“C’mon, T-squared,” Carson yells with a slap of his hand on the counter. Hearing the nickname referring to the initials of my first and last names is like a welcome mat laid before me, and right then I know there is no way in hell I’m skipping out on this party.
“I’m game if you’re game!” I raise a glass up to him and wait for everyone close to us to grab a shot. The jostling of more people patting my shoulders accompanied by welcome-back comments causes the amber liquid to slosh over the sides of the shot glass.
“Shh. Shh. Shh,” Pauly instructs our friends as he stands on the seat of his chair, holding up his own glass. “Tanner Thomas… We are so glad to see your ugly ass back in this shithole. I’m sure once you hand our asses to us time and again by getting the story first, we’ll want you to leave, but for now we’re glad you’re here. Slainte!” As soon as he finishes the toast, the room around us erupts into cheers before we all toss back the whiskey.
I welcome the burn and before the sting even abates, my glass is already being refilled. When I look up from the pour, my eyes lock on a woman I hadn’t noticed on the other side of the bar. The momentary connection affords me a glimpse of dark hair and vibrant eyes as she lifts her drink in a silent nod to me, but as soon as I register she’s doing it on purpose, someone moves and blocks my view of her.
But I keep my eyes fixed in that direction, wanting another glance of the mysterious woman. She doesn’t look familiar, but at the same time something more than curiosity pulls at me. It’s been four long months – she could be anybody – but for a guy like me always in the know around here, it bothers me that I don’t have a clue who she is.
“Ready, Tan?” Pauly’s glass taps against mine, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Bottoms up, baby.” God, it feels good to be back. Listening to the guys’ war stories, getting up to speed on the shit that’s happened at the grassroots level that no one back at home has any clue about.
The whiskey goes down a little smoother the second and third times while our crowd gets bigger from people coming in after fulfilling their assignments. And each wave of people joining us ushers in another round of shots.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the familiar atmosphere, but soon I feel like I can breathe easier than I have in months. I think of Stella intermittently through the night, mostly how much she’d have loved this show of unity amongst all these people competing for the next big story, and for the first time in forever I can smile at her memory.
“So how long you here for this time?” Pauly asks.
“I don’t know.” I blow out a long breath and lean back in my chair, tracing the lines of condensation down the glass of water in front of me that’s still full. Whiskey tastes so much better tonight. “This might be my last time…” My own words surprise me. A confession from the combination of the nostalgia and my own mortality examined through the alcoholic buzz.
“Quit talking like that. This shit is in your blood. You can’t live without it.”
“True.” I glance across the room while I nod my head slowly in agreement. “But dude, a dog only has so many lives.”
“I guess that’s why I prefer pussies. They’ve got nine of ’em.”
“Christ, Pauly.” I choke on the words. “I prefer to eat it rather than live it.”
His arm goes around my shoulder as his laugh fills my ears. “I missed the fuck out of you, Thomas. Speaking of…” His hand grips me tighter before he lifts his chin to direct my line of sight. “The hottie at two o’clock has been eyeing you all night.”
I shrug the comment away, even though a small part of me – one that I’m not too happy with right now – hopes that he’s referring to the woman I’d glimpsed earlier. I’d told myself that she’d left. But secretly I want to be wrong. “I’m sure as hell hoping when you say ‘hottie,’ you’re referring to a woman and not an IED.”
“Cheers to that truth. Scary shit,” he says, tapping the neck of his bottle against the rim of my empty glass, “and no, I’m referring to dark hair, great rack, killer body —”
“No, thanks.” I cut him off, but my eyes dart to where I saw her sitting earlier, and immediately I chastise myself.
“You still seeing what’s-her-name?” he asks with the same indifference as I felt toward her.
“Nah…” I let my voice drift off as my thoughts veer to our last fight when she accused me of cheating on her with Stella. “She took an assignment monitoring North Korea.”
“She thought you and Stella were messing around?” he infers.
The thought brings a bittersweet smile to my face. Memories of Stella and me, young and in love, flash through my mind. It feels like forever ago. Probably because it was. Two young twenty-somethings on their first assignment with no one else to help occupy their time. Lust turned to sweet love and then the slow realization that we weren’t any good as a couple. Then came an awkward phase when we had to get over the bitterness associated with lust gone wrong. The passage of time allowed us to realize we were really good at the best-friend thing which in turn made us a great team, reporter and photographer. Inseparable for almost ten years, except for the odd assignment that took us to other places of the world and despite the introduction of significant others.
“Yeah. I get it. I’d probably think the same thing, but…” I shrug. “You’ve seen us together. Know how Stell and I were —”