Dirty Bet Page 6

  The tacos came way faster than I expected, and then a flood of customers came in. I found myself sitting there with my tray of leftover chip crumbs and smeared guacamole and sour cream, while dozens of people glared at me for my seat.

  I got up and decided to kill some time walking the neighborhood, but the skirt I borrowed from Tracy is too short, and it’s too cold out. So, I decided I might as well just go ahead to The Microbrew.

  Now I’m here at 9:15, and it’s nearly empty. I can’t blend into the crowd, because there isn’t really a crowd.

  “Can I get you something?” The bartender asks.

  He’s a big guy with a big beard and tattoos, which somehow scares me into ordering a beer.

  “Just a beer,” I say, eyeing the tap.

  He waits with his arms crossed while I scan the choices.

  “An, um… what’s the alcohol percentage in that cider?”

  “Six percent or something,” he says.

  “Ok,” I say.

  “Does that mean you want it?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

  “Sure,” I croak out.

  I really didn’t want to drink anything before Eric arrived, but if my conversation with the bartender is any indication for how smooth I’ll be able to talk tonight, I probably do need to drink something to loosen up before he gets here.

  I go to pay, but the bartender leans in toward me. “It’s covered.”

  “It is?” I ask, “Why?”

  He moves his eyes up to signal to me, and I turn around, expecting to see Eric arrived early.

  Instead, there’s just a guy at a table. He looks alright—nothing close to Eric—but alright. He’s clean-shaven, moderately in shape, but short. He also looks nervous, managing to meet my eyes as I look back, but the smile he gives me seems somehow unnatural.

  I force my own awkward smile, then spin back around toward the bartender.

  The bartender laughs a bit when he sees my face. “I can give you some advice.”

  My face is red, and not from the cider. “Yeah?” I ask.

  “Just take the free drink, and ignore the guy. I see women do it all the time.”

  “That seems incredibly rude,” I whisper.

  “Not used to guys hitting on you?” he asks me, eyeing me up and down. From his face, I can tell he can’t quite figure me out.

  “I’m meeting someone here… another guy.”

  “Just tell him that if he approaches you then,” the bartender says.

  “Can I just stay here?” I ask. “You can like... run interference if he tries to talk to me.”

  “You’re asking me to cock block for you?”

  I nod.

  “I’ll try,” he says with a laugh. “Can’t make any promises.”

  “Thanks,” I say, taking a big swig of cider.

  Somehow, the place goes from nearly abandoned to packed before I finish my drink. It feels like all the crowds from the taco place decided to rush into here, and before I know it, people are shoving all around me, and the bartender is totally occupied, not sparing me a single glance.

  “Looks like you’re dry,” A voice shouts into my ear.

  I turn around and see the guy who bought me the drink with another awkward smile.

  “Get you another?” he asks.

  “I’m… I’m good,” I say uncomfortably.

  “Cool,” he shouts over the crowd, then he signals toward the bar.

  A new bartender who just arrived, a woman with dreadlocks, looks at him, and he points to my empty glass. I try to protest, but she doesn’t hear me.

  “It’s fine,” the guy says. “Don’t be modest, I’ve got you.”

  Then I feel his hand touch my back, and I jump out of my seat.

  “Relax,” he says.

  “I’m meeting a guy here,” I say. “My boyfriend.”

  He gives a dry laugh. “You’ve been here for almost an hour. Looks like your ‘boyfriend,’ stood you up.”

  I check my phone and see that it’s not even ten o’clock yet.

  “I was early,” I say. “He’ll be here soon.”

  “It’s just a drink,” he says. “I’m Mike by the way.”

  “Ruth,” I mumble, not shaking his hand.

  He grabs the new cider off the bar and holds it toward me.

  I wave it off, “Really, I’m fine.”

  “Drink it,” he says, shoving it toward me. “I insist.”

  I start to get a really weird vibe from him, one that makes me feel obligated to take the drink to appease him. I worry slightly that he could have spiked it or something, but I kept an eye on it the whole time, he wouldn’t have had an opportunity to.

