Finding Opa! Read Free

table.
     
    “What would work on you, I wonder,” he said finally.
     
    “The world will never know.” Throwing her backpack over her shoulder, she looked over at him once more and raised her brow. “It was strange to meet you, Hunter” she said, pulling her sandy brown dreadlocks behind her ear.
     
    Hunter swallowed hard, still gazing at her with his dreamy green eyes. “It was awesome to meet you, Stacey. I assure you that I’ve never made a pitch like that to anyone woman. You are the first,” he said, raising his drink to salute her. “And thanks for the free booze. I’ll make sure to pick up your novel the next time I’m in the book store.”
     
    “Gee, thanks,” she said sarcastically.
     
    Waving at the waitress and bartender, who sat across the room at the bar watching, Stacey walked away from the table.
     
    She was certain that the stranger was still watching her, still trying to figure out an angle. But she didn’t turn back. Instead, she kept her eyes on the door. Who was she kidding anyway? Anything that sounded too good to be true often was. Her father had one saying he had used repeatedly when she was a child that came to mind now: Caveat emptor for sure , baby .
     
    ***
     
    The cool rainwater soaked Stacey as she gripped the sides of her green North Face backpack and hiked several blocks up the waterfront to her lonely loft.
     
    With each step she took in the briny air, feeling it jet into her lungs and feed her body, her buzz began to wear off, but the thoughts of Hunter did not. She wondered if she had just made a huge mistake by turning him down or if she had saved herself from a ridiculous situation.
     
    That was the strange thing about life. Sometimes, there was no clear answer. Right now, Hunter could be back at the bar using the same line on another woman, or he could have been seriously interested in only her and went home alone. One thing was for sure. She would never know.
     
    As she hit the steps of her dark bricked building, she looked up to her front window two stories above to see her cat looking down at her. It never failed, and never ceased to amaze Stacey. She swore that Rapture could sense her a hundred miles away. Who said that dogs were more faithful?
     
    Wiping the rainwater from her face, she stomped her brown hiking boots on the black, plastic welcome mat at the base of the lobby door and slipped her key in the lock. With a twist of her wrist, she was safely inside out of the elements and standing face-to-face with Clive Blackstone.
     
    Stacey wasn’t sure if Blackstone was Clive’s real surname, but it definitely fit him. Stuck in the grudge-age and devoted to heavy metal, the part-time guitarist and full-time IT tech, was hopelessly pulled between two worlds.
     
    If Stacey saw Clive from 8-5, Monday through Friday, he was in belted jeans, a button down and clean hair. However, after hours, he wore black eyeliner, a tattered, Matrix-like trench coat and gel-slicked hair that only further pronounced his receding hairline. She found his duality strange but refreshing. At least he had the balls to fly his freak colors.
     
    “Hello, Clive,” she said, moving out of the doorway to let him pass with his arms full of equipment. “It’s raining out there. You may want to pull your car around first,” she suggested.
     
    “It’s cool,” he said drably, already in character for tonight’s performance. “Thanks though.”
     
    Stacey always wondered if he got into character to perform at the clubs or if he got into character to perform at work. Closing the door behind him, she decided not to give another moment of thought to Clive or his complex existence.
     
    After a short trip up her elevator to the second floor, she exited out to her front door and stomped her feet again on her own welcome mat before she dashed inside. As she opened her doors, Rapture was right there to gracefully swirl in between her legs with his arched back offered to freely