, I know," I wave off his concern even though my cheeks are hot. "It's a long story. My sister wanted to see the fight, but she's not on the list. My friend has a cousin who bartends here, so he's trying to get her in. I just wanted some quiet, but this wasn't really the place to look for it, was it?"

Now his frown just deepens and I can see how this would be confusing. If I'm standing outside waiting with my sister to get in the club, then why wouldn't I go inside too? That would just open up a whole other mountain of questions I don't want to touch with a ten-foot pole, so I skirt around anything that would potentially identify me as the one person who shouldn't be within a hundred miles of this place.

"Besides," I push on. "You're one to talk. I thought the whole reason people vaped was so they didn't have to go outside to smoke. What are
you
doing out here?"

"Same thing you were," he shrugs and then that sly glint is back. "If your friend can't get your sister in, I'm sure I could find a way to sneak her inside."

"Thanks," I smile. "That would be really nice of you."

"It's not a problem.
Especially
if it gets you inside the club, too."

My eyes lift back up to the night sky above us. "Another terrible line. And sorry, but my friend and I have other plans tonight."

"It wasn't a line," he tells me and I think I believe him. "What exactly are these other plans?"

"Oh, you know, just some dancing and listening to awful club music. But it's good though. I've been needing to do something like this for awhile."

All I have to see is the question in his eyes and it just tumbles out.

"I just moved back to the city three months ago. I was stuck doing accounting and risk-management for a firm in Philly and I hated every single second of it. I'm sure you're wondering why I even bothered," I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and didn't give him the chance to respond. "I guess the simple answer is that math was just always something I was good at, so I just kept doing it."

It was the safe choice and it was a choice I'd regretted all the way up until my boss called me into his office. Still, a stable career with guaranteed income and health insurance is hard to argue with, but there's a reason I still haven't updated my resume.

"Anyway," I push on, very aware that his full attention rests on me. "I got
let go
, which, let's be honest, is just a nice little euphemism for
you suck and you're fired
."

He huffs out a laugh, but I find sympathy there, too. He's listening. He's not walking away now that our conversation has shifted to something a little more personal. He wants to keep talking to me, so I might as well run with it. Who knows when I'll ever get the chance to have a moment with someone like him again?

"It was a relief, actually, even if their methods were terrible," I shake my head at the memory. "They actually called me in on a Thursday morning, told me I'd lost my job, and then expected me to finish out the day."

"Jesus Christ," he exhales and blows out a deep breath. "So did yah stay?"

"Nope," I grin back at him. In a rare show of real courage, I'd packed up the little belongings I had at my desk and walked right out the door. It's one of the few things in my life I'm actually proud of.

"Good girl," he nods. "What were they gonna do? Fire yah?"

"Exactly."

"That's feckin' typical, though, right?" he shakes his head and tucks that vape pen out of his pocket again to take a long pull from it. "You've got these corporate jockeys who just see you as a number on their spreadsheets and a notch on their yearly take-home 'cause they have to give you a severance package. Lemme guess, they used the good 'ol,
this has nothing to do with your job performance
excuse, huh?"

"Pretty much," I laugh mirthlessly. "And they added in,
this is strictly budgetary
too just for good measure."

"Bastards," he mutters with a smirk. "You're better off where you're at now."

"Maybe," I allowed. This was the part where I really needed to end the story, but my mouth just wouldn't stop. "I guess it didn't really help that my boyfriend decided to dump me a week later."

The sting still hasn't gone away. That rejection and dismissal from both my job and my relationship. Not being wanted. Not being important enough to fight for. I guess that's the story of my life—one big fat dead-end after another, forever fated to afterthought status.

His eyebrows fly all the way up to his hairline and he lets out a long whistle. Now he's angled his body so that we're finally facing each other for the first time since he walked out here. A tight smile presses to his lips, but this time, some of the playfulness that had been there before has evaporated. Before either of us can get another word in, my phone rings from inside my purse and I dig inside it to glance at the caller ID.

My sister's puckered-up face flashes across my screen. For the first time in too long, I hit ignore as he watches my movements from over my shoulder and toss my phone back into my purse.

"That was my sister," I shrug, but I can't focus on much else but the way his forehead has creased into a deep frown. "I'll check in with her in a little bit."

His eyes flick back up to me again and some of that softness is back again.

"Your sister doesn't look anything like you," he muses, gauging my reaction carefully.

He's officially hit a sore subject—I've responded to this exact same non-question my entire life and giving my stock answer one more time still doesn't sit well. My sister, with her long, flowing chocolate hair, matching eyes, and tiny frame, is the spitting image of my step-mom. I, on the other hand, look like a clone of my mom, or so I've been told.

"We're half-sisters," I tell him, my eyes drifting back down to the pavement as I speak.

