Work Text:
Max is in the middle of folding laundry one afternoon when Clance looks up from her romance novel and starts talking about a friend she knows from art school.
“Oh, hey, you know what? I’ve been meaning to tell you that my friend from college—I must have told you about her—her name’s Lupe?” Clance pauses here, seemingly waiting for something from Max, so Max vaguely nods, because she’s heard the name before. “She went out to LA after we graduated and stayed there for a while, but she just moved back to the city.”
The comment is entirely out of the blue and apropos of nothing, but that’s not surprising. One of the things Max likes most about Clance is her chattiness, her tendency to think out loud. It’s charming and often entertaining, and it means Max rarely has to guess at what Clance is thinking.
But at this very moment, Max is searching through the laundry bag for the missing half of her pair of lucky socks, hoping that it didn’t get stuck in the dryer, so she’s not paying particularly close attention to exactly what Clance is talking about.
Max upends the whole bag out onto the couch, raking through the pile, turning each piece of clothing inside and out, and—there it is, finally, a stripe of yellow stuck to the inside of an old t-shirt. She breathes out a sigh of relief, thankful that at least she’s got her socks going for her. She’s starting a new job in two days, and she’s going to need all the good energy and luck she can find, because she’s heard the sous chef’s a real piece of work.
Clance is chattering on in the background, going on now about some kind of photography technique for some reason, but it doesn’t seem like Max needs to say anything in response. So she carefully balls up her lucky socks, setting them off to the side, then resumes folding, offering a mmhmm to Clance every so often. Clance probably knows Max is only half-listening, but this is normal for them. Most the time she’s just thinking out loud, and they both know Max will listen in for the words that really matter.
—
It’s another few days later when Max hears the name Lupe again, this time when Clance is on the phone with Guy. Max is listening to a podcast and sharpening her knives, focused on the smooth slide of the blades against the whetstone, when she hears Clance clear her throat several times. Normally she wants privacy when she's chatting with Guy, but today she’s kept the door to her room open and it almost sounds like she’s talking louder than usual, for some reason. Maybe there’s something up with her phone, Max thinks idly.
Max is tempted to bring her some water, since it sounds like she’s really got something stuck there, but then she seems to recover, picking up the conversation again with a loud, “I know, Lupe’s so funny! Do you remember I was telling you about that time in college when she was doing the project on negative space and color inversion? I kept telling her not to be so negative all the time and she would just give me this look, and—” Clance stops short, already cackling at herself. “Okay, well, maybe that wasn’t so much her being funny as me, but you know. She’s really got this great sense of humor!”
Max hasn’t really heard Clance get excited like this about a friend a while, or anything else, for that matter. It’s cute, really, how happy she is that her friend moved back. Max shrugs to herself and lifts the knife to check the blade, testing it delicately against her finger, before resuming the slow rhythm against the stone.
—
Work has been grueling the past couple weeks; not the hours, so much, since Max is used to the late nights. It’s always hard to adjust to a new kitchen—learning the layout so that it’s in her muscle memory, remembering which burners to avoid because they’re uncooperative, sussing out which front of house staff have the best gossip. This job also comes with new bosses and managerial styles, and Max is still in such disbelief that she got a job as chef de partie after only a couple years as commis that she’s had to swallow down more than a few trade-offs about this place.
Like the harsh reality that she’s the only Black chef in the kitchen, or the fact that the sous chef talks down to Max more than he does to the guy next to her. And Max isn’t surprised by it, not anymore. It’s part of what drives her to keep going in the field in spite of how draining it is, what pushes her towards her goal of having her own restaurant someday where she can do it better, treat her staff with some actual dignity, because at the end of the day, she knows that part of the profession’s not going to get better for a long time. But on the day to day level, it’s pretty fucking exhausting, and she’s tired.
