Ask Him (Mess with Me 1.50)

“Excellent. That’s where I’ll go.”

My enthusiasm seems to surprise him but he quickly recovers. “It’s a really fun place. They have pool and darts, too. But you can’t go like that.” He gestures to my suit. “It’s … not a dressy type of place.”

I clap him on the back. “Oh, don’t worry. I have just the thing to wear.”

The other valet pulls up then with my car and I tip him also. Now that I have a plan, I’m excited to get back to my room and start getting ready.

For someone who wears as many high-end fashions as I do, it’s a little strange that I’m so excited to put on an outfit that costs less than the belt I’m currently wearing. But there’s no denying that I am excited. Despite how high profile my life is, most of what I do is pretty repetitive. The same restaurants, the same exclusive parties, the same people kissing my ass.

But tonight is an unknown. I have no idea who I’ll meet, what we’ll do or how the night will end. All I know is that right now, the possibilities are endless. That excitement stays with me as I dress in another T-shirt and the same jeans, opting to omit the baseball cap this time.

Hammered is nestled between a barbecue eatery with a huge sign shaped like a pig and a music store. As I exit the cab, I’m enveloped in a crowd of people walking along the sidewalk and chattering excitedly. Luckily they’re going the same way I wanted to go.

I step into the slightly dim interior and take a moment to take it all in. There are several televisions hanging over the bar broadcasting a football game. I’ve never followed American football so I don’t know the teams but when everyone in the bar lets out a rousing cheer, I find myself caught up in the excitement as well. A place opens up at the bar and I take a stool at the end.

“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 fancy 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.”