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there’s lots of giggling and squealing, but I’m not that worried.
    The bartender puts the drinks on the bar.
    “Two Golden State Aviations,” he says, and leaves again. The girl’s still not back, so I take a sip of the ridiculous drink — it’s actually good — and scan the crowd.
    Across the C-shaped bar, a woman with a mane of curly, blond-red-gold-brown hair wedges herself against the bar and waves at the bartender. Something clicks in my brain.
    Then she pushes her hair out her face, just as the bartender steps aside, and all my suspicions are confirmed.
    It’s Luna. Detective Rivers. Whatever.
    Fuck . I came here specifically not to see her.
    What I should do is leave and go somewhere else to get laid, but I’m already walking over, purple drink in hand. I can feel eyes on the tall, pushy guy with a leather jacket and a girly drink, but I don’t give a damn.
    I lean against the bar next to Luna, elbowing a guy with flip-flops and long hair. He looks at me like he’s gonna say something, but changes his mind pretty fast. Luna doesn’t notice.
    “You have to stop following me,” I say.
    She turns and looks at me, her mass of curls bouncing. Then she laughs.
    “If I had you under surveillance, you’d never know,” she says, her warm brown eyes dancing. “Give me a little credit.”
    Luna’s leaning against the bar with her forearms, wearing a sleeveless shirt and shorts, her skin pale gold. I have to fight the urge to lick her shoulder.
    “It’s still suspicious, detective,” I say. “You watch me for months and don’t say anything, and then suddenly we’re talking three times in a week.”
    “You came up to me ,” she points out. Then she looks at my drink, and raises one eyebrow. “Apparently after trying to impress some married lady by buying her an Aviation, only to get turned down.”
    Even though our eyes are locked, I can tell she’s checking me out again. I fight the urge to pull on the collar of my t-shirt under my jacket, just to make sure none of my ink is showing.
    “You think I bought a drink for someone who turned me down,” I say, and take a slow, deliberate sip.
    “I had you figured for the gruff, whiskey-on-the-rocks type,” Luna says, nodding at the martini glass in my hand. “That’s positively delicate .”
    “I’m dainty as fuck,” I say, twisting the stem of the glass between my fingers. “Couldn’t you tell?”
    She laughs.
    “So you fix cars, surf badly, wear leather jackets, and prefer your drinks purple?” Luna asks.
    “I’m complicated,” I say. “Besides, I can make myself a whiskey on the rocks at home. I don’t even know what’s in this thing, but it’s delicious.”
    “Looks like the Cheshire Cat took a piss in a martini glass,” she says.
    Luna squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, like she’s wincing. Then she laughs.
    “I spend too much time around cops,” she says. “Those filthy assholes are wearing off on me.”
    “I’m deeply offended,” I deadpan.
    “You do strike me as the pearl-clutching type,” she teases. “You write a lot of letters to the editor about how disrespectful the youth of today is?”
    “Thousands,” I say. “I live for it, Detective.”
    The bartender comes over and sets two beers in front of Luna.
    Two ?
    I raise my eyebrows, then take another sip of the tasty purple drink to cover my surprise.
    “Same tab?” he asks.
    Luna just nods.
    “Yeah, he owes me,” she says, and the bartender leaves again.
    She grabs the beers and turns to me.
    “I did tell you my name,” she says. “You don’t have to call me Detective, you know.”
    I can’t stop wondering who the other beer is for, or whether it’s the he is who owes Luna.
    “I had to drag it out of you,” I say. I’m trying to sound light, but my voice sounds a little hollow, even to me. “I thought you might prefer your title, Detective.”
    “Well, I’ll see you around, mechanic ,” she teases.
    Then Luna walks into the mass of people in