The sous chef’s been giving her shit for the braised chicken all week, and she’s trying to focus on her notes to work out where the problem is, when she hears a commotion in the living room. It’s the usual acoustic announcement that Clance is home, made through keys clinking, shoes coming off and thudding against the ground where she drops them, the rustling of her bag when she throws it on the couch. It sounds like there’s someone else with her too, because there’s a second set of footsteps, a conversation with an occasional low rumble offset against Clance’s excited chattering.
Clance has other friends over periodically, but she’s more likely to go out and meet them somewhere, so it’s a little bit unusual. There’s some shuffling then, what sounds like more bags, maybe something metal clinking together. Footsteps echo down the hall and the bathroom door opens and closes.
Then there’s a sudden tapping on Max’s door, Clance’s excited whisper on the other side. “Max! My friend Lupe came over. She’s gonna take some headshots for my website. Come out and say hi!”
At that news, Max huffs out an exasperated laugh, because of course that’s what’s happening. She rubs a hand over her face, already rolling her eyes a little, before pushing herself off her bed and reluctantly going to open the door. Clance is grinning at her from the other side, eyebrows raised, looking a little too excited for a random Thursday afternoon.
“Not now, Clance,” Max pleads. “Look, I have work in a couple hours, and this braising recipe is killing me.”
Clance puts on her most imploring face, puppy dog eyes and all, clasping her palms together. “Pleeeeease, Max? Just say hi for a sec, then you can go back to—whatever chef stuff you have to do.” She waves a hand vaguely towards Max’s notebook.
But Max isn’t dressed for company, and she doesn’t really feel like making small talk, not when she’s busy thinking through what might be going wrong with the ingredient ratio for what feels like the seventeenth time. So she just tilts her head, gives Clance her best apologetic you know you love me face, and shakes her head.
“Sorry, bestie. Not today, okay? Maybe next time.” Max squeezes out a smile, and sees Clance screw up her face a little bit in an exaggerated pout, hearing the accompanying sigh as she closes her door again.
Max sits back down on her bed, opening her notebook back up. She listens to them chatting for a while, Clance’s familiar rolling lilt contrasting with Lupe’s lower, quiet voice. It’s not deep, exactly, but it has a gravity to it, a feeling like she’s anchored to something. It’s a nice voice, Max thinks idly, before she tries to block out the murmurs so she can get back to her notes. The afternoon is slipping by and she’s determined to figure out what’s going wrong with this before her next shift.
—
The non-stop talk of Clance’s new favorite person doesn’t stop after that. If anything, it only increases. In a way, it’s cute: if Clance and Guy weren’t practically engaged, Max would think she had a crush on Lupe from how much she’s been talking about her lately.
Max is slightly distracted since she’s in the middle of making dinner—a new salmon recipe that she’s working on—so she’s only got half an ear tuned into the conversation. But she listens obligingly, fondly even, offering a few indulgent follow-up questions as Clance tells her for the eighth time that Lupe took the absolute best headshots for her, and doesn’t Max want to look at them again to see how talented she is, and also probably that Lupe invented photography in the first place.
She’s got her back turned, halfway across the kitchen, but she still manages to catch it when Clance’s voice start to pitch up, words tripping over each other like she just can’t wait to get it all out, “Oh, and did I also mention that she’s gay?”
Oh, okay. Max’s fingers still on the grater for a second when she hears Clance say that, because now she gets it. She can barely stifle her laugh, because this is about the least subtle thing she’s ever heard.
“Oh, she is, huh? Are you going where I think you’re going with this?” Max is glad she has her back turned so that she doesn’t have to try to keep the amused look off her face.
“Oh—” Clance says, still seemingly pretending at her innocent act. “You mean—that you’re both gay? Oh, that’s so funny! I wonder if you two might hit it off. Huh. I mean, I hadn’t even thought about that—”
It’s just getting embarrassing, now, so Max twists around and holds up a hand, rolling her eyes fondly and waving vaguely at Clance with her half-zested lemon. “Okay, okay, I get it. You’re being all smooth with this.”
