Free Bad People by Evan Cobb, Michael Canfield

corner. “And whispering is hard on the voice they say.”
    “Oh,” he said. “You’re not uncomfortable here.”
    Oops, here she was trying to be…what? Hip, flirty, coy? And he was ready to bail. What am I doing here, she thought? “No. I didn’t mean that. I’m not uncomfortable. Am I making you uncomfortable?”
    “Of course you aren’t.”
    “Because you asked if I…. Oh my god, this is going badly.”
    “We’ve just met,” he said. “Of course it is awkward.” He glanced at his menu then put it aside. He touched his fingertips together, no quite making a steeple. “Let’s do this. Let’s let it be awkward. Let’s see how long and awkward it can be. I agree to that, if you’ll agree.”
    “I like that. I think I can live with it for the evening.”
    The wine steward was approaching. Just in time , she thought, and almost said, but Luke spoke first.
    “I mean, people shouldn’t have to get soused to break down those inhibitions. More people should take the risk to be themselves, sober, rather than lean on alcohol, drugs, or some other crutch.”
    “Right,” Connie said. “No. Absolutely.”
    “Can I make a recommendation?” asked the steward, “or will you start with cocktails first?”
    “Ice tea,” said Luke.
    “Two,” said Connie.
    The steward forced a smile, trying not to show that he was already calculating the loss the total sum of the bill, and the ensuing reduction of tip. He collected the wine menu from Luke with a they-look-like-strict-fifteen-percenters gesture, and went in search of more hospitable territory.
    “I do drink,” said Luke, sensing something perhaps. “Have one if you like.”
    “You wouldn’t think less of me?” she joked.
    “Not at all.”
    “I’m fine.”
    “Okay then. Maybe an aperitif later.”
    “Maybe.”
    “I want to be alert tonight,” said Luke.
    “Keep your wits about you?”
    “ I want to drink in everything you say.”
    “Oh come on. There you go again.”
    “I’m serious. You think I’m making fun of you. I’m being sincere. I like to learn everything I can about everything. Take it in, process it, and it becomes mine.”
    “Impressive.”
    “You make it sound like I’m still a kid. I’ll admit, that in a lot of ways I am.”
    “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
    “You didn’t.”
    She paused. “But we should probably talk about that. Age.” Should she have said that? They’d established nothing, yet. In fact, the conversation was going more in the direction of mentoring than dating. But then what did she expect he’d want? She must seem like an old woman to him.
    He smiled slightly. “Tell me how old I look.”
    “Oh don’t make me guess!”
    “One guess.”
    “Twenty-six. Twenty-seven?” I don’t know. You’re a hard one to pin down.
    “Twenty-one,” he said. He studied her reaction.
    They got into a staring contest, but she broke up first. “Ahh. Come on. I’ll make you show me your driver’s license.”
    “All right, you got me. You’re right. I just turned twenty-eight. So I’m older than I look! Maybe I’m just an innocent, I’m naïve and that gives me that fresh look. Or maybe I’m just open to life and that’s taken for youth and naiveté.”
    “You say some curious things.”
    “Not usually. It’s our deal, remember. It’s okay to embarrass ourselves. Put ourselves out there. Take a risk. If you end up hating me by the end of the evening, at least you will end up hating the real me. That’s how I want it.”
    “Your definitely not twenty-one. Or you’re the most impressive twenty-one year old I’ve ever met.”
    “You’ve got me.”
    “Okay,” she said, inhaling deeply. “Let’s get it over with. Guess how old I am.” She felt herself tense like anticipating cold water to drench her.
    “Thirty-two.”
    “If you’re going to lie, lie better than that! I told you on the phone I have a seventeen-year-old, remember!” Or didn’t he remember? Had he not paid