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Logan used to play into the Valentine’s Day gimmick.
From time to time.
In high school, he snuck a skateboarding teddy bear with a heart-shaped card into Shanaya’s locker. Shanaya cherished it, Mandy wondered how he got into the locker in the first place, and Logan, most importantly, scored a date.
Back in college, he kept a bulk of kitschy yarn roses—the kind bought off a craft table outside of a grocery store—tucked away in his backpack for the entire month of February and offered one to any girl who looked kind of single. And a few who definitely weren’t. The trick was to never let them catch you giving out more than one, but campus was huge anyway.
Upon reflection, that might have been what tainted the day for him. Like how drinking too much of a particular type of alcohol will make someone so sick they swear off Malibu for good?
That had to have been it. His whoring ruined Valentine’s Day.
Obviously that was what landed him here, in a somewhat crowded dive bar, talking to his best friend on February 14th.
“I hate it. A whole day is just excessive.”
“Mmhmm, excessive,” Jacob parroted, another uncracked pistachio slipping from his fingers and rolling off the cherry wood bar and to the ground below.
“And for what? Love? That’s not a thing.”
“Oh yeah? Not a thing?”
“Love is an abstract concept that means something different to everyone, and there’s no way something that- that subjective and… pervasive can’t be used against you,” Logan continued ranting, half slurring his words. “And you know? I’m not going to be a part of a system meant to exploit me. I have better things to do with my time. Let some other sap fall for that.”
“For sure, for sure,” Jacob replied. With somewhat careful precision, he pried open a pistachio by… smashing it with his beer bottle, scooping the nut and popping it in his mouth. Finally looking up at Logan, he asked, “So what’s her na-”
“Fuck you.”
Mood effectively spoiled, Logan sulked into his pint glass, some draft beer on special tonight. A shitty domestic they were passing off as premium probably. This was the kind of place where they might pull a stunt like that. The manager always had a knack for scheming.
After successfully opening one pistachio, Jacob gave Logan an ounce of attention, leaning back in the rickety bar chair. He rolled his eyes.
“Quit your whining, man. Valentine’s can be whatever you want.” Jacob shrugged. “For me, it’s a day dedicated to sex and candy.”
“You’re not getting either of those from me.”
“Thank god for that. I’m only here because you beeegggged me to come out. Which I’m regretting. Hard.”
Logan failed to think of a defense for that. It had seemed like such a good idea earlier. Scrolling through his feed, one of the bars he followed (the only bar he followed) posted about how they had specials but without a single lovey dovey rhyme or cutesy couple thing in the caption. Obviously he would drag his friend out.
But peering over at the pile of shells beneath Jacob and the boring bartender refusing to notice his almost empty glass, Logan admitted in the privacy of his own mind that he might have failed.
He never did learn to accept defeat gracefully though, so it was a good thing he kept his mouth shut until she strode in.
The front entrance opened with a bang, and the faded business hours sign, hanging on with only a few strips of duct tape and hope, threatened to fall but stayed loyal to the old door. The woman coming in didn’t spare a second glance at the shaking sign.
Arms full with a box from the liquor store, Louise shut the door behind her in a practiced move. Her hips swayed, denim clad ass bumping the wood back into its frame with only a little too much force.
Before she even crossed the threshold, she barked at the bartender on duty for not noticing the customers had empty drinks.
Of course, Logan couldn’t hear much of what was coming out of her mouth. The heavy box of bottles she carried clamored as she shifted the weight to her hip. It caught at her black tank, tugging it down just a smidge.
And suddenly everything was worth it.
“Ohhh I see,” Jacob said. Logan cocked his head towards him, but Jacob’s eyes followed Louise as she marched behind the bar, still snapping at her employee. “Is that who you’ve been moping about all day?”
“I haven’t been moping,” Logan argued. “Mopers are despondent.”
“And mopeds are what I’m going to hit you with if you keep trying to pretend like you didn’t just get heart eyes when she walked in.”
