ASSESSING THE SITUATION
It wasn’t my
fault—at least, not entirely. Henry Logan, my roommate and Captain in the
Air Force, was technically to blame. The guy had been acting so unusually moody
for the past five weeks that I was getting desperate to see a smile on his
face; so, that Saturday night, I suggested we head to our favorite bar at
Bricktown and just drink the night away, confident that Henry, even in his
grumpy-bear state, could never turn down beer.
After parking his
convertible Mustang, we walked down the street to Tapwerk s in silence. I waited for him to open up, to tell me what had been
bothering him, but no dice.
“What is with you
lately?” I asked.
Henry stuck his
hands in his jacket pocket and shrugged. “Nothing, why?”
I raised my
eyebrow at him. He could successfully pull off the nonchalant attitude on
anyone but me. I’d known him for thirteen years and had lived with him for two.
I could decipher his every expression, sometimes to the point of reading his
mind. “Come on. Are you on your period or something?” I asked with a teasing
jab of the elbow. “Do you need to borrow a tampon?”
That finally got
a small laugh out of him. “Elsie, you are such a brat,” he said. He reached
over to ruffle my curly brown hair, but I anticipated that move and did a
little ninja-ballerina maneuver to avoid him.
“Hey,” I said,
“leave the hair alone.” I slipped my arm through his as we stood in line for
the bar—Tapwerks was the place
to be on weekends—trying to pilfer some of his warmth. He was 6’2” and
built like a brick wall; he had plenty of everything to spare.
As I craned my
head to look at the people in line, dressed up in their casual best, I suddenly
caught a glimpse of Henry, his face partially lit by the soft glow from the
bar’s windows. It struck me then that he was really no longer that awkward kid
I grew up with but a man , and a
gorgeous one at that. I’d always known he was good-looking—hell I’d had a
crush on him since my brother started hanging out with him in their sophomore
year of high school—but the way the shadows played on his face rendered
planes I never knew existed. His short dark hair and the scruff on his strong
jaw lent a nice contrast to his olive skin, and he had a proud nose with a
little cleft at the end that matched the cleft on his chin. But it was his eyes
that drew my gaze, those icy blues that seemed as if they could see into my
every thought.
I stared at him
for a long moment, feeling a strange tickle in my chest, when I came to the
realization that he was staring back.
“You okay, Elsie?”
he asked in that husky, gravelly voice of his. Had he always sounded so sexy?
I gave him my
best sunny smile, shaking off the confusing feelings that had snuck up on me.
“Just wondering why you don’t have a girlfriend.”
His lips quirked
up a little and I felt a finger tickle me on the side, but he didn’t bother
answering the question.
Inside, the two
floors were at full capacity and there were no available tables or chairs, so
we stood at the bar, trying our hardest to get the bartender’s attention. I was
only 5’6”, so Henry theoretically had a better chance at visibility, but
somehow, the male bartender’s eyes just kept flitting right over him as if he
was invisible.
“Let me try.” I
stepped up on the brass rail that ran along the bottom of the bar and squeezed
my arms together, causing instant cleavage over the low neck of my loose top.
The bartender
noticed. He finished up his orders and came right to me with an appreciative
smile. “What’ll it be?”
“Woodchuck Cider,
Sam Adams, and two tequila shots,” I said, and straightened up.
Henry was doing
the big brother scowl when I joined him back down on the floor.
“What?” I asked,
preparing for the lecture. “When you’ve got ‘em, use ‘em.”
He glowered down
at me with a disapproving purse to his lips but said nothing. God,
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