Clance just blinks at her, bouncing up and down a little bit, barely even playing it up now. “So you’ll meet her?”
Max sighs, considering. It wouldn’t do any harm to meet someone new. She could always use more queer friends. There’s a tiny spark of something in the back of her ear, whispering that it could be nice to meet someone who’s more than a friend, too. And who knows—maybe that someone could be Lupe.
Clance is still watching her when Max looks back over, eyebrows high and hopeful. Max feels a wave of fondness—Clance is always looking out for her, even if it leads to some ridiculous moments like this. So, yeah—why not.
“Okay, sure. Preferably not when I’m at home in my house clothes with no warning” —she levels Clance another look— “but, yeah, that’s fine.”
The delight that radiates across Clance’s face at Max’s words is almost too bright, like Max has told her that they’ve won an all-expenses paid vacation somewhere hot and sunny. She claps her hands together, a little shriek of delight working its way out. Max just keeps zesting lemons, shaking her head in bemusement at what she’s signing herself up for.
She can understand why Clance is so excited that she can potentially set Max up with someone. Max isn’t entirely opposed to it, but she’s also a little apprehensive. As far as she knows, she’s Clance’s only queer friend, at least of her close circle. She can’t help but wonder if this is just a product of the circumstances, or whether Clance thinks they actually have something in common.
“But just casual, okay? Seriously, Clance, I don’t really think I’m ready to meet someone. Not right now. Work’s a lot, and I need to focus on that.” And that’s the truth, because she doesn’t really have the bandwidth to date right now, even if there is that little part of Max that does want to find someone, that hopes that maybe Clance has stumbled onto something here.
Clance nods, still beaming. “Sure. But don’t blame me if you catch feelings for her. I just know you two are gonna love each other.”
—
Work is finally starting to get better, Max adjusting to the intensity a little, so she lets Clance convince her to go down to the bar on her one off night that week. She’s been asking Max to go out for a few weeks now, claiming she needs best friend time. Max doesn’t know why they can’t just watch dumb reality TV together at home instead, not entirely sure what it is about being at a bar that would make it more best friend time. But she ends up deciding that she’ll allow it since Clance has really been picking up for Max’s slack lately, doing all the dishes, even doing Max’s laundry one weekend when she’d been at the restaurant practically till sunrise.
Clance is texting furiously while they walk, not saying much, so Max figures she’s talking to Guy. He’s out of town for a few days, and while Max loves the dude, she’s glad it’ll just be the two of them. Max doesn’t mind being a third wheel most nights, but sometimes it can get a little lonely, and it’s not exactly how she’d wanted to spend her one free evening.
When they get there, Max spots an empty table and starts to head in that direction, but then feels a tug on her arm. Clance is grinning and waving excitedly at someone sitting in the window, and it takes Max longer than it probably should to put two and two together. She purses her lips, looks at Clance, shakes her head in a mix of real and feigned disbelief.
“You think you’re cute, huh,” she says, cutting Clance a look.
Clance just beams back. “Maybe just a little bit.” Max can’t help rolling her eyes. “But, speaking of—look at Lupe. she’s real cute, huh?” Clance’s eyebrows are practically scraping the ceiling at this point, and Max can’t help but laugh. She hasn’t even really looked in Lupe’s direction yet, but at that she glances up, and then—
Well. Sure, Lupe’s good-looking. She’s just sitting at the table, sort of watching Clance’s antics, but also seems content to just be drinking on her own. She’s got a mostly full beer in front of her, the light catching in the amber. She’s dressed not dissimilarly to Max: a nice shirt, good shoes, casual but definitely like she’s made an effort. Max wonders if Lupe knew this was a set up, and if she’s the only one in the dark here.
“Lupe! Hi! It’s so great that, uh, we ran into you here!” Clance chatters as they sit down.
