Our Turn

Geo holds a hand up, and after a few seconds the man stops, but there’s a wild look in his eyes. It’s fear.

The man listens while Geo talks for about thirty seconds, then looks at me and I shrink against the wall.

When he does, Geo’s hand darts out, grabbing him by the shirt and bringing his gaze back to center on him. A chill rushes through me. The energy between them is making me uneasy, even from across the room.

I shift back and forth on my feet, crossing my arms and glancing around the bar which is empty except for the three of us and the bartender, who is busy wiping glasses and holding them up to the light before setting them on the shelf above the bar.

A few seconds later, the man turns and slaps his hands on the wooden bar as Geo spins on his heel and heads back toward me.

“Come on, baby.” He wraps his arm around me, tugging me against him like he is taking me out of a dangerous situation.

As we pass the man at the bar, he glares at me, and I look away as Geo ushers us out the front door and gives the valet his ticket. The valet nods, turns, and heads away, leaving us to wait and I pull myself in closer to Geo, feeling the tension in his body. The glow and relaxed vibe he had when we left the table is gone.

“What is it you do exactly?” It dawns on me just how little I know about him. I have no idea what he does for a living. If he has family.

Pets even.

God, what if he wears Crocs?

He licks his top lip, pulling it tight across his teeth and then replacing the arm around my shoulders with holding my hand.

“I’m an investor.” His flat tone tells me he may not exactly love his work.

There’s a niggling in the back of my brain and a funny feeling in my belly, and I can’t help pushing for more.

“What kind of investor?” I ask as the valet pulls his Suburban around, opening both doors and handing Geo his keys.

Geo reaches in his pocket and gives the valet a few dollars before putting me in the passenger seat and buckling me in, then closing the door and coming around to climb in on his side.

He’s quiet for a few minutes, and the tension inside the car is making me feel like he is hiding something, then he clearly decides he needs to give me an answer.

“I trade money.”

“Oh.” I cross my ankles and squint out the window, then look over at him. “Like currency trading? I’ve heard of that.”

“Yes. Currency trading. Exactly.” He palms the steering wheel as we turn onto the busy street and he reaches over toward me with his other hand, palm up. “Hand,” he commands, and I intertwine my fingers in his.

When he turns our hands over, his on top, and settles them on the center of the seat between us, I notice fading bruises on his knuckles and a small cut. They look rough, the back of his hands scarred and his knuckles thick like someone that works with their hands.

Not exactly the hands of a currency nerd.

“What happened?” I take my free hand and trace my index finger over his knuckles.

He stiffens and swallows before answering.

“Workouts. I do some fighting. In a gym.” He exhales and looks my way with an odd look in his eyes. They are darker than usual, deep-set, and the easy flow of our conversation at dinner is gone.

I nod, looking out the window at the tall buildings of downtown as we work out a way to the freeway, the Suburban humming under us and I wonder if maybe he’s changing his mind. He’s had his fun, and maybe in the light of post-climax, I’m not so sparkly and new.

“Tell me about your family.” His voice lightens as my own mood darkens at his question.

“Well.” I try to keep my voice steady. “As you know, I don’t know my father.”

He tightens his fingers on mine. “I’m sorry, baby.”

I shrug. “It’s okay. It’s all I know, and truth could be worse if I did know. You never know, he could be a horrible guy.”

He pauses, then goes on with more questions. “Any brothers or sisters?”

“No sibs.” I start, thinking about how growing up I dreamed about having a sister. Someone that would take away the crippling loneliness I felt through so much of my childhood. “And my mom…” I pause, trying to choose my words carefully. “I love her, but she sort of had problems.”

“Can you tell me, baby? I mean, I don’t really remember her that well to tell you the truth. That time in my life was hard…some things happened that I don’t like to think about, and I sort of lost a lot of memories. But I want to know about her, if you’re comfortable telling me.”