I smiled. “Really? Looks flat as can be. Where are the bubbles?”
He picked up the glass and examined the contents before taking a sip. He scrunched his nose a moment later and visibly shuddered. “It might be a little flat.”
I cocked my head and narrowed my eyes. “Maybe that’s not your drink.”
“I bought it. It’s mine.”
“Slow down, Sam. I meant maybe rum isn’t your thing. Can’t stand the stuff myself. Although the occasional piña colada—”
He snapped his fingers. “Shoot, that’s what I meant to order!”
I chuckled. “They don’t specialize in fancy cocktails here. How do you feel about beer?”
“Not my favorite,” he admitted. “And…my name isn’t Sam. It’s Cody.”
I extended my right hand. “Nice to meet you, Cody. I’m Bobby J.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
He slipped his palm against mine and no joke…something happened. Don’t ask me what. I couldn’t say. But I felt a sudden sense of urgency in my bones. It was as if the universe was shining an invisible spotlight on this moment and telling me to pay close attention. Superstitious much? Yes, I was.
Cody twisted in his chair slightly and blasted me with a drop-dead gorgeous grin. I got my first real look at him and wow, he was hot. No, he was lovely. Or maybe the better adjective was pretty. His deep-blue eyes sparked with ready humor. He had high cheekbones, a square jaw, and an adorable dimple at the left corner of his full lips. He was a little bit of everything I liked in one package. Masculine with a hint of softness and a sense of humor.
One drink. One drink only, I reminded myself as I signaled to the bartender.
“It looks like you’ve had two sips of that rum and Coke. I doubt you’re in danger of mixing alcohol, so I’m gonna suggest you switch to a vodka cranberry.”
“Sounds good. Heavy on the cranberry juice, though. I’m driving.”
“You got it.” I ordered our drinks, then turned to my new friend. “I’m about to get real corny here, but I have to ask…what’s a guy like you doin’ in a dive like this?”
Cody chuckled. “I’m sort of doing research.”
“What kind of sort of research?” I prodded.
“It’s a little hard to explain. The gist is that I need to write an editorial piece for my friends’ new publication.”
“Ah. Are you a freelance writer?”
“I’m not a writer at all. I’m a data analyst. I specialize in algorithms and search engine specialization,” he explained.
Oh, boy. Make that a quick drink.
“Sounds…interesting,” I hedged, thanking the bartender when he slid our drinks in front of us a moment later. “What kind of analysis can you do here? Wait. Let me guess. Count the lonely hearts, lost souls, and general miscreants, and determine levels of desperation based on time of day, style of clothing, and overall demeanor. Although I suppose you need a hypothesis too. Say you have a disproportionate amount of lost souls at seven p.m. dressed in end-of-day schleppy work duds staring into their whiskeys like it was a fuckin’ wishing well—pardon my French. What would that tell you? Life is tough, drink faster?”
Cody grinned. “Yes, exactly!”
“Really?”
“Well, yes. See, my friends are computer-science grad students. They’ve been in labs for eight years straight and are about to sign on for a lifetime of more research, which they love. No one is complaining. But since this is the last hoorah before graduation, I suggested forming a club that does a completely different form of research.”
“What kind?”
“The human kind. A scientist will always collect statistical data. Rightly so. Numbers are life. The trick is to use the data to give insight into human interaction that tells a story…and publish it.”
I squinted like an owl at sunrise. “Your friends are geeks, eh?”
He snickered. “I might be one too.”
“Hmm. I see. And you’re a grad student.”
“No, I just graduated from UCLA. I’m going to start in the research and development department at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Lab in September.”
“Damn. You’re going to work for NASA?”
“I am.”
“What does NASA need with search engine specialization? Doesn’t seem like an outer space thing.”
“They didn’t hire me for that particular skill set. They’re more interested in my ability to unscramble data for robotics and advanced exploration systems,” he replied casually.
“You must be fucking brilliant. And I’m not apologizing for that f-bomb. Some observations require proper emphasis,” I deadpanned, raising my beer. I tapped my glass against his and winked. “To smarties.”
Cody sipped his new cocktail and nodded. “Thank you. This is much better.”
I inclined my head in acknowledgment, then sat back on my barstool and gave him a thorough once-over. Sure, I played lead guitar in an up-and-coming rock band, but I was also a reasonably intelligent dude with a degree from a prestigious university. So, I was suitably impressed by his education and future employer. But unlike Cody, I’d never given a shit about numbers or equations. I liked people. I liked knowing what made them tick. And this guy was certainly interesting.