"Tourists, mainly."
He frowns at me. "When? You work all day, every day."
"God, I do not, Riley."
"You do too!" He finishes his beer and slides it toward the bartender, tapping the rim. "Name the last time you clocked out from all work, personal and private, before seven at night."
I roll my eyes. "Whatever."
"You can't because you never have."
“Tinder, okay?" I snarl at him. "I have a fucking Tinder account. After work, I'll browse Tinder, find someone, message her, and hook up."
"At home?"
"No, at their hotels, usually."
"How frequently do you do this?" he asks.
I shrug. “Not very. Just to…I dunno. Take the edge off. It's not…" I sigh, finish my beer, and nod when the bartender signals another. "It's not…satisfying. Itisfun, and feels good. But…random hookups aren't my thing anymore.”
He laughs. “That's why you gotta do what I do."
I blow a raspberry. "Okay, sure."
"I don't like one-night stands either. I like a nice, short-term quasi-relationship. We both know it ain't gonna last, so we let it all hang out, have fun, and when it runs its course, whatever. On to the next. It works."
"Is that why Cole has to put you in the drunk tank every month or two?" I ask.
He chuckles. "I admit, it's not a foolproof system." He gestures at me with the full beer the bartender places in front of him. "On with the story. What did the tourist with the giant bazingas do to piss you off?"
"I don't think she's a tourist, actually." I chew on the painful, embarrassing admission before I let it out. "I asked her out. She hesitated so I freaked out and ran like a bitch."
He stares at me. "You asked her out?"
"Yup."
"As far as I'm aware, you haven’t asked anyone out since…you know who."
"She's not fuckin' Voldemort,” I say.
"Well, I said her name and you bit my head off."
I scrub my face with both hands, sighing. “Yeah, sorry. I'm out of sorts."
"So, this girl, the not a local but not a tourist. She shot you down?"
I shrug, tip my head to one side. "I took it that way. She seemed to think better of it or regret it or something, but I was too committed to bugging out to find out."
"What does that mean?" he asks.
"She followed me up the stairs."
"And you didn't stop to hear her out?"
"No."
"Dumbass. Maybe she was just…blindsided. If you clocked the fact that she has some sort of baggage, maybe she's like you."
