I had to start somewhere, though. He was level one in my dating life. If I chickened out this time, I’d have to start at the same level—I couldn’t jump to level two.
Leaving wouldn’t accomplish anything. But that didn’t mean I had to go in totally blind.
“Austin,” I whisper-shouted across two middle-aged guys with their hands wrapped around their brown bottles. They halted their stilted conversation and leaned back uncomfortably. I leaned with them so as not to be seen by anyone at the other end of the bar. “Austin!”
Austin took a twenty from someone down the way and glanced at me. I gestured him closer.
His saunter looked loose and confident, like he had a line on a horse that was going to make him a millionaire. That, or he knew of a joke that he couldn’t wait to see play out.
I was the joke. I hoped to hell my date wasn’t the punch line.
“What’s he like?” I asked as he came closer, still mostly whispering.
Austin leaned against the bar with one hand, his muscles popping out through his plain shirt. “He’s exactly what you’d expect from online dating.”
I grimaced. I didn’t know what that meant, but I assumed it wasn’t good. “What sort of guy is he?”
“And ruin the surprise?” He winked, that action always upping his level of hotness. I was certain he knew it, just like he understood the impact of his muscle shows. The plain shirt made his very opposite of plainness more noticeable.
I met that wink with a scowl. “He’s not dangerous, right? Nice guy?”
“Not dangerous, no. You would’ve been fine without the magic.” He turned toward the cash register. “Middle of the bar. Blue dress shirt.”
“Good luck,” the guy next to me said, and lifted his beer in a salute. His buddy followed.
“Right, sure, yeah. Thanks.” I stepped back from the bar and cautiously headed to the middle, looking at the backs as I did so. Since this bar was mostly full of magical people, most were in good shape. They might not do much fighting these days—Austin had ensured O’Briens was a safe haven for magical misfits—but they apparently lived in a state of readiness in case their pasts came back to haunt them.
…wide back in black…thin but muscular back in red…toned female back in purple…a little padding covering a powerful body in a very bright orange sweater that would fade after the first wash…
I stopped as I reached the blue dress shirt loosely draped over a much softer body than I remembered from his profile pictures. Gray-white hair created a horseshoe around a balding, shiny head that also did not match the pictures I’d seen, his hair different in both color and plenitude. Large love handles worked to escape the straining brown belt on the gray slacks.
This person did not scream “middle-aged and in great shape” like he’d very clearly identified himself on his dating profile and showed in his—obviously quite dated—profile pictures. I wasn’t expecting a bodybuilder, but “athletic” seemed to mean something different to him than it did to me.
Two seats beyond him, Niamh glanced back at me. Without a word, she shifted back toward the bar. I didn’t know if that was good or bad. Maybe she was just giving me my privacy…for the first time ever.
“Um…” I inched closer, scanning to make sure my date couldn’t be anyone else. No one else wore a blue dress shirt, but maybe Austin had been confused. I could only hope. I inched closer still. “Gary?”
The man straightened up and half turned, revealing loose jowls and a collection of wrinkles. His dull, watery eyes brightened when he saw me, and his gaze did a sweep, similar to Austin’s.
“Oh, wow.” His yellowed smile revealed crooked teeth, yet another discrepancy from his profile. What else hadn’t he mentioned? Knowing how to work a little magic with Photoshop?
He struggled off the stool, his movements stiff. “Hel-lo!” He laughed and moved in for a hug.
“Oh…” I tried not to grimace as his arms encircled me. I patted his back, stiffening.
“You look even better than your picture! You don’t see that very often,” he said with a toothy grin, gesturing to the open stool next to him. “I’m so used to women lying about their weight, you know? They say fit, but…” He gave me a long look as he struggled back into his seat, indicating these women clearly didn’t live up to his expectations. Once seated, he sighed and looked around. “Boy, am I relieved. I figured, since you wanted to meet at a bar—sit at the bar, no less—that you must be one of those women.” He widened his eyes, his brown peepers swimming in white for a moment. He must’ve seen my “confused, bordering on annoyed” expression. “Bar bunnies, you know? The kind at the end of their rope, grasping at straws, desperate for a man…” He laughed. “But that’s not you at all, is it?” His grin said we were sharing a joke of some kind.