“That’s not even-”
“You again?”
Apparently done tearing into the bartender, the bar’s manager appeared before them to set down the extra supplies. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.
“Didn’t I kick you out of here last night?” Louise asked.
“It was two nights ago, and no. You must be confusing me with another hot blond guy.”
“How would I confuse you if he was hot?”
Jacob choked on a nut to his left, but he would probably be fine. He would definitely have to wait if he needed medical attention.
“It’s a wonder this place has anyone in it at all with your shit customer service skills,” Logan continued.
“And yet,” she gestured to him in a grand flourish, “here you are.”
Apparently done with the conversation, Louise turned to restock the shelves of the bar. Though he tried thinking of a comeback, anything that floated into his mind was snatched away at the sight of her denim shorts, tight enough to see the outline of a bottle opener in her back pocket.
With her back to him, he wasted no time in checking out his enemy’s ass or the way she had to get on her tiptoes to place new bottles down.
God, he hated her.
From the attitude to the bandana in her hair to her damn shorts, it was like she was made to irk him.
A squealing chorus of college girls erupted from the far corner of the bar, all gathered by the pool table he would have liked to be playing on. The group clearly just planned to pre-game cheap shots here before their next party, too dolled up in glitter, pinks and reds, and matching sets of small but fluffy wings. They didn’t belong against the backdrop of a dive bar like this.
Louise glared at them where they couldn’t see.
“I hate Valentine’s Day,” she grumbled. It was only slightly masked by the sound of her breaking down the now empty box, but he caught it all the same.
“I love it, personally,” Logan countered, ignoring the snort from his neighbor. Jacob didn’t get it. If Louise took one side, Logan took the other. That was the way things worked with their stupid arguments.
“You would be into this crap. It’s all fake and… performative.” Her shoulders hunched forward slightly as she pulled off incredibly sarcastic jazz hands. “Ooo ‘look at how good I can do romance’ whoa congrats, let me guess: roses?” Louise rolled her eyes. “Get over yourself.”
“Romance can be different things to different people, and what’s so bad about that?”
“What’s bad is I can’t make money off it.”
“Is that why there are no decorations,” Logan asked. He waved vaguely to the space around them, nearly hitting someone but too focused and too selfish to apologize.
Her eyes darted over to check on the nearly hit person. She did her best to scold Logan without words, but he saw the spark that came after a few too many rounds of back and forth. She wanted to laugh.
Clearing her throat, she jerked her chin up in question.
“What couple is going to come spend hundreds in this joint on Valentine’s Day? Nah, let the Pesto types have that while I rake in all the people without dates by refusing to assault anyone’s eyes with Cupid’s stupid diaper butt.”
“So… you made an anti-Valentine’s Day single’s mixer?”
“Exactly, but don’t tell Tammy, or I might have to pay her royalties.”
“Who?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Louise shook her head.
She considered him for a moment then plucked three shot glasses from a mysterious space out of sight from customers. With less flair than a dedicated bartender, she began to fix a drink, the bottles clinking together as she plucked them one by one to pour into her shaker.
Too entranced by the rippling momentum from her shaking the drink, it took him a second to figure out why she grabbed three glasses. One for her, one for him, and one for-
Oh right. Jacob.
“Here,” she set the shots in front of each of them and instructed with no room for question, “try this.”
They were pure black in color but a somewhat viscous texture, thicker than a simple jaeger.
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Jacob said, snatching up his free shot.
Logan had more discerning taste though, giving her a suspicious look. “I didn’t know you hated me enough to serve me tar.”
“If you don’t want it,” she started and reached for his shot.
“Ahp up up!” His arm came down to block her, and her nails grazed his wrist, lingering for a second longer while she registered his sudden presence. He swallowed hard but still managed to clearly shut her down. “No take backs. And this better not show up on my tab.”
