Tricked

rich. ‹
    Yeah, I’ll get you a steak and bring it out , I said as we got in the car.
    › Sweet. Did I win the bet? ‹
    I answered him out loud to see what reaction it got. » She made it through all five courses, buddy. Sorry. You’re back up to negative sixteen sausages. «
    › Dang it! I should have bet you some vegetables instead, then it wouldn’t sting so bad. Though it wouldn’t have been very cool to win vegetables either. Probably need to rethink this whole gambling thing. ‹
    » Wait, « Granuaile said. » Oberon bet against me? Thanks a lot, Oberon. «
    › Tell her she can take comfort in my suffering. ‹
    We pulled into the parking lot of Granny’s Closet and searched for a suitable place for Oberon to hang out. The lot stretched to the north of the restaurant, and we left Oberon on the north side. The entrance faced the west.
    Once you stepped through the door, the dining area was to your left and the bar to your right, with the kitchen sandwiched in between. We ducked to the right and entered a room of dark wood and red filtered light. The bar was on the west wall, and half booths lined the remaining three—the kind where the seats on the walls are padded and two chairs rest on the other side of the table. The center of the floor was dotted with wee tables big enough to put down your drink and maybe a plate of wings, no more.
    We took a table on the east wall and sat facing the room. A primped and pushed-up waitress took our orders over to the bar, where a rakishly handsome lad was mixing drinks. Granuaile eyed him with professional interest. And perhaps … something more. Her eyes flicked toward me and she caught me looking at her—she was extremely good at that—and then she looked down, a flush of embarrassment blooming up her neck.
    I understood that this time she felt that she was the one who’d been caught. I joined her with a sympathy blush. Not so long ago, Granuaile and I had casually flirted with each other—well, I confess that perhaps it was not so casual on my part. When she was just a bartender and I was just a customer, both of us were fair game to be pursued. Now our relationship had shifted, necessarily, and I, for one, was having a bit of trouble with it.
    The trouble was, I couldn’t stop staring at her. Granuaile wasn’t one of those exotic siren types of redheads, like a Jessica Rabbit or something; she was naturally beautiful, often wearing nothing but some mascara around her eyes and the gloss on her lips. I noticed how the soft glow of red lights shimmered on them; they were the sort of lips you couldn’t not think about kissing. But now that she was my apprentice, every such thought caused a guilty twitch in my neck, as if someone had dropped a sleek, stinky ferret there. Guilt ferrets are bastards.
    I didn’t know if Granuaile was having the same kind of trouble I was. Still, I knew enough to recognize the tension between us, and it would be unwise to let it continue. Problem was, I didn’t know how to address it gracefully. I was fairly certain it couldn’t be done.
    » Um, look, Granuaile … « I faltered, unsure of how to continue.
    » Look at what? «
    » Not that kind of look. Bollocks. Well, forgive me for saying something epically awkward, but I think it needs to be said. I don’t want you to think that becoming a Druid involves a vow of celibacy or anything. Celibacy is a terrible idea, adhered to by people who hate themselves and want everyone else to do the same. You should do what you want to do, you know. «
    » I beg your pardon? « Her tone was light but her expression carried a warning. I ignored it.
    » Don’t play dumb. You know what I mean. And who I mean. « I nodded my head toward the handsome bartender she’d been checking out.
    Granuaile kept her eyes on me and they narrowed dangerously. » Are you giving me permission to have sex? « Her voice had a definite edge to it now. Rather sharp, actually: the kind of edge that saws effortlessly through aluminum cans, with a cheesy announcer saying, » Now how much would you pay for a knife like that? «
    » No, I’m telling you that you don’t need my permission. «
    » I should hope not! «
    » Good, we’re agreed. « I hoped that would convince her to drop it, but no such luck. Her eyes flared at me.
    » What? No, I don’t think so. What brought this on? Do you think I’m some sort of sex-starved loser? «
    » Well, you are American. «
    » What! «
    Great festering tapir tits,