Rie

“Come on,” she giggles, shaking your arm. “Some of those guys are hot.”

“Go talk to them, then,” you tease.

She freezes, mouth agape. “Absolutely not.”

You lean over, signaling the rest of the group. “Hey, Alissa thinks those cops over there are hot.”

Everyone oohs and immediately jumps in to tease her. Someone else grabs her arm, threatening to pull her off her stool. Smug, you take a long sip of your drink, wincing slightly as it burns the back of your throat. After another minute or so of heckling, everyone settles down, eager to talk about the end-of-year results. You chime in every now and then, more so content to listen.

Then, someone taps your shoulder. You flinch, twisting around to throw a nasty stank face only to come face to face with the most beautiful brown eyes you’ve ever seen. Giving this guy a subtle up-down, you wait for whatever he’s got to say.

“Excuse me, I apologize for the intrusion. My colleagues have placed bets on whether or not I could get your number. They’ve been pressuring me since we arrived.” His voice is soft, with just enough husk to catch your interest.

You laugh. “That’s one way to talk to a woman.” Your eyes focus on the LED on his temple. Oh, you poor bastard. “I appreciate a man who’s honest. How much we talking?”

The conversation behind you quiets, your crew now focused wholly on you. You have to admit, this little android is the prettiest thing you've seen in a while. He's prim and proper, but his eyes are soft. There's something unbearably gentle in his face.

“They’ve each bet fifty dollars. Again, I apologize. I figured the best thing to do was to simply explain the situation and accept the rejection,” he says, tone placid.

You gesture to the empty seat next to you. “Tell you what, give me ten percent and we’ll show your ‘friends’ that you ain’t so helpless as they think, deal?”

The corner of his mouth lifts into a hesitant smile as he takes the empty barstool. You flag down the bartender as he makes his round.

“What do you like to drink, sweetheart?” you ask, letting your drawl come through a little stronger.

The android sputters. “I don’t- I’ve never actually- uh.” He glances over at the table where the other cops sit, LED flickering yellow.

Oh, sweet baby child. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting for you to play along. You look back at the bartender. “Get us whatever the most popular thirium-based drink is, please.”

The man nods and moves down the bar.

“Isn’t the suitor supposed to buy you a drink?” he asks, his flat façade is beginning to crack. He squirms nervously under your attention.

You take a sip of your drink. “Are you attempting to court me?”

His LED cycles yellow, then red.

 Bless his heart. He really is a mess. “What’s your name?”

“Connor,” he says quietly.

You echo his name before giving him your own.  “Do you even like humans? I mean, are you attracted to humans?” you ask curiously.

His expression flickers for a single second. “I don’t really have a preference.”

“So why me? There’s six of us here. Why’d they sic you on me?”

His eyes dance all over the room as he finds his words. “I… may have mentioned that I thought you were pretty. They took that as an opportunity.”

Butterflies bloom in your stomach at the admission. “Well, I think you’re pretty too.”

He looks at you with wide, surprised eyes, only looking away when a drink is slid in front of him. Summoning a new air of confidence, he brings the drink closer and taking a large sip. The sour taste overloads the sensors on his tongue, causing his face to pucker.

You laugh. “No good, huh?”

“No. No, just too big of a sip,” he says, voice hoarse.

That makes you laugh even harder, and you subtly lean closer. “So, what do you do, copper? You don’t act like a street cop.”

“Homicide,” he says cooly. “I’m a detective.”

A collection of oohs echo from behind you. Whipping around, you shoo them off. “Y’all mind your own business.” Turning back to him, you catch another small smile. “That’s pretty serious. I bet you stay busy.”

He nods. “I’m certainly never bored. You work with horses?”

“What gave it away?” you tease. At his flustered silence, you continue. “Yes, I’m a trainer at a facility outside of town.”

He leans on the bar, eyes glinting with curiosity. “How does one get into that line of work?”

“You’re either born into it or you work your ass off,” you say somewhat spitefully.

“I take it you’re the latter?”

The burning frustration beginning to fester fizzles out immediately. “Yes.”

He looks a closer look at your decorative show shirt, watching how the sequins catch the light. “What do you do exactly?”

“Well, we specialize in mustangs. The wild horses out west? We train and sell mustangs, sometimes for clients or auction or private sales. We also host clinics and compete on the show circuit. A couple of the girls teach lessons as well,” you explain.

“I’ve never seen a horse. They are… larger than the animals I’m used to,” he says sheepishly.

Your eyes crinkle as you grin. “I always dreamed of working with horses since I was a little girl. I’m lucky to be where I am.”

“Can I ask you something?” he asks.

You nod.

“Why are you all dressed like that? It seems a little out of place this far in the city.”

“It is. Today was our last show of the season. The girls wanted to wear the gear before it all goes back in the closet,” you say, tapping the brim of your black show hat. “Besides, it’s fun to wear.”

You’re about to ask him something when a burly man with unruly grey hair claps him on the back. “I go piss for two minutes and I come back to Gavin bitching and moaning. What’s going on?”

Pursing your lips, you stifle a laugh.

“Nothing, Lieutenant. I was just introducing myself,” the android says, looking back at you. “This is Lieutenant Hank Anderson, my superior officer.”

You offer a quiet hello. Hank’s brow raises as he realizes what exactly is happening. From behind you, Casey pipes up. “Ooh, is he your dad?”

Connor’s expression twists. “Considering that I am an android, that would not be possible.”

Her eyes glint with trouble as she looks up at Hank. “Well, I can call you daddy if you like.”

The rest of your group, you included, gasp and choke on embarrassment. Hank, to his credit, brushes it off. “While I’m flattered, I’m not available.”

Connor looks up at him, confused. “Yes you are-”

Hank snatches him by the shoulders and yanks him off the barstool. “Okay! That’s enough.”

“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” you say, digging your wallet out of your back pocket. Pulling out one of your business cards, you hold it out to the android. “I know it was for a bet, but, uh, give me a call sometime.”

Connor, still in the lieutenant’s grip, takes the card before getting drug back over to their table. Once they’re out of immediate earshot, everyone starts screaming and grabbing each other the way sports fans do when their team scores. Alissa shakes you by the shoulders in excitement.

Back at the men’s table, Gavin, Chris, and their resident rookie sulk at his return. Connor flashes the card you gave him with a triumphant smile.

“I believe you each owe me fifty dollars.”