hotel and drew in patrons and tourists from all sides of the socioeconomic scale. TVs showed sporting events or news or whatever the bartender felt like putting on. A few trivia machines sat at the other end of the bar. Music—sometimes live, but not tonight—forced the TVs to have closed-captioning, and dancing people crowded the small space among the tables.
It was humanity at its best. Teeming with life, alcohol, mindless entertainment, and bad pick-up lines. I liked to come here when I wanted to be alone without being alone. I liked it better when drunk, stupid guys left me alone. I wasn’t sure about articulate, good-looking ones. One nice thing I soon discovered was that with Tall, Dark, and Handsome sitting next to me, no losers dared approach.
But he wasn’t talking to me either, and after a while, I realized I’d kind of like him to—not that I’d have any clue what to say back. With the glances he kept giving me, I think he felt the same way. I didn’t know. A sort of tension built up between us as I nursed my Corona, each of us waiting for something.
When it finally came, he started it.
“You’re edible.”
Not the opening I’d been expecting.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your perfume. It’s like…like violets and sugar. And vanilla. I suppose it’s weird to think violets are edible, huh?”
“Not so weird as a guy actually knowing what violets smell like.” It was also weird that he could even smell it. I’d put it on about twelve hours ago. With all the smoke and sweat around here, it was a surprise anyone’s olfactory senses could function.
He shot me a crooked grin, favoring me with a look that could only be described as smoky. I felt my pulse quicken a little. “It’s good to know what flowers are what. Makes it easier to send them. And impress women.”
I eyed him and then swirled the beer in my bottle. “Are you trying to impress me?”
He shrugged. “Mostly I’m just trying to make conversation.”
I pondered that, deciding if I wanted to play this game or not. Wondering if I could. I smiled a little.
“What?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Just thinking about flowers. And impressing people. I mean, how strange is that we bring plant sex organs to people we’re attracted to? What’s up with that? It’s a weird sign of affection.”
His dark eyes lit up, like he’d just discovered something surprising and delightful. “Is it any weirder than giving chocolate, which is supposed to be an aphrodisiac? Or what about wine? A ‘romantic’ drink that really just succeeds in lowering the other person’s inhibitions.”
“Hmm. It’s like people are trying to be both subtle and blatant at the same time. Like, they won’t actually go up and say, ‘Hey, I like you, let’s get together.’ Instead, they’re like, ‘Here, have some plant genitalia and aphrodisiacs.’” I took a drink of the beer and propped my chin in my hand, surprised to hear myself going on. “I mean, I don’t have a problem with men or relationships or sex, but sometimes I just get so frustrated with games of human attraction.”
“How so?”
“It’s all masked in posturing and ploys. There’s no honesty. People can’t just come up and express their attraction. It’s got to be cleverly obscured with some stupid pick-up line or not-so-subtle gift, and I don’t really know how to play those games so well. We’re taught that it’s wrong to be honest, like there’s some kind of social stigma with it.”
“Well,” he considered, “it can come out pretty crass sometimes. And let’s not forget about rejection too. I think that adds to it. There’s a fear there.”
“Yeah, I guess. But being turned down isn’t the worst thing in the world. And wouldn’t that be easier than wasting an evening or—God forbid—months of dating? We should state our feelings and intentions openly. If the other person says ‘fuck off,’ well, then, deal. Move on.”
I suddenly eyed my beer bottle suspiciously.
“What’s wrong?”
“Just wondering if I’m drunk. This is my first beer, but I think I’m sounding a little unhinged. I don’t usually talk this much.”
He laughed. “I don’t think you’re unhinged. I actually agree with you.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded and looked remarkably wise as he contemplated his answer. It made him even sexier. “I agree, but I don’t think most people take honesty well. They prefer the games. They want to believe the pretty lies.”
I finished off the last of the Corona. “Not me. Give me honesty anytime.”
“You mean that?”
“Yes.” I set the bottle down and looked at him. He was watching me intently now, and his look was smoky again, all darkness and sex and heat. I fell into that gaze, feeling the response of nerves in my lower body that I’d thought were dormant.
He leaned slightly forward. “Well, then, here’s honesty. I was really happy when I saw the empty seat by you. I think you’re beautiful. I think seeing the bra underneath your shirt is dead sexy. I like the shape of your neck and the way those strands of hair lay against it. I think you’re funny, and I think you’re smart too. After just five minutes, I already know you don’t let people screw around with you—which I also like. You’re pretty fun to talk to, and I think you’d be just as much fun to have sex with.” He sat back in his chair again.
“Wow,” I said, now noticing I’d put on a white shirt over a black bra in my haste. Oops. “That’s a lot of honesty.”
“Should I fuck off now?”
I played with the rim of the bottle. I took a deep breath. “No. Not yet.”
He smiled and ordered us another round.
Introductions seemed like the next logical step, and when his turn came, he told me his name was Kiyo.
“Kiyo,” I repeated. “Neat.”
He watched me, and after a moment, a smile danced over his mouth. A really nice mouth too. “You’re trying to figure me out.”
“Figure you out how?”
“What I am. Race. Ethnic group. Whatever.”
“Of course not,” I protested, even though I’d been trying to do exactly that.
“My mother is Japanese, and my father is Latino. Kiyo is short for Kiyotaka.”
I scrutinized him, now understanding the large dark eyes and the tanned skin. Human genes were exquisite. I loved the way they blended.
How cool, I thought, to have such a solid grip on your ancestry. I knew my mother had a lot of Greek and Welsh, but there was a mix of all sorts of other things there too. And as for my deadbeat father…well, I knew no more about his heritage than I knew anything else about him. For all intents and purposes, I was very much the mongrel the keres
