Chapter Twenty-Four

Guin tried to reach Terence on her way to the bar, but her call was routed straight to voice mail. In previous conversations with him, she’d hinted that her “talent” was expanding to include occasional visions of whomever she was speaking to on the phone. Perhaps he’d considered this and declined to answer for fear of her discovering him in a compromising position with his new lover.

At least somebody was getting some. As for herself, she planned to cure what ailed her by whatever means necessary. On previous conquests, this had sometimes included letting some dame bend her ear with office gossip, insult her palate with pink frou-frou drinks, only to be carted off to some hole in the wall studio apartment harboring more secrets than Area 51.

Guin pushed open the door of the obnoxious bar. It was the same place she’d come to with Terence, the same place they’d prowled for years, despite multiple name changes on the marquee. The place was living up to its wild reputation tonight, booming music, hot to trot guys and girls, drinks flowing and adrenaline pumping. It was exactly the anonymity that she’d been craving. Guin sidled up to the crowded bar, ordered a drink and pointed the bartender to a side table where she’d be taking shelter for the night.

A tall, voluptuous Italian woman was already giving her the eye. She ignored her. Still, the memory of a different Italian woman she’d once dated left her smiling some. Her name was Allegra, and she’d relied upon her hands as much for talking as she did her full red lips. She’d lapse into her native tongue, leaving Guin bewildered, but there was a different, unmistakable language that they’d had very much in common.

Ultimately, Allegra had accused her of cheating (it’s not cheating if you’re not committed, Guin had argued), and her frenetic wide-sweeping hand gestures had spelled out in at least two languages exactly what she thought of Guin’s tomcatting lifestyle. It was such an exaggerated, furious display that Guin feared she’d get her eye poked out. Nice.

Terence had appreciated the story like no other. When he’d recovered from his fits of laughter, he’d given her sage advice: “In the future, if you’re going to piss off an Italian, wear safety glasses.”

Guin hurriedly looked away, pretended to study the drink card on the table lest the busty Italian woman mistake her smile to be an invitation for company. She really didn’t need people tonight. She really only needed their noisy, anonymous camouflage.

Guin was beginning to actually know the regular bartender. He was the same one Terence had been hitting on weeks earlier. The young guy brought her a shot of Patron tequila and waited on standby with the bottle to refill her shot glass.

“Thanks,” she muttered.

“No problem, sweetie.” He patted her shoulder gently, a seemingly uncharacteristic move from this muscle-bound beefcake. “You look like you need it.”

“You’re highly observant.”

“I’d leave you the bottle, but this ain’t the Wild West.”

Guin’s lips tipped into a smirky smile. “How about you just keep an eye on my glass.”

“Deal.” He left and returned moments later, another shot, and a tall glass of water with four cubes.

“Thanks, bud, but I’m not going to want to dilute anything tonight.”

“You just keep that water coming.” The familiar voice sounded from behind her. Guin rolled her eyes as Lieutenant Jace Sloan slipped into the seat next to her.

“Off duty, Lieutenant Sloan,” she warned.

“Hello to you, too, Marcus.” She looked at the beefcake bartender, tsked at his low-rise pants and bare chest. “Miller Lite, please.”

Beefcake went to retrieve it. Guin downed her fresh shot, set the glass on the table, cringed and dabbed her lips with a cocktail napkin.

“You’re starting a little early with the hard stuff, aren’t you?” Sloan prodded. She sipped her beer, appeared to thoroughly enjoy it.

“Better late than never.” Guin motioned toward the bartender. Feeling a slight buzz, Guin smiled, puffed out her chest. “You don’t get to be a power drinker like this without training for it.”

Another shot in front of her and Guin started to lift it to her lips. Sloan caught her hand and led it back to the table. “Have you had anything to eat yet, or are you existing purely off your recommended daily allowance of Agave?”

“What are you, a Virgo or something?”

“Ouch, now that’s an insult,” Sloan joked. Guin stared at her for several second before breaking into a small crooked grin.

The shot glass was well out of reach and Guin couldn’t retrieve it without leaning clear across the flimsy table. She could see the entire works crashing down in an embarrassing tequila recovery effort. She looked at her only other option, reluctantly raised up the glass of water. “I’d toast you to that one, but a water toast is bad luck and I don’t need anymore of that.”

Sloan smiled. “So tell me, Marcus, what brings you out this evening?”

She shrugged. “Needed to get away.”

Across the bar, a beautiful actress-type had been trying to establish eye contact with Guin. She finally did and they traded smiles.

Sloan noticed the exchange, absently asked, “What would April say if she saw you flirting like that?”

Guin watched her superior slug back a drink and coolly wait for the answer. Instead she got a question. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Marcus, don’t play me for a fool. I’ve got eyes and a brain. You’ve got that coy little attitude and some freak…hormonal condition you can’t seem to satisfy. Of course you’re doing her.”

“No—you’ve got it wrong, Lieutenant.”

“For starters, it’s Jace when I’m off duty.” She took another drink, added. “Like I’m going to sit here and have a sex-chat with you calling me Lieutenant.”

“Sex-chat?” Guin couldn’t help but grin. “Is that what we’re having?”

“I’m not here to chastise you about whose panties you’re getting into these days.”

“Panties?” Guin was growing more amused by the moment. She leaned back, got a good look at her to see if they were seriously having this odd-ass conversation.

“You’re not the only one who’s got issues. Everybody’s fucking somebody.”

“Are you?”

Sloan tipped her head, blew the bangs out of her face with a hmph. “My partner and I just had a baby. I’m not fucking anybody.” She took a sip of beer. “Of course that doesn’t mean I’m going to go out trolling around to get some. I mean if your woman’s good enough to expel something the size of a nine-pound bowling ball from her va-jay-jay?—you’re going to hang around, you know?”

“I don’t know much about commitment,” Guin admitted. “And I’m in no hurry for bowling balls.”

 “Seems you fish out of the work pool a lot, is all I’m saying.” Sloan shrugged. “The LAPD has it on the books that they forbid on the job male-female relations. So technically you haven’t broken any rules.”

“They haven’t caught up with that one yet, huh?” Guin tipped her head to the side, considered it.

“They work with you for long and they will catch it, I guarantee it.” Sloan gave a look across the room at the actress woman who was still working hard at getting Guin’s attention. She narrated her summary:  “Oh brother. A pulse with a nice set of walking sticks.”

“Can I have my shot, please?” Guin was eyeing the glass on the other side of the table.

“First drink the water. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to pace yourself?”

The thought of Gloria teaching her anything whatsoever constructive or healthy was enough to make her throw her head back and laugh.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Sloan waved at the beefy bartender. “One more beer, two waters, please.”

Guin downed the water and was rewarded with an eye-roll and the long-awaited shot. She savored this one, suddenly realizing there might not be many of them in her future on this night. “So, you’re married, then?”

“Nope. We’re domestic partners.” Sloan thanked the bartender, handed over her empty glass and sipped the water first before the beer. Good example. “I’m not into paperwork.”

“Me neither.”

“But I’m into loyalty,” Sloan said, lowering her eyes condescendingly at Guin. “You hear?”

Guin’s eyes went big. “I’m not trying to get into your pants.”

“As you better never be.” Sloan calmly raised her water glass and they clinked shot glass to water in a toast. “So tell me why you’re here instead of home with your new Miss Thang.”

“Tell me why you’re here instead of home with your partner and new baby.”

“She’s hormonal as hell. Three hours ago I told her I was going to the garage. She thinks I’m building a crib.”

Guin didn’t know if she was serious or not. Either way, the thought of it made her chuckle. It was hard to believe, but Sloan wasn’t so bad after all.