sky was clear and electricity seemed to snap in the atmosphere.
Leslie leaned against the brick building, her cell phone in hand, when Avery walked outside the studio. “We can walk. It’s not far.”
Pug’s Pub was a dark lit bar with three men for every woman. The jukebox played old rock and roll from the seventies, and the bartender appeared to have made a lifetime career out of pouring drinks. Overweight and out of shape, the guy blended in and wasn’t dressed to earn tips from his customers. From the limited selection behind the counter, Avery assumed the man’s talents were limited to Jack and Coke and whiskey, straight up.
“I wouldn’t suggest the beer on tap. Safer to ask for a bottle,” Leslie suggested.
“Good call.”
A handful of men sitting on beaten up barstools watched while they found a high table with a couple of empty seats.
“Hey, Keith.” Leslie waved to the man behind the counter, put two fingers up in the air.
“You come here a lot?”
“After a class, some of us come here to decompress. Hard to go home and go to sleep with all that adrenaline swimming inside.”
Avery could attest to that.
She sat at the table and winced at the pain in her side. As much protective gear as they used, there was still some pain involved when practicing the fine art of kicking the shit out of someone.
Keith made his way to their table and put two longneck Stellas in front of them. “New friend?” he asked.
“Avery, this is Keith.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Avery smiled and put out her hand. “A pleasure.”
Keith smiled, wiped his fingers on a towel, and reached for her palm. “You class the joint up just by walkin’ in the door.”
Avery grinned.
“That wouldn’t take much,” Leslie teased.
“Hey, watch it.” He smiled, unoffended. “Where is the rest of the gang?”
“Just us tonight.” Leslie tilted her beer back.
“Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Gotcha.”
Keith walked away, and Avery let the cool liquid roll down her throat. Yup, this was exactly what she needed.
“So what’s your story?”
“My story?” Avery asked.
“Yeah. Why krav? Why now? Why do you forget everything the second your back hits the mat?”
Avery took another swig of her beer. “Nothing like easing into a conversation.”
“Ease isn’t my style.”
“Okay . . .” She took a deep breath. “A dirtbag ambushed me last year. I barely knew what hit me before I was waking up in the hospital. Lived in the ICU for a week and got a nose job out of the whole thing. Once I recovered, I decided to take up krav instead of a polite form of martial arts.”
Leslie listened without emotion. “What happened to the dirtbag?”
“Dead.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“It wasn’t a random act. And it’s a long story. So I put the alarm in after I was ripped off, so to speak. I figure the next time someone tries to put me in the hospital, I’m not going without a fight. Fool me once, shame on you and all that, right? Besides, the stronger I felt taking krav, the less frequent my nightmares kept me up.”
Leslie leaned in on her elbows, peered closer.
“What?”
“What did your nose look like before?”
The question made her smile and helped lift the heaviness that sat in her chest anytime she thought about that time in her life. “What about you? What’s your story?”
It was Leslie’s turn to pause and take a drink from her beer. “My daddy liked little girls. I was the closest little girl he could get his hands on.”
Avery swallowed, the levity of a moment before gone. “Jesus.”
“Nope, Jesus wasn’t a part of it. Anyway. I did the high school dropout thing, ran away. Blah, blah . . . then I met this guy, total douche, but he didn’t believe in hurting women. He taught me a few things about fighting. Firearms. Got my GED.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Six years. Took up krav a few years back, right as I was getting out of the Army.”
“You were in the service?”
“Four years.”
“Wow,” Avery said.
“Wasn’t a career for me, but it was exactly what I needed at the time.”
“What do you do for a living now?”
“I design video games.”
Avery stared in disbelief. “Get out.”
“True story. What do you do?”
Avery played with the condensation on her beer and was happy to be able to say she actually had a way of earning a living. “Estate sales.”
“Yard sales for rich people?”
She laughed. “It’s a little more complicated than that, but essentially.”
“We probably never would have met in the real world.”