“This little thing?” he said. “Jesus Christ, you drive a Prius.”
But he said it with a smile on his face, like he was giving me a hard time, but in a good-natured way.
“Yes I do,” I said. “I don’t think I’d be able to manage to parallel park anything bigger.”
We got in and he directed me to The Knock. I tried to remember what Caroline had said about the place, but I couldn’t really recall anything. Right away I could tell it was filled with people I wasn’t going to feel very comfortable around. Everyone in there looked like they could be on the cover of a magazine—handsome men and beautiful women all dressed immaculately, exuding an air of confidence that seemed to saturate the place. The walls were backlit with a warm pink light that cast everyone in a cheerful glow. I felt shy as we stepped through the door, though I shouldn’t have; no one was going to notice me.
But people were certainly going to notice Ian.
He was just the sort of person that couldn’t go somewhere without being checked out, and heads immediately swiveled our way. There was music playing, some sort of electronica that sounded like it had been mixed with jazz. The whole atmosphere felt very elegant and grown up; this certainly wasn’t Failte’s, the dive bar that Caroline and I most often frequented.
“You want a table or you want to sit at the bar?” Ian asked.
The tables were circular and small, meant for two, maybe three people. I let my gaze travel around the long, narrow space and saw that every table was already taken.
“It doesn’t look like there are any tables available,” I said.
“Doesn’t matter. I can get us one.”
“The bar is fine.”
I didn’t want to be that person who walked into a place and got special treatment for no good reason. Maybe Ian had a reason, but I certainly didn’t.
I followed him over to the bar where there were a few empty stools.
“So you’ve never been here before?” he asked.
“No,” I said, sliding onto the seat. “I haven’t. It looks pretty nice, though.”
“It is; if you like this frou-frou sort of thing.”
The way he said it, I couldn’t be sure if he was into it or actually didn’t like it at all. But then the bartender sauntered over, a beautiful woman with high cheekbones and full lips, and gave Ian a look that told me she knew him quite well, which meant he probably had been here a number of times before.
“What’s your poison?” he said to me. “Shellie here makes a great flirtini.”
“Flirt, you mean,” she said, reaching out to brush her fingertips lightly against his forearm. I looked at his face to see if he would be bothered by this but then realized how completely stupid that was—what guy would be bothered by a woman like that making physical contact?
“Um, sure, I’ll try that.”
Shellie’s eyes landed on me, took in my boring office outfit, my hair still pulled back into a ponytail. Why didn’t I at least pull it out of the elastic and muss it up a little before we’d come in?
“I’d normally ask to see some I.D. first,” she said, “but since you’re with Ian, that won’t be necessary.” She’d gone back to looking at him, making it sound like it was actually him she was doing the favor for.
“Shellie, you’re too kind,” he said.
She winked. “You’ll have to make it up to me later.”
I felt my face get red. Ian seemed completely oblivious and continued to talk to Shellie while she mixed up the drinks. I had no idea about the people they were talking about, or the little inside jokes they were making that cracked both of them up. Obviously, this had been a bad idea. I was not one of these people; I did not belong in a place like this. I was way out of my league.
But then Shellie came over and slid my glass across the smooth counter to me, and one in front of Ian. He casually slung his arm over my shoulders as he picked up his glass, waiting for me to pick up my own. There was a wedge of pineapple on the rim and a maraschino cherry floating in the bubbly amber liquid. It looked like beer, in a martini glass. I picked up my glass, clinked it together with his, and we both took a sip.
“Oh!” I said after I’d swallowed. The drink was sweet and bubbly and tasted nothing like I’d been expecting. “That’s really good! What’s in it?”
“Pineapple juice, champagne, vodka,” Shellie said.
“And some extra lovin’, of course, because Shellie made it.”
Ian pulled out a handful of bills and laid them on the counter for her. “Thanks, sweetheart,” she said, sweeping them up. She went over to the cash register, and when sh