Read The Messenger (A Lesbian Romance) for Free Online

gut was trying to tell me something, it seemed, but I couldn’t figure what just yet. I stepped away from the door and looked into the windows at the bar inside.  
    The place looked sleepy. Mitchell’s soon to be disappointed clients were already there, looking down at their phones as though they were already searching for new business ventures. It would have probably made my job easier, but I still didn’t want to go inside. It wasn’t until I looked at the adjacent building that I learned what was keeping me out.  
    The building right next to the hotel housed a dive bar. Just outside its door, a battered and familiar bike was locked to the rack. Rabbit’s bike. I couldn’t be sure that she was in there, but the rollicking yet soulful music floating out of the propped door seemed to fit her, almost like a theme song that she probably carried with her.  
    If Rabbit wasn't in there, similar girls definitely would be, I told myself. Nothing wrong with seeing the real thing after an afternoon of image searching. Try as I might, I couldn't even look back at the hotel bar. I was pulled toward the sultry dive as though by magnetic field. It was like I didn't really have a choice.  

Chapter Eight
    Somewhere in the back of my head, I'm sure I wondered what was going to happen as Mitchell's clients slowly realized that they'd been stood up, but none of that mattered as I walked into the bar. I pushed through the filthy, ancient velvet curtain. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the low light, that world of clients and multi-million dollar contracts and people like Mitchell slowly melted away. It was replaced by the somehow comforting smell that well-loved dive bars seem to have, and with the sense that the people here were all in some way known to one another. It was like walking into the house of an old friend, although maybe that’s because it reminded me very much of Moe’s Tavern from the Simpsons.  
    The bar itself was situated along one wall in the small room. Small groups of young people of indeterminate gender congregated in the booths along the opposite wall. Everyone seemed to be pawing at one another, either out of playfulness or intimacy. It was interesting, these gentle gestures coming from people who wore chains around their waists.  
    The bartender raised a gray fuzzy caterpillar of an eyebrow as I claimed a barstool and sat. He seemed to look at me with surprise, but truthfully, I could've looked at him in the same manner. He looked like more of a teamster, or maybe a grizzled ex-cop, than a bartender in a place like this. I expected him to shuffle by and take my drink order, but instead he turned away and attended to a young woman with a Mohawk and facial piercings. I'm not going to lie, it was surprising; I was too used to getting preferential treatment wherever I went. Instead of dwelling on it I took a moment to look around. No Rabbit. Plenty of girls I could imagine as her contemporaries, but not her.  
    As Mohawk waited for her drink, she eyed me with equal measures of suspicion and curiosity. I wasn't used to standing out like this, but truthfully, I was enjoying it. I felt like a visitor to different, fascinating planet. Mohawk got her drink and rejoined her friends. The bartender seemed to think about it for a moment, then finally came over to take my drink order. I was about to request my standby, a gin and tonic, when a familiar voice barked out a different order mere inches from me.  
    It was Rabbit, who had somehow materialized as though out of ether. She ordered a beer on tap. Because I was so pleasantly shocked to see her, I didn’t get a chance to place my order before the bartender shuffled away.  
    “He’ll get you in a minute”, she said with the confidence of a regular.  
    I didn’t know what to say in response. Was that even something you’re supposed to respond to ? I cleared my throat and tried not to turn myself too much to face her, for fear of possibly saying or doing