  I decide that my best course of action is to just humor him for a few minutes until Eric arrives, and once Eric does get here, he’ll realize he’s totally outclassed—and that I wasn’t making up a boyfriend to dodge him.

  “So I’m developing this app,” Mike says, grabbing his own drink, some kind of dark ale.

  “Cool,” I say, my voice betraying my total lack of enthusiasm.

  “You ever notice how there are like no fucking ATMs that don’t charge a fee, but then all these stuck-up hipster places only take cash?”

  I nod.

  “Well,” he says, “my app, Cashio, gives you cash when you need it.”

  I look at him ready to laugh. Maybe he actually has a sense of humor, and the awkward vibe I got was just part of his act, but then I see how serious he looks, and I press my lips together.

  “You see,” he says, pulling out his phone. “This is the prototype. I put in how much cash I want here, and once the whole thing is online, someone would bring me an envelope with the cash within an hour.”

  “So…” I say, “It’s like an ATM, but slower…”

  “You’re missing the point,” he says. “Unlike an ATM, there’s no fee.”

  “How do you make money then?” I ask.

  He snorts and looks at me like I’m an idiot. “It’s a startup. We’ll monetize it later, after we build a user base.”

  “Let me get this straight. After you build a loyal base of users who came to you to avoid ATM fees, you’re going to start charging like...an ATM fee—”

  He crosses his arms. “Look, Ruth, I don’t think you get it. It’s all about disrupting the market. When was the last time you took a yellow cab?”

  I pull out my phone and check it, Jesus, it’s only 9:55. Talking to Mike is like entering some kind of time distortion field.

  “Put your phone away,” he snaps. “I don’t buy that boyfriend shit.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask, looking at him in disbelief.

  “It’s not like I’m going for even a seven out of ten with you,” he says, looking me up and down. “You should be grateful I’m even giving you the time of day.”

  “Wow…” I say, eyes widening. “You are a total dick. It’s night time anyway, idiot.”

  “Ugly bitch,” he hisses at me. “Have fun with your imaginary boyfriend.”

  He shakes his head and stalks off.

  I take in a deep breath, hold it, and exhale. My hand is shaking, and I realize I'm still holding the drink Mike bought me.

  I put it onto a table near me and watch as Mike slinks off into the background.

  I should leave. I can’t believe people regularly subject themselves to this kind of thing. How can anyone think this kind of thing is fun?

  Then I feel tears start to well up in my eyes, which I hold back by biting my lip until there’s nothing but sharp pain and a tinge of copper on my tongue.

  “There you are,” a deep voice says, and I turn around to see Eric towering above me.

  I notice a number of women in the bar eyeing him. He’s wearing a tight henley with all the buttons undone, and a stylish leather jacket. His jeans are tight and show off his muscular legs and great ass, and his smile lights up the whole miserable bar.

  “You just get here?” He asks.

  I look over and see Mike glaring at Eric and
me.

  I look back up and Eric and smile wide. “Yeah, I just got here.”

  “So this is your scene, huh?” He asks, looking around the place.

  “I guess so,” I shrug. “I don’t really have a scene, I mean—”

  “It’s fine,” he says. “Let me get you a drink. What do you usually get here?”

  “Um, the cider, the one on tap.”

  Eric goes up and orders two ciders, this time from the bearded bartender. He makes eye contact with me as he’s pouring the drinks, and he nods and winks at me. When Eric looks away, he points to him and gives me a thumbs up.

  I guess I can’t write off all of humanity because of one asshole.

  As soon as Eric comes back, one of the tables opens up, and he holds the chair out for me. I don’t think any guy has ever actually done that for me, so I rush into the chair, as if he’s holding some kind of boulder up for me, and I’m inconveniencing him horribly.

  “Your jacket,” Eric says.

  I start unzipping it.

  “Stand up,” he says.

  I stand back up, and I feel his strong hands touch my shoulders, and then I realize he’s taking my jacket off for me. Who does that?

