The Feline Gaze

“Rough day?” The bartender asks. It’s the same one from the other night: the night I met Miss Fox.

The night I met the tiger.

“You don’t want to know.”

She brings me the drink and I slam it down and motion for another, which I instantly down. When I start to ask for a third, she holds her hand up.

“Why don’t you take it easy there, champ? You’ve got all night. Give it ten, and then I’ll give you another.”

I shouldn’t thank her, but I do. She’s not my mom, but I do get the feeling that the bartender is used to looking after shifters who come wandering in here. Maybe that’s what I need right now. I might not like it, but maybe having someone to care about me is going to help me in the long run.

The problem is that right now, everything is pretty fucking shitty. I had a bad meeting with Alastair and a bad week at work. The projects we’re working on are all taking a lot longer than any of us could have possibly anticipated. I wanted the Westside apartments done by now, but there’s yet another delay with the zoning committee. I find it really hard to stomach the idea that there’s a problem with the building plans. I’m pretty sure – no, I’m entirely sure – it’s actually because the committee is overseen by Jacob, Alastair’s father, and he would rather choke on his own saliva than admit the community needs growth or change or both.

Fuck.

The bartender walks by and I raise an eyebrow, silently asking permission to have another drink. She sees me and laughs, but she pours me another one and sets it on the counter.

“What’s the trouble, kid?”

“I’m not a kid, and you’re not older than me,” I point out. In fact, I’d bet the bartender is no more than 27 or 28 years old. She’s young enough to be wild, but old enough to know better.

“True,” she laughs. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know a thing or two about love, and you, my friend, are in trouble.”

“I’m not upset about love.”

“No? Then why do you keep glancing at the door every thirty seconds?” She raises an eyebrow. “Waiting for someone, are you?”

“No.”

Yes.

It’s stupid, but this is the place I met Cassidy. I mean, yeah, I know where she lives, but I’m not about to be a total weirdo and just show up and ask her on a date. I mean, that would be psychotic, right? So instead, I’m haunting the place where we first met in the hopes that she’ll just happen to stumble in.

Maybe this idea is even worse.

Who knows?

Not me.

“You know, if you ask me,” the bartender says.

“I didn’t ask.

“If you ask me,” she repeats. “What you need is a little bit of courage. That,” she nods her head toward the alcohol. “That’ll help. What you really need, though, is something here.” She reaches out and pokes me in the chest.

“Ow,” I say, rubbing the spot where she jabbed me with her finger. “You aren’t supposed to touch the patrons.”

She rolls her eyes, but smiles.

“You’ll be okay, but you should think about what I said. You’re an attractive guy. You’re sweet. You’re obviously friendly. Whoever it is you’re thinking about, why don’t you just go for it?” She looks at me for a long minute and then the door to the bar opens. We both turn to look, and I suck in my breath when I see her.

It’s her.

Cassidy.

Apparently, I really am the luckiest guy alive because she came here. She really did. I suppose the odds were fairly high that she would. After all, it’s one of the only bars in town. Still, there’s no mixer tonight. There’s no big event. Nothing like that. There is, however, a gleam in her eye when she sees me. She smirks and starts walking toward me.

The bartender seems to notice this silent exchange and she looks at me and nods.