Max squeezes out a smile. “Um, hi. I’m Max. Chapman.” She holds out her hand, feeling sort of like this is some business meeting, and immediately regrets it, so she just tries to drop it back down on the table. Lupe just watches her with a faint smile of amusement. Max’s only consolation is that she’s not especially invested in dating Lupe, so it’s not the end of the world if she crashes and burns here.
“Lupe.” She gestures back towards herself with her beer. “Obviously.” She winks at Max then, but Max doesn’t feel too weird about it, because it feels more like they’re in on a joke, rather than that Lupe’s hitting on her.
Max isn't usually one to make judgments right off the bat, but she knows immediately that Lupe is just not her type. So much for that, she thinks in the back of her mind. Lupe sounds cool, from everything Clance has said about her (and Clance has certainly said quite a bit, lately), but she’s not sensing much chemistry. She hopes Lupe feels the same, because this is the most bizarre start to a blind date that Max has heard of in quite some time.
Suddenly Clance’s phone starts buzzing frantically, almost sliding off the table. Max can see that it’s Guy calling, and Clance grabs at it, exclaiming, “Oh! I should really take this.”
“Uh…okay?” Max says to her, a little perplexed as to what Clance’s deal is tonight. But she says it to Clance’s back, because she’s already halfway across the room, holding the phone up to her ear. Max looks back at Lupe, sees a look of slight bewilderment and mirth on her face that probably mirrors Max's own expression. She looks back at Clance, watching as she hangs up and hurries back towards them.
“Okay! Sooo,” Clance draws the word out, “that was Guy. It turns out that he's having a big work event tonight, and he really needs me to go with him. I can’t believe it! And just when I was going to get to hang out with you both. But you two should stay, you know! Get to know each other a little bit.”
And then she’s grabbing her bag, coat, hat, and she’s out the door in a whirlwind, leaving Max and Lupe sitting at the table, in a slightly incredulous haze. Max didn’t exactly check her watch when they sat down, but she’s pretty sure they got to the bar less than ten minutes ago. She can’t help but marvel at Clance’s brazenness.
“Wow. Even for Clance, that was pretty impressive,” Lupe muses, seemingly still in a little bit of shock.
“Right?” Max forgets for a moment that she doesn’t know Lupe, really, and turns to face her. “She didn’t even pretend to have a good excuse. I know for a fact that Guy is visiting his parents right now.”
Lupe shakes her head again, but she looks like she’s got a smile building, maybe working its way up to a grin. “Well, here we are then.” She shifts back in her seat further, somehow, her posture relaxing that much more again. “Guessing that this wasn’t what you signed up for, based on the look on your face when you saw me.”
Max just shakes her head, still feeling a little speechless about the whole situation. “I mean,” she starts. “Clance has been talking you up for a while, but I didn’t know we were meeting you tonight. It’s not that I didn’t want to meet you, I’m just—I’m not really one for blind dates.” She shrugs, a little uncertain where to go from here.
Lupe laughs, slightly self-consciously, then pauses. She takes a sip of her beer, looking behind Max for a beat before she continues. “Hey, listen. You seem great. If you’re half as funny as Clance has said you are, I’m sure we’d have have a good time together. I just don’t know—” she stops, then, rubbing her hand across her mouth.
Thank god. “Okay, yes. You don’t feel it either, right?” Max says, her voice pitching up in relief. “There is, like, negative chemistry here.”
And Lupe’s shoulders are already dropping back down, relief washing over her face, an easy grin left in its wake. “You know, it’s not that you’re not— I mean, uh—fuck. Sorry. It’s not that you’re not good-looking, just—not my type, I guess?”
Even though Max just met her a few minutes ago, she thinks that she and Lupe might have some shared language already; a different kind of chemistry, something like ease, understanding, closer to what Max has with Clance. For that reason, she thinks she can pull this stunt with Lupe, even though they just met. She also does it to entertain herself a little, because it’s been a weird night.
