But even though I want to spend time enveloped in this story, I realize that the entire chapter I read before Lucas showed up at my door is basically white noise. I retained nothing.
All I’d been able to think about was what happened at the yacht club.
The confusion still sits unsettled on my chest. How did we get from the playful banter about asking me out for drinks, to the relaxed conversation about San Francisco, to Wyatt storming out the door, not looking back?
I feel like I’m missing something.
Something important.
Something you’d only be able to understand if you live here. If you belong here. Which I don’t.
I sigh, deciding to give up on reading for the night. Reaching over, I set it on the night stand and flick off the lights, hoping that tomorrow is a more fruitful day.
I don’t know exactly how I got here.
Okay, that’s not entirely true. I can remember the bunny trail of events that led to me sitting here now, at Harbor’s, surrounded by people I don’t know, and wishing I was somewhere else.
But the truth is, I don’t understand why I’m here.
“If you want a job for the summer, you start right now.”
That’s what Lucas’ friend Hamish told me when I showed up at Bennie’s at the Pier this morning to ask about waitressing.
I’m pretty sure my eyes about fell out of my head, but I’m smart enough not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I’d grabbed the apron from the counter and wrapped it around my waist.
“Just gimme a shirt and I’m ready.”
Hamish had smiled at me. “I’m gonna like you. I can already tell.”
And that’s how I’d found myself waitressing at Bennie’s, learning the menu and POS system on the fly, trying to keep track of which tables were what numbers, and keeping myself from being barreled over as I carried a huge plate of food up the stairs to the rooftop deck.
The place was packed for my entire shift, which wasn’t surprising, considering it was a Sunday afternoon, the restaurant sits right on the pier in a beach town, and the menu contains a range of food, along with craft beer and a full bar.
The clientele at Bennie’s is eclectic, ranging from couples dressed nicely on a date, to families with whiney kids with sand in their hair, all the way to a handful of surfers who embody beach culture to the extreme.
The one consistent? The food looks damn delicious.
When I’d been a customer on Friday evening with Lucas, I ordered a burger, just asking for what looked like a cheaper item on the menu. But getting familiar with the dishes served made my mouth start to water.
My day today was incredibly long, and my feet were aching. But as my very first shift came to an end, I’d been invited by a group of servers to go out for a drink.
Which is where I am now.
Harbor’s is a bar near the yacht club. Close enough for us to walk from work but far enough away that I quickly regretted my decision to join in when I realized I’d need to walk back to Bennie’s to get my bike and then ride back to Lucas’ house once we were done.
The place is packed, but our group of seven managed to find a four-top table and a bunch of chairs. So now, we’re squished together, chatting about work and life and more work.
Well, they are talking about those things. I’m sitting here mute, uncomfortable, as usual.
When I was invited out, I tried to remind myself that I need to make friends. That getting to know people is important. But I always forget how much work is involved in something like that. How exhausted I feel afterwards.
I think back to my conversation with Wyatt. It didn’t feel exhausting talking to him, I remind myself. Then I roll my eyes and try to focus on something else. Instead of the gorgeous, somewhat broody man that seems to infiltrate my every latent thought.
As my eyes wander around the bar, I see a booth in the corner that looks big enough to seat a large group.
“Hey, why don’t we go sit over there. We’ll have more room,” I say.
Everyone laughs.
I look around confused, wondering if I missed a joke that was told right before I spoke.
“That table’s reserved,” Loren says, sipping from a pale ale gripped in his right hand, disdain dripping from his voice.
I glance back at the table, not seeing a sign or anything.
“It’s for the owner’s daughter and her friends.” That was Denise. She’s worked at Bennie’s since it opened seven years ago, a fact she has reminded me of at least a handful of times. When I take a look at her, I catch her glaring at the booth like it did her wrong in a past life.
Or maybe this one.
“I keep forgetting you’re not from here. Most of us grew up here or in one of the neighboring cities,” Eleanor