  But when I look back at him nervously, he just smiles with confidence, as if it’s totally natural and not some kind of throwback from the 50s or something. I laugh nervously as he puts my jacket onto the back of the chair, and I sit back down.

  I watch as he removes his own jacket, and my eyes lock onto his biceps. Again it seems like every woman in the bar is checking him out, and I feel some kind of twisted satisfaction from their jealousy.

  I feel guilty at that ugly thought, but I need any little ego boost I can get after that asshole Mike insulted me.

  Eric sits down and smiles at me. “You look good tonight, Ruth.”

  Ego boost overload. “You too,” I say, eyeing his arms, then looking back up at his beautiful blue eyes.

  Eric looks over, and I realize Mike is standing next to our table. My mouth drops open as Mike starts nodding.

  “I figured it out,” he says.

  “Do you know this guy?” Eric asks, looking at me and completely ignoring Mike. With wide, nervous eyes, I shake my head no.

  “You see,” Mike says, pointing at both Eric and me. “This idea is gold.”

  Eric stands up, rising at least a full foot above Mike. “She says she doesn’t know you, and I sure as hell don’t know you—”

  “Oh,” Michael says, “She knows me.”

  “Leave me alone,” I say, shaking my head.

  That seems to set Eric off, and he gets right up in Mike’s face.

  “Hear me out first,” Mike says. “My idea. So it’s an app, and you can ‘order’ a guy—or a girl, whatever—who is way out of your league to show up and pretend to be with you. I realize you’re probably Ruth’s brother or cousin or something, but—”

  “She’s my girlfriend,” Eric says, shoving Mike’s chest with just two fingers, but it knocks him backward.

  He holds up his palms, “Okay, fair enough. People can have weird standards—”

  “Fuck off, buddy,” Eric says.

  I realize I don’t actually want Eric to hit the guy, so I stand up and grab his arm from behind.

  I whisper up to him, “Just let it go, he’s a drunk asshole.”

  Eric turns back to me, showing me he’s in complete control, even if he is pissed. “I won’t hit him, but he’s not getting off for free.”

  “You make apps?” Eric asks.

  “Yeah,” Mike says, “Heard of Cashio?” He emphasizes Cashio as if he were saying Google or Microsoft.

  Eric grins really wide. “I have actually heard of it.”

  “Then you know we just secured venture capital,” he says. “A cool twenty mil.”

  Eric nods, a big grin filling his face.

  “Just drop it, Eric,” I whisper.

  “Pericles Capital, right?” Eric asks.

  I see Mike’s face start to change from recklessly cocky to unsure and nervous.

  “You... you’re in the industry?” Mike asks. “What startup—”

  “Not startups,” Eric says smugly. “Venture capital. I just had drinks with the guys from Pericles last week.”

  “Look man,” he says, “I didn’t mean to insult your girlfriend or whatever, I just had a few too many—”

  Eric wraps his arm around Mike, as if they are old friends, but I can see Eric’s bicep bulging as he holds him a little too tightly.

  “Apologize to Ruth,” Eric says.

  “I’m sorry I called you a seven out of ten,” Mike says hastily.

  I glare at him. “You actually called me a bitch, and you said I wasn’t even a seven out of ten…”

  Eric’s arm bulges even more, and Mike’s eyes widen in fear.

  “I’m sorry I was an asshole! Okay?”

  “One phone call,” Eric says. “And I can sink your startup. That twenty million will be gone before you can blink.”

  “I swear to God, I’m sorry!” He shouts.

  “Eric…” I say.

  “Fuck!” Mike hisses, “You’re Eric Prince, aren’t you?”

  Eric grins wildly.

  “If it were up to me,” he says. “you’d be finished, but it’s not up to me, it’s up to Ruth. If she thinks your apology is genuine, she can tell me not to make the call.”

  I should feel aghast, but something burns in my chest, and I feel an incredible rush of power go through me. No matter how much of a dickhole Mike is, I wouldn’t sink his company. I’m pretty sure he’ll sink it himself anyway.