“Aw, I’m not? Hmm, that’s too bad.” Max tries to schools her face into a look of naïve disappointment, doing her best to keep from breaking. “You’re so…attractive,” she tries to say, but she can’t get the full word out without a grin sneaking behind it. And it doesn’t matter anyway, because Lupe’s rolling her eyes now, has a little bit of a smirk on her face.
“Yeah, yeah. Sell it to someone who’s buying.” Lupe shakes her head. “Think this’ll shake Clance’s confidence in her matchmaking skills?” She laughs, and Max joins in, feeling a warmth suffuse through her chest, because without the pressure of an awkward setup, maybe this can just be a low-key evening. As much as she’ll always love Clance best, it’s a breath of fresh air to just be around another queer person, putting her at ease in a different way, even if she doesn’t really know Lupe very well.
“As soon as I got in touch to tell her I was moving back, she couldn’t wait to tell me about how her best friend had moved to the city, that you guys were living together, and that you were single. Oh, and gay.” Lupe snickers. “I think she’s been hoping for this setup for months at this point.”
Max hums an affirmative. “Yep, that’s for sure.”
Lupe laughs again, her expression slipping into a fond smile as she finishes her beer and then points at Max. “Hey, you need a drink, and it looks like I need a second drink.”
She starts to stand up, but Max kind of wants an excuse to take a second to collect herself, so she gets to her feet, waving Lupe off.
“My treat—what can I get you?”
Lupe rattles off her order and Max heads over to the bar. It’s not terribly busy, and the bartender makes quick work of it. Max watches them work, their hands expertly pulling the tap for Lupe’s beer, slicing a fresh lime for Max’s drink.
It was a nice thing Clance did, Max thinks to herself. Clance always has her back, always will. A little part of her feels a twinge of relief that, even though this isn’t going to go anywhere romantic, she can actually see herself being friends with Lupe. It’s kind of great that Clance will have more than one gay friend, finally.
And who knows, maybe she does owe Clance a little bit of gratitude for this weird setup after all. This whole evening is the closest thing Max has done to dating in a while, and it’s pulling at the little thread inside her, the one that really does want to meet someone, even if her career is the top priority right now. Max sees Clance with Guy, her other friends with their partners, and knows that she wants that for herself someday.
She chuckles to herself as she pays for her drinks and heads back to the table, because maybe she is more ready to date than she thought. Just next time, ideally, it would be with someone she has at least a little bit of chemistry with.
Lupe’s doing something on her phone when she gets back, but she locks it and slides it back into her pocket, her big eyes focused entirely on Max again. She smiles her thanks as she picks up the beer Max drops off, settling back in her chair.
“So how are you readjusting to New York?” Max feels a little awkward, since she’s kind of just making small talk now, but she’s curious what drew Lupe back here. She’s still pretty new to the city, all things considered—only a couple years here under her belt—and she’s still getting to know its nooks and crannies, discovering the hidden pockets that feel like they’re made just for her.
“I mean, I can’t say I missed winter.” Lupe cocks her head and grins ruefully. “But other than that, it’s good to be back.” She shakes her head. “I always knew I wanted to live here, you know? Be an artist, all that shit. I came out here for school and figured I’d just stay, but I followed my college girlfriend out to LA.” She snorts and rolls her eyes, something in the sound of her laughter inviting Max to join in.
“Uh huh, I’m so shocked,” Max teases. “Guessing she didn’t follow you back, seeing as you’re here right now.”
“Yeah, not so much. I tried to do the whole gallery scene out there, but it’s a slog and I’m just getting tired of it. Thinking of doing something a little more steady now. I’ve been trying jobs like headshots, events, maybe even weddings. Not exactly what I’d pictured, but it’s still photography, at the end of the day, and the constant rejection kinda wears on you after a while, you know?” She slugs down more of her beer and shrugs.