“Calm down, it costs almost nothing to make. It’s not like I’m going out of my way for you of all people,” Louise scoffed. She took her hand away to grab her shot, knocking it back with ease. Considering her empty glass, she shrugged. “Will You Be Grime shot. It costs almost nothing to make but people are shelling out big bucks for this for the anti-Valentine’s Day gimmick. And it doesn’t taste too bad either.”
“You know you’re only going to get a bunch of the miserable single people here with a stunt like that, right?”
“Obviously.” She smirked. “You’re here.”
Jacob laughed and offered up his own smart comment, but Logan didn’t hear. Masking the urge to let his lower lip fall into a pout, Logan took his shot finally. It wasn’t too bad for a drink named after dirt.
They passed their empty glasses to her, and she cleared off the bartop. She sidestepped like she meant to leave and put up with some other patron’s bullshit.
And yet, he didn’t want to share.
“You don’t know I’m single,” he blurted out. It worked to stop her in her tracks.
Too confident for someone he only occasionally saw to argue with, Louise regarded him with a condescending scoff. “Well you haven’t been able to pick up anyone here. I’ve seen you strike out more than Onion Breath O’Neil.”
With that she drifted away, a final quick glance over her shoulder back at him, but otherwise preoccupied with other customers.
The women making a ruckus earlier had all shuffled together to the bar to close out their tabs. Louise took care of them, a strained smile on her face in a last ditch effort to earn tips for the staff tonight. From what he overheard, none had bothered to grab more than a couple shots.
They talked once about how the plan was to take over the joint after the owner passed away, and then she was allowed to be as rude as she wanted to the assholes that came in. Unfortunately for Louise, Calvin Fischoeder might have effectively been made immortal by his gold plated organs at this point. Unfortunately for Logan, she was more than comfortable taking out all that pent up annoyance on him.
“Gee, I sure hope your girlfriend comes back soon,” Jacob sighed.
Logan startled at the sound, turning in his chair to face his now standing (when did that happen?) friend. Jacob fished through his wallet while Logan tried to make sense of what he was hearing.
“Girlfr- Louise? She fucking hates me dude.” The word itself was laughable, both of them too old to use boyfriend girlfriend terminology, but then the idea? The idea that the bane of his existence would be anything but a thorn in his side?
“Riiight, well I’m headed out while you two continue… whatever this is.” He pushed in his chair then tossed cash onto the bar. “Don’t give me the details later!” Jacob called, throwing a peace sign over his shoulder.
“I won’t! Because there won’t be any details!” Logan called back.
Sure he might tell him about any of the better insults or if Louise tripped up and embarrassed herself, but those weren’t details-details.
Every time he saw her his adrenaline kicked in, spiking in preparation for a fight. She always had something to say and never held back. His heart picked up at just the thought of her tearing into him about something stupid he said or his dumbass face or the couple of times when they were mad simply because they agreed on something.
He almost wished there was a decorative valentine’s heart he could ball up and throw at her. Red was the color of hate too. But nooo hate doesn’t get a day on the calendar. That he knew of anyway. Guess they were stuck making every day they saw each other their own anniversary of banter and misery.
Better get her back, Logan thought to himself as he finished off the last of his beer. He was alone now, but flagging her down for a refill would fix that in an instant.
One thing he forgot to count on were the other miserable single people stupid enough to approach her.
Logan spotted a sucker now. He was dark-haired, lean, and flirting with Louise. Draped over the back of one of the bar chairs, the stranger neglected to sit as he leered at her. Not close enough to hear the words, Logan only guessed at what lines the stranger used. He saw the same man hitting up one of the sweet tarts by the pool table, so whatever he said had to have been recycled.
For a half a second, Logan almost felt sorry for laughing at the man barking up the worst possible tree. He waited for Louise to brush him off like usual, giddy in anticipation.
A snarky line thrown over her shoulder as she walked away.
An eye roll as she wore down his self-esteem with every passing moment.
Maybe even kicking him out of the joint altogether? That one would be fun.
She didn’t do any of that though.