  I stand up and look him up and down. “You’re a complete asshole, but if you promise not to treat any women like you treated me, I’ll tell him to not make the call.”

  “I promise,” Mike says. “I was... I was totally in the wrong. I’ll respect women from here on out.”

  “I seriously doubt that,” Eric says.

  “I believe in karma,” Mike stutters. “Okay… now I do. Look man, I’m too scared shitless to treat anyone like that again. Please don’t ruin me.”

  “Don’t make the call,” I say. “Just let him go.”

  “You’re lucky she’s a better person than me.” Eric says, letting him go.

  Mike squirms away, holds up both hands and looks at me. “I promise.”

  Then he slinks out of the bar and disappears into the night.

  Eric laughs.

  I punch his arm, which hurts my hand.

  “What?” Eric asks.

  “That was... mean.”

  “He’s lucky I didn’t just knock him out cold,” Eric says. “Most women would have wanted me to. Remember, I can box.”

  “I’m not most women,” I say.

  Even though I’m trying to project anger, I feel my cheeks hurting from how hard I’m smiling. I like how Eric handled that. How he stood up for me.

  “Did you…” I start to ask. “Could you really have made that call?”

  Eric nods. “I could have, and if you change your mind—”

  “I won’t, that guy’s idea is going to fail on its own anyway.”

  “Do you really believe his promise?” Eric asks.

  I shrug. “I believe he was scared as shit. I’m sure he’ll hold to his promise, for a while at least.”

  11

  Eric

  We stay in The Microbrew after the little incident with the Cashio asshole, but I start to notice people eyeing me a lot.

  If that asshole could tell who I was, I’m guessing others can too.

  Ruth asks, “What’s wrong?”

  The way New York’s Best Couple works, you just get spotted as a couple, and the judges consider you. If I’m going to win the bet, I actually need to get spotted with Ruth.

  So this should be fine with me. I need people to start chattering about me dating someone new, and ideally I need photos to get out as well for the tabloids.

  But after what just happened, I don’t exactly w
ant Ruth to have to deal with all that bullshit right now. I feel an urge to protect her, more than I want to protect my stupid fucking bet.

  “You want to get out of here?” I ask.

  She looks around. “You’re not embarrassed or something, are you? I can tell people are recognizing you.”

  “It’s not that,” I say. “I just figured you don’t want that kind of spotlight on you.”

  She nods slowly. “I guess I’d rather avoid it, but if we’re going to be doing... this, then I don’t think it can really be avoided.”

  “You’re sure?” I ask.

  She smiles. That smile is really growing on me. It’s not classically beautiful, but it puts all those fake, bleached-white supermodel smiles to shame with how genuine it is.

  “Alright,” I say, grabbing her hand across the table without thinking.

  I lock eyes with her. “You don’t have to call it ‘this,’ or be weird about it. We are dating. This is a date. Unless you’re still on the fence.”

  “No,” she says, shaking her head. She squeezes my hand back. “I jumped off the fence a while ago.”

  “To my side, of course,” I say with a knowing smirk.

  “Of course,” she says, laughing.

  “I’m going to pick the place next time,” I say. “I know you’re not a gold digger—you’ve made that very clear—but if you’re going to date a billionaire, you should at least get to live it up a bit.”

  “How much better is a billionaire bar?” She asks, giggling.

  “There are no actual ‘billionaire bars,’ per se… millionaire ones, maybe—” I tease.

  “Okay then,” she says, “For example, what is so much better about a millionaire bar? How much better is a thousand dollar bottle of vodka verses a twenty dollar bottle?”

  “Well,” I say, “the thousand dollar bottle costs about nine hundred and eighty dollars more, that’s the main difference. Though the view is usually better. A few places I frequent, you can see the whole city from eighty stories up while you drink.”

  “Doesn’t your own apartment probably have a view just as good?”

  “It does,” I say, grinning, “Are you implying you’d like to see it?”

  She turns red, in a way that makes me really want to get her back to my place. I feel my cock twitch a bit, and I realize I really do want her. It’s not even about the bet—I just want her.