It’s comforting and familiar, to hear that Lupe’s going through this kind of shift, because Max knows all too well what it’s like to have to remake yourself and your professional ambitions after college ends, once the real world sets in. “Yeah, I’ve actually kinda been transitioning, too. I’m a chef, but I’ve only been cooking for a few years, at least officially. My mom wanted me to study accounting, take over the family firm when I graduated. And I got the right degree and everything, tried to do it, but I just—I always hated it. I knew it wasn’t for me.
“I’ve always loved cooking, and I’ve wanted to do it professionally forever, but my mom always told me I should stick with the firm, that it was all set up so I wouldn’t have to worry. But I just—couldn’t, you know? So I came out here after a couple years, got a job in a kitchen, and started working my way up.” Max feels her shoulders slide back a little bit, her chest pushing out, because she’s proud of all her hard work, everything she’s put into this career.
“Damn, from what I hear, the restaurant world is tough. Good for you, man,” Lupe shakes her head and raises her glass in a half-hearted cheers before taking another sip.
Max groans. “I know, that’s the worst part. I mean, my mom was kinda right. It’s stressful, and the hours are wild, and people yell at you a lot, but—I just know it’s what I need to do.”
Lupe’s nodding at her, smiling, before giving a small shrug. “Yeah, that’s the shitty part of having this kind of passion. Can’t live with it, can’t live without it.”
Max gives her a little side eye for that, because that’s a tired phrase; although, given their whole situation, maybe that’s pretty apt, too.
The door opens then, a rush of wind blowing inward and breaking the equilibrium inside the bar. They glance up at the interruption, the gust of fresh air blowing in a few people with it. There’s nothing extraordinary about them, and Max starts to glance away, when there’s a little break in the cluster. Someone pauses in their stride, opening a channel to the other side of the group, and Max catches sight of a woman with big eyes, a hint of a gentle smile on her lips. She’s in the midst of conversation with one of her companions, glancing over at them as she speaks. As she turns her face, she darts her eyes past her friend to where Max and Lupe are sitting. It’s just for a moment, a flick of eye contact, but she pauses in what she’s saying for a second. Max feels like the floor is dropping out beneath her, as the woman’s face starts to open up into a full smile, the apples of her cheeks gliding to accommodate an easy grin. She gives a tiny, brief nod of her head, probably imperceptible were Max not watching her every move, before sliding her gaze back to her friend and resuming the conversation.
She watches until the group has moved past her and out of sight, before turning back to Lupe.
“Sorry, what was I saying?”
Lupe’s watching her, and Max doesn’t have to try very hard to see the bemusement on her face. “All right, Rico Suave over there,” she grins. “You weren’t saying anything—not to me, at least.”
Max feels her face heating up, even though it was just a glance. She looks down at the table.
Lupe motions to the bar with her head. “Hey, looks like you need another drink. I’d offer to get it, since this is supposed to be a date, but something tells me you’d rather buy your lady something while you’re at it.”
And now Max really feels her cheeks warming and she swallows down a nervous chuckle. “What—that’s not, no. My lady,” she scoffs, trying to laugh.
“I mean, she’s sure not mine,” Lupe raises her eyebrows. “Go see if you can get her something. Live a little—uh, what’s your last name again?” She looks marginally embarrassed, and that’s enough to stick a pin into the tension of the last few minutes, draining the moment of its awkwardness.
Max laughs, and Lupe grins, rolling her eyes. “What a night, huh. Anyway, go on—go get your drink and your girl already.” She waggles her eyebrows at Max in a way that already feels fond, and Max can see why she and Clance get along. As different as they are on the surface, they share the same supportive, goofy, kind heart, with good intentions beneath it all.
“Yeah,” Max sighs, looking down. “I dunno about that. I’m not—I don’t know. I’m kinda rusty when it comes to meeting someone at a bar.”