I have no idea why I just told him that. It wasn't like he asked, but I offered that piece of information without a second thought.

He mulls it over as he rocks back on his heels a little. "Families are bizzah."

I'm still rusty, still trying to shake Philly off me, and it takes me a second to realize he means bizarre. Still, I appreciate the sentiment and return the sympathetic smile he's sending my way.

"All families are messed up. I think some of us are just better at hiding it than others."

He nods with a somber smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "So I really can't convince yah to come in, can I?"

"Nope," I shake my head even though I have to admit, he's almost got me. "Sorry."

"Did you at least put some money down on the fight?"

I hadn't thought about it, but I guess since I'm here anyway...

"Who should I bet on?"

That devilish smile slides up his lips again. "Put whatever you've got on Flynn. He never loses."

"Huh. I didn't know that."

He slips his phone out of his pocket again to glance at the screen. "Couple more minutes and I gotta head back inside. Well, if you're ditchin' me tonight, maybe I can catch yah tomorrow?"

Heat rushes into my cheeks again and spreads all the way down to my toes. If he knew who I was, he'd probably push me into oncoming traffic, but I can't resist the sincerity in his voice. I've known this guy for a whole ten minutes and I've basically told him my life story, save for a few minor, important details. It just slipped out and I don't really know why I felt comfortable enough to tell him all that. I just know I felt it. Too bad there's a little snag in his plan.

"I'm pretty much working all day tomorrow," and then the words slip out before I can stop them. "What about Sunday?"

He clucks his teeth together and winces. "Sundays aren't real good for me, but I'd move some things around if I didn't have to work."

"Where do you work?"

It finally dawns on me that he hasn't asked me that question yet and I'm grateful for it. I just want this to last a little longer before the inevitable implosion.

He motions with his head toward the bar.

"Really? Are you a bouncer or something?"

He laughs again and shakes his head. "Nope. I bartend here pretty much every day except Fridays and Saturdays. It turns into a pretty nice, respectable sports bar when all this other shit isn't goin' on."

I can't help the way my lips curl up at his pronunciation:
baah.

"What?"

"Nothing," I say innocently.

He rolls his eyes up to sky and glances at me exasperatedly. "
Anyway,
if you're done zooin' on me, maybe you'd wanna stop by this way on Sunday anytime after six? I gotta go to mass and then I gotta visit my brother, so I won't be in the bar before then."

"Oh," I nod carefully, weighing the pros and cons of actually showing up here again on Sunday. I just need more time, so I shift from side to side, wincing a little as the pressure on my knee shoots down to my ankle.

He frowns at the moment, catching the pain that must be written all over my face.

Now I throw the first thing I can come up with at the wall and hope it sticks. "Does your brother live here in the city?"

Cloudiness fills his eyes and all I get is: "No."

Still, I push forward because I'm grasping at straws in my weak attempt at stalling. "Where does he live?"

"Prison."

"Oh," that's about all I can come up with. "I'm sorry."

He just lifts a shoulder, but a tight line ticks down his jaw. "Maybe it'd be a little different visitin' him every week if he actually did what they said he did."

I don't have much time to digest that because my phone rings again and some quick digging inside my purse shows me that Bennett's calling me this time. This is dangerous territory, but I just can't force myself to walk away just yet. It's so easy, standing here and talking to him like this. I can't remember the last time anything felt this effortless.

But when he glances at his phone again, I know our time has officially run its course. It was bound to happen eventually, but that still doesn't explain the disappointment that this fleeting moment in a dark alley outside a club is over.

"I gotta head back inside now," he pauses and then his lips curl into the most devastating grin I've ever seen. "You gotta come in for the fight. Even if it's not your thing, your sister's probably already inside and you can meet up with her. And after the fight, I'd really like to buy you a drink. I can usually guess people's drink and I think I've got you figured out. I wanna see if I'm right."

"I doubt it," I laugh, but it's forced and fake, seeped in regret. It feels duplicitous, standing here talking to him like this when I know I'll never get to see him again, when I know something he doesn't. "I don't drink hard alcohol anyway."

He just shrugs like that little kernel of information isn't important and in the grand scheme of things, I guess it isn't. I almost said,
anymore
, but he doesn't need to know that. And I don't need to rehash why either.

So I waver between doing the smart thing and the dumb thing. The problem is that it feels like there's a dangerous grey area between those two choices. Part of me desperately wants to see where this goes and how long I can slide under the radar. The other part of me knows this will just epically blow up in my face.

"Come on," he tries again. "I don't even know your name. Help a guy out, you know?"

My body freezes right where I stand. Here it is. Next stop, Implosion City.

"Okay, fine. Let's do this the hard way," he chuckles and shakes his head as he backpedals toward the side door. "I lost my number. Can I have yours?"