Chapter 7

I pushed my empty wineglass across the bar. “Pour me another,” I said.

“You’re drinking white wine, not a snifter of brandy.” Anna poured me another glass and leaned on the counter. “You gonna tell me what happened or am I going to have to beat it out of you?”

“You’re shorter than me, so good luck.”

“Stature has nothing to do with it.” Anna flexed her biceps, which were, admittedly, rather impressive. “Spill, Dani, or you don’t get any more wine.”

Anna worked as a bartender in a dive bar in Fremont, about a half mile from my apartment. The counters and chairs were always sticky, and the place didn’t sell anything more expensive than cheap vodka from Costco. Anna had been working here for the last three years, and thanks to her pretty face and ability to sweet-talk men, she earned great tips and could afford her studio apartment by herself. It also helped that her landlord was one of five people in the city who’d yet to raise the rent to an astronomical rate. 

I signed, buryin