Lupe makes a concerned sound, something that Max thinks sounds slightly condescending and comforting at the same time. “Oh, well, hey. You’re getting some good practice in here, huh?” It’s meant to be a joke, and Max rolls her eyes a little bit, but feels her shoulders loosen just a touch.
“Don’t worry so much, you know? Doesn’t have to be all that serious. Just buy her a drink, ask her about her evening. You’ve got some moves somewhere in there, I bet.” Lupe twitches her eyebrows again and it’s enough to startle a laugh out of Max and get her out of her seat.
It’s not a very big room, and Max finds herself at the bar in what feels like the blink of an eye. The woman’s perched on a barstool, shoulders relaxed, an easy smile on her face as she gesticulates about something, chatting with one of her friends. Her hands are elegant, fingers long and tapered, and she’s wearing a ring with a green stone that catches and winks in the light as she flicks her hand around.
Max’s breath comes a little faster, her heart pounding in her chest like someone’s turned up the volume on it, and she doesn’t know what to do with her hands. She steps around the edge of the bar, angling herself so she’s hovering near the woman’s elbow. “Uh, hi,” she starts, a touch of regret and eager anticipation tussling with each other inside her.
The woman looks over at her, dips her head, and smiles. “Hi to you, too.”
“Do you, uh, need a drink?” Max smiles at her, hoping she sounds more confident than she feels.
She looks down at the mostly full glass in front of her. “Not particularly.”
God, that was an immediate crash and burn. “Okay, well, have a good evening,” Max grinds out, trying to get out of there as fast as she can. What a night. But then she hears—
“Hey, hold on.”
The woman’s smirking at her when she turns around again, but it’s gentle, only a little teasing.
“Just because I don’t need one doesn’t mean I don’t want one.”
Oh. Well. Max is absolutely out of her depth here, with this gorgeous woman who’s flirting like it’s easy as breathing, sipping liquor like it’s her job, eyeing Max like there’s no one else in the room. She has an effortless warmth emanating off of her, and Max feels like she’s coming home out of the cold, welcomed by a crackling fire.
Max feels a real smile breaking out across her face, as the woman raises an eyebrow at her, her lips stretched into a half-smirk. “Well?”
A laugh bubbles out, quick, and she hurries to cover it up, not wanting to look overeager. “Well—what are you drinking, then?”
“Oh, see, that all depends.” She tilts her head at Max. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Mmhmm,” Max says, or tries to say. “I’m not much of a drinker. Just soda water with lime.”
“Well, all right, then. Clearly they’re doing you some good, so I’ll take one of those.” The woman winks at her, blatantly looking her up and down, and Max feels her breath stop for a moment. She ducks her head again, not sure how she ended up being the one who’s getting picked up by this woman, seeing as this all started when Max approached her. But she shouldn’t think too hard about it, she supposes, because the most beautiful woman she’s seen in a long time is watching her, taking occasional sips from what looks like an old fashioned.
The bar is still mercifully, serendipitously quiet, and their soda waters take no time at all to appear in front of them. “You never told me your name,” the woman notes, watching Max over the rim of her glass as she takes a delicate swallow.
“Max,” she feels herself blurt out. “I’m Max.”
At this, the women’s smiling again, laughing softly. “Okay, then. Max. So, Max, do you only ever go after things you need, or do you let yourself have some wants every now and then too?”
Max’s stomach flips upside down and she’s trying to remember how to breathe so that she gets enough oxygen to her brain to begin to formulate some kind of response, when they’re interrupted by one of the woman’s friends, yelling over from their little crowd.
“Hey, Es! Get me a gimlet while you’re making eyes at her, would ya?”
Ah, Max thinks, a clue about this mysterious woman, and maybe one that can put her back on her feet. “S, huh? What’s that stand for?”
The woman—S, Max supposes—shoots her eyes over, glancing at her sidelong. It looks like she’s trying to hold back a smile; Max can see it dancing in her eyes, little sparkles of mirth. “Secret. Top secret.”