Instead, she snorted, face schooled to unimpressed even as her eyes lit up in amusement. Logan knew that look, she gave it to him often enough. It was his look. And here she was giving it to someone else.
The mirth melted off Logan’s face.
“Absolutely not.”
If someone asked him what happened between him sitting in his chair and standing at the other end of the bar, he couldn’t tell them. All he knew was his tunnel vision activated right up until he interrupted their conversation, nudging the man for his attention.
The interloper turned, innocently waiting for whatever Logan had to say.
“Hey,” he pointed his thumb to the door leading to the smoker’s patio, “some girl was asking for you outside.”
“Who?”
“Oh, she was about this tall,” Logan waved his hand, oscillating between average heights for women but never stopping in one position. “Had hair.”
“Tracie?” the guy asked, genuinely curious, he stood straighter and looked towards the door as though he could see through it and to the outside. “What’s she still doing here?”
With a final glance at Louise, he held up a finger as if to say one moment and left to find this Tracie character that Logan definitely knew existed before just now.
“Had hair, huh?” Louise asked, wiping at the condensation on the bar left from chilled glasses.
“Tons. Whole head was covered in it.”
While he found his little quip charming, Louise did not. Her hands came to her hip, eyes narrowed in his direction.
“Wei is going to come back, and when he does, you’re gonna stop cockblocking. You understand? That’s the first halfway decent person that’s hit on me today, and you’re not screwing it up."
Wanna bet, he thought.
Apparently, it didn’t take as long as he hoped for Wei to check the patio, back before he could think of a good excuse to keep him out longer. But on the bright side, another patron of the bar had come to get drinks, so Louise was out of commission to stop him from being a shithead.
“Hey man, Tracie wasn’t out there.”
“Shame,” Logan said, intentionally peering down his nose to make eye contact with the shorter man. “Why don’t you keep looking? You’ll find her or someone like her I bet.”
“What’s your....” Wei trailed off as he looked back and forth between Louise’s exhausted but busy stance and Logan’s unwavering stare. “Oh. She’s your girl?”
Logan sucked his lips in between his teeth to keep the grin off his face. On one hand, he could make fun of Wei thinking he had a real shot with Louise and be delighted for a few minutes. On the other hand, there was a short-fused bombshell within earshot. And annoying her would delight Logan the entire night.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “She’s mine.”
Louise tensed so hard he thought she might bend and snap the bottle opener in her hand as she finished popping the tops off a few lagers for the people in front of her.
Wei, with no further information, only nodded.
“My bad. Didn’t mean to intrude.” Wei dragged his drink up from the countertop and patted Logan on the back. He took the high road by not making a face at the unwanted contact. “Take care of her, dude. I think Onion was looking her way.”
“Will do.”
He retreated at the same time as her customers, and Louise finally bothered to look Logan’s way. She set her face in that unimpressed expression, but her eyes were not amused in the slightest. Deadly was more accurate.
Even better, he thought to himself with pride.
“Serves you right,” he said, beating her to the punch. “If you don’t like Valentine’s Day, then you don’t get to reap the benefits.”
“I’m not looking for romance,” Louise groaned and rubbed her forehead. “I’m looking for stress relief. I’m allowed that, what, once or twice a year, aren’t I?”
“What do you have to be stressed about?” Logan pitched his voice higher to imitate her. “‘Ohh I’m Louise, I’m so good at my job Fischoeder practically handed me a business on merit alone.”
Louise ran her hand down her face slowly then dropped it to the bar with a dull thump, completely done.
“You, Logan. I’m stressed about you.”
“Oh. Well that makes perfect sense. But that’s what you get for working in customer service. Besides,” he pulled out a chair in front of him and took his seat, getting comfortable, “no one actually finds someone to go home with when they’re here anyway.”
“That’s just a lie. Preston takes home guys all the time.”
“Speaking of-”
Logan caught Preston’s attention and signaled for another round with his empty glass. The bartender raised his arms, questioning why his boss couldn’t do it when she was right there. Logan only raised his brows and tapped the glass again. He could practically hear the internal bitching as Preston’s shoulders slumped and he went on to fulfill the silent request.
Back with Louise, he pointed his chin at her and asked, “Seriously though. How come I never get laid when I’m here?”
“That can be for any number of reasons,” Louise scoffed, grabbing a rag and wiping at something aimlessly.
“Name one.”
“Oh do I have to pick just one? Not sure how to narrow it down… your hair, your face, your attitude, your style, your-”
“I THINK,” Logan interrupted and glared at the way she kept a firm grip on the rag while she wiped at nothing, “you know more than letting on. You run this joint. Are you saying you’re not plugged in?”
Guilt flickered over her face for an instant but was gone just as quickly. She put up a face of stony indifference, eyes half-lidded, and sooo casual. Weaving to the side to let Preston put his drink down only stalled momentarily. She eventually had to face him again.
“Maybe a few people have asked me about you.”
“And?”
“And maybe I tell them the truth.” She shrugged before wiping the counter again, pushing dust that wasn’t there off the bar. “You always come in with a guy or two but never seem to get along with girls.”
Logan’s jaw dropped, and he spluttered before demanding, “Who? What girls??”
“Me.”
“We’re counting YOU in girl?”
Nose in the air, she said simply, “We are.”
“So then…” Logan slumped back into his chair, the past few weeks all clicking into place. “They all think I’m gay.”
“I never said that and frankly it would be an insult to the community.”
“But you let people think it… so they wouldn’t hit on me?”
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” Louise replayed what was just said in her mind then snapped at him. “No, wait, I don’t care if they hit on you. I just don’t want to see you happy.”
“No, it’s too late, you already said you don’t want other people hitting on me.”
Balling up the rag before tossing it over her shoulder, she chose not to respond. She searched the bar around them, eyes glazing over as she looked right through him. Logan blocked her vision silently by waving wherever she turned her head but still she ignored him.
“Is Em on kitchen today?” Louise called out to her bartender.
“Yeah,” Preston replied from the outer booths, taking people’s orders. Logan almost laughed at the group’s shared perplexity as the two interrupted the entire ordering process.
“So you two got it from here?”
“Yeahhh.”
“Alright, I’m out.”
“What?” Logan’s head swiveled from joy at the neglected customers back to Louise. “You’re not staying until close?”
“I only came in for the liquor run. Unless some emergency happens, I’m out.”
“An emergency, huh?”
She fixed him with another look to decipher.
One of the things he found infuriating (interesting, if he lapsed into a moment of sincerity) about Louise was how she expressed herself. From the surface, it always seemed like she shared whatever thought floated through her mind without care.
But she cared so much.
When her bartenders messed up on a shift, she was the first to chew them out and the first to help them fix it. If her joke went too far, she shoved a free drink in front of whoever had their feelings hurt while still making fun of them. She said a lot but didn’t always act the same way. And she never said anything to give herself away.
Sometimes, in the slower moments of their run-ins, when the bar was closing and they had already used their best insults, they talked. Not much, just enough.
Keep your enemies close, she said.
It transformed into something like a game to him. Step forward, one and all, and guess what the terrifying pipsqueak in front of him was saying and what she actually meant. What hid behind the distracting nature of blunt honesty?
Sometimes, she didn’t talk at all, and he could pick up even more from that. He tried now to guess her next move in the silence, to see what she really wanted and how he could best irritate her more.
Without meaning to, these games with Louise became a part of his routine. Since first realizing she worked at this... quaint dive bar, he made it a point to stop by occasionally for some banter. And he hated premature endings.
“Your table leans,” he said, taking a stab in the dark. He jutted a thumb over to the well-worn pool table to clarify, but he didn’t need to. There was only one table.
She had the rack of balls in her hand before he could even stand.
“My table shoots straight. Unlike you.”
Neither questioned whether this counted as an emergency.
The solid and striped balls spilled out onto the table in a wave of soft thumping against the red felt, one by one rolling to a new spot by a pocket or rail though some stayed centered. He tried to point out one still moving as evidence of lean, but she quieted him by shoving a cue stick in his hand.
“Which way are you trying to say it leans?”
“Towards here.” He used the cue to point at the far right pocket.
“So how about a game of one pocket?” Louise guided the balls back towards her with her own cue and pulled the triangle from its hook below to rack up. He grabbed the four ball perched just outside of her reach and brought it closer but not quite relinquishing his hold. “I’ll take the other side, and if the table really is leaning then it will be easier for you to win.”
“What do I get if I win?” Logan asked, bending closer as he dropped the final ball into the triangle. With her face scrunched, she shouldered him away from whispering anymore in her ear.
“We don’t have to worry about that ‘cause you won’t.”
“I want a date,” he said suddenly.
They both straightened at the request and processed what he said. Blinking up at him, she quirked her head.
“You want… a date? Like the fruit?”
“No, like the stupid cupid date. Idiot.” The more he turned it around in his head, the more sense it made. Louise out from behind the bar, trapped with him for a yet undetermined amount of time? He could easily ruin her life for a couple of hours and satisfy his need to be annoying for at least a month.
A noise of disbelief erupted from the back of her throat, and she took the triangle off the pool table to toss to the floor.
“And when I win, you have to clean the bathrooms after St. Patrick’s Day.”
It crossed his mind later that the lack of hesitation could come off desperate.
“Deal.”
“I’m breaking,” she said definitively and reclaimed her cue.
It also crossed his mind later that it might have been a bad idea to challenge the person who basically owned a pool table to a game of pool.
In the moment though, all he could watch was Louise wiping the floor with him. There was a grace to how she glided around the table as smooth as the balls sailing into her pocket. Her sly smile grew every time he missed his opportunity to catch up.
But could anyone blame him? She was… distracting.
Louise bent over the pool table, legs spread for balance and running her hand along the shaft of the cue once before lining up her shot. She sunk the last ball into her corner pocket with ease and slowly righted herself, a smirk already in place.
She called it. Of course she did. It drove him insane, how she always came out on top. Lit a fire in his belly even.
When she pointed to the table and asked to go double or nothing, her lips teased a challenge, and he averted his eyes to set up another rack. Shame maybe from getting his ass kicked so bad?
Avoiding letting her catch his hard on was also pretty high on his list.
“Stop it,” she hissed and whacked him with the butt end of her cue.
At game three, he decided to cheat, playfully swatting her stick when she was down on a shot. He even snuck a ball or two from her pocket into his. It never did any good, she caught him every time, but he had fun.
“I can’t help it,” Logan whined, feigning innocence. “The lights are going out, and it’s getting harder to see.”
That part was true. Each flickered neon sign decorating the walls lost its glow one by one. The bar had closed around them, and they pretended not to notice.
When last call rang out, and he had lost four consecutive games, he finally found the nerve to say the line he had rolled around in his head while watching her bend over.
No one ever said Logan went down without a fight.
“You know. If you’re still looking for someone to shack up with, I’m available,” he said as casually as he could manage. “I could even get you a box of chocolates.”
“You lost.”
“The bet yeah, but I didn’t say anything about a date just now, did I?” Logan slid his cue onto the table then let go of it completely, along with any hope of regaining his dignity. He put both hands on the felt and leaned forward, dropping his voice low. “Tonight could be about sex and candy and still count as being in the holiday spirit.”
“It could,” she said, leaning towards him. He angled his head down instinctively, but she swerved and went for his ear just to whisper, “But if I don’t like the commercial bullshit holiday, then I shouldn’t reap the benefits.”
In an instant, she was gone, leaving him alone with his pool balls while laughing about how many bathrooms he would have to clean. She didn't even spare a glance back at him.
He hated Valentine’s Day.