Ask Me (Mess with Me 2)

“What’ll ya have?” The bartender is dressed similarly, in jeans and a black shirt except his has the name of the bar on the breast pocket.

“I don’t suppose you can do a Campari soda?” The look on his face tells me all I need to know. “Never mind. A beer, whatever you recommend is fine.”

I look around casually, taking in the general atmosphere and the people milling around in groups chatting. It’s been years since I’ve been to a place like this. After university, Philippe and I used to enjoy going out with Jason who has radar for the hippest and hottest new nightspots.

When did things change? When did we stop having fun?

The bartender slides a beer down to me and I’m pleasantly surprised when I try it. He chuckles at the look on my face.

“It’s our new summer ale. The owner brews it himself. It’s probably not the fa

ncy stuff you’re used to but…”

I lean over the bar. “Fancy? What makes you think I’m used to fancy stuff?”

His eyebrow lifts. “Dude, you’re wearing a Rolex in a bar.”

As he leaves to tend to his other customers, I take my watch off and put it in my pocket. It’s kind of funny. With all the work I put in to crafting a normal outfit, I completely missed the details. Maybe I should have called for backup.

I pull out my phone and dial Jason. He answers absently and slightly out of breath. The sounds of traffic filter though the line.

“Hey, are you busy right now?”

“Always busy,” he responds automatically. “Why, what’s up? We didn’t have a meeting tonight did we?”

“No. The opposite, I’m attempting to relax. I could use some help.”

He laughs. “Oh wow. First you leave early. Now you’re actually going out. This I have to see. Wingman on the way.”

Twenty minutes after I text him the name of the bar, he walks in still wearing a suit. He does a double take when he sees me.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I thought you were someone else. You remind me of my friend, Andre. But he would never be caught dead in cotton with anything less than 800 thread count.”

I finger the T-shirt. “Maybe I’m trying something different.”

“Philippe told me about your little experiment. I’m all for it.”

“You are?” I ask, instantly suspicious.

He loves to tease me about being uptight but Jason has standards that are just as high as I do. I’m pretty sure he’d be physically ill if he couldn’t eat at Michelin starred restaurants and have VIP access everywhere. He grew up poor and has resolved never to return to that life.

“Hell, yeah. Anything that gets you laid is a good idea.” His eyes narrow. “So first, you probably should loosen up a bit. Lose the frown. No, don’t smile like a clown just look relaxed. Like you’re just hanging out.”

I try out another expression but he still looks alarmed so I give up. “Let’s just accept that this is my resting expression.”

He blows out a breath. “Okay, so when you see a hot girl, don’t talk about work, obviously. Ask her about herself, her job and whether she likes what she does. Chicks love that shit.”

This seems like common sense to me so perhaps I’m worrying for nothing.

“Oh but make sure she knows you have a job. Tell her you own a company just not which one. You don’t want her to think you’re a loser.” He points at my shirt. “Maybe this is a bad idea. These clothes are like pussy repellant.”

I take another swig of beer. “I can’t talk about work but somehow I need her to know that I own my company. This is getting complicated.”

Behind Jason’s head, I see a swing of brown hair that looks familiar. I peer over his shoulder and then stand so I can see better.

The beautiful girl that threw her coffee on me yesterday morning is standing in the middle of the bar. The too-tight shirt is gone and instead she’s wearing skin tight jeans and a halter that shows off her shoulders and the sweet curve of her perky little breasts.

“Clumsy Girl. She’s here,” I whisper.