That pulls a real laugh out of Max, her shoulders finally letting go of a little bit of the tension she’s been holding since she first mustered up the courage to walk over here. “Oh, so you’re a spy, then?” she teases, feeling like her joints are warming up a little, the words coming a little more easily, finally.
The woman just raises an eyebrow and gives her an indulgent wink. “Yeah, they save me for the jobs where the mark is cute and flustered,” she returns, sitting back slightly and looking at Max almost appraisingly. “I can usually charm the intel out of even the quietest ones.”
“Yeah, I bet you can,” Max says under her breath, not quite sure how to take that. “Guess your dance card must be full up.”
But the woman shakes her head, a smile spreading slowly across her face. “Not tonight.” She tilts her head, takes a sip of her drink. Her actions are smooth and elegant, like she’s at a fancier bar than the rest of them, a level up. “You know, I would ask you to dance, but I don’t really think this is that kind of place.”
“Oh, I’m not a very good dancer, anyway,” Max admits, sticking her hands in her back pockets for something to do with them. She feels her face slide into what’s probably a pretty unattractive grimace and looks down, trying to hide it. Damn, she’s out of practice with this.
“Aw, that’s okay.” The woman’s smiling when Max glances back up, a secret, kind little grin that makes her feel like maybe it doesn’t matter if she’s not very good at flirting. “You’re cute enough to make up for that.”
Max feels her skin flush, a wide grin breaking out across her face in spite of herself. She bites her lip, but can’t pretend that she’s not blushing from the compliment.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to your friend.” The woman nods over towards Lupe. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime?”
“Oh—” Max starts, suddenly off-balance again, her chest getting hot. “I don’t know your name, or—”
“Sure, but now you know where I drink. First round’ll be on me next time.” She winks at Max, one corner of her mouth turning up gently. “And besides—can’t give away all my secrets on the first date, now can I?” The woman cocks her head, leans in close, and kisses her on the cheek, before sliding off the bar stool. “Have a good night, Max.”
Max floats back to the table, the dumb grin plastered back on her face, but she doesn’t even care.
“Hey, for someone who’s—what’d you say? Rusty?” Lupe smirks at her. “—that looked pretty damn good from here.”
“Okay, so I didn’t get her number, but I think she wants to see me again?” Max’s limbs still feel loose, like she’s been lying out in the sun, warmth seeping in and slowly diffusing through every part of her. “She said next time the first round’s on her.”
At those words, Lupe’s face breaks into an open-mouthed grin, and Max can’t help it if she feels a similar expression on her own face. Lupe clinks their glasses together, then swallows down the last few sips of her beer. She laughs, suddenly, the sounds echoing against the inside of the glass. “Clance is gonna flip when she hears about this.”
Max laughs, too, because damn, of course she is. “Maybe we can break the news of our separation to her gently.”
“Wow, and here I thought we were gonna go home together.” Lupe feigns disappointment, eyebrows knitting together in mock sadness.
“Yeah, yeah.” Max rolls her eyes. “You talk a big game for someone who’s been sitting off in the corner all night. Anyone here catch your eye? Besides yours truly, of course.”
Lupe snorts at the dumb joke and shrugs. “Not especially. But I’m not one to worry too much about these things. If I meet someone I like, then—” Her face moves into a relaxed smile, confident and easy, and she shrugs again. “But I’m not in a rush.
“But you, my friend,” she continues, “are gonna need to come back here again soon so that you can get your girl’s number. And if you need a drinking buddy, I’m happy to oblige.” Lupe gives her another wink. “Same time next week? We can see if lightning will strike twice.”
Lupe tips her head over towards where the woman—S, Max thinks to herself, S—is ensconced in her little crowd. Max glances over and watches her for a minute, feeling her whole body shiver when she glances back and drops Max a wink.
“Yeah,” Max breathes out, turning back around to look at Lupe, not even pretending to hide her smile. “Let’s do it.”