Love On The Rocks

Chapter 3: Mojito

I hated to think of this possibility, yet I could not help but think about it: I then told myself it must be something else, it had to be something else, because I wanted it to be something else.

But if that's not it, then... why isn't he here? What if something's happened to him? What if he's had an accident, or if he's in trouble?

I realized this explanation was not much better, so I shook my head in hopes to try and quiet down my imagination, which was running too wild.

Or... he's just busy. Yeah, I'm sure he's just real busy this evening, and had to work overnight, so he can't make it to the Golden Cross... that's it.

While I stared at my phone, I wondered whether or not to give him a call, or even just text him, to ask him if everything was alright on his end, but I did not dare for fear of coming off as nosy: the previous evening, he had asked me for my number, which had surprised me because this had been the first important step he was taking toward the development of our relationship, but not as much as when I had asked for his in exchange and that he had replied to me his number was '666'. I theorized he had somehow gotten his number custom-made, for the fun of it. But no matter what his phone number was, I did not dare make a move: although we had not yet texted each other since we had exchanged numbers, I did not want to ruin my chances with him by showing him how paranoid and clingy I could be.

I turned my head to the counter on which rested a lonely glass filled with Glencraig whisky, and my expression turned sad as I looked at it. I set my phone down on the counter and reached for the glass, before I slowly brought it up to my lips: the taste was peaty and sharp, with a long finish of citrus and tobacco notes, and upon tasting it, I thought it suit Crowley very well and somehow matched his personality. Just as I was closing my eyes to fully take in the drink, I heard my phone go off with the sound of a notification: I immediately opened my eyes back and set the glass back down as I picked my phone up with both hands. My screen lit up and I could read a text from Crowley himself: "Ambassador Hotel, penthouse suite. Could use your help."

My eyes had barely finished reading the end of the text I had already put my phone back inside my jeans pocket and was making my way to the coat rack near the front door; I removed my jacket from it then turned around, and I did not have to search for long before I spotted Ed, who I called from afar. He turned around upon hearing my voice mixed in with the numerous others resonating throughout the bar, and as he started to walk towards my direction, I put my jacket on while I told him I had to go right away and leave the bar on the account of an emergency: and before he had time to reply anything back to me, I opened the door and stepped out in a hurry.

I know Ed won't be angry at me for leaving work so early, we've known each other for a long time now and he's a good friend, I thought while on the way to my car, I'll make it up to him by working longer the next few nights, I'm sure that'll be enough for him. But right now, I have no other choice. I had to leave. Crowley needs me.

The word 'help' kept echoing within my mind: I had no idea what kind of trouble he was in, but if the word 'help' needed to be brought up, then it had to be something of grave importance.

I got to my car and hopped in then quickly started the engine; I did not need to set up a GPS course to the hotel's address, given I knew where it was, and I also knew it was about 20 minutes away from the Golden Cross. While on the road, my thoughts only grew more and more tangled, until my brain was nothing but a mess; but I was lucid enough to understand that time was of the essence.

If Crowley sent me a text instead of having called me, it must be because he wanted to let me know as quickly as possible. And if he couldn't even take the time to write a properly structured message, then he must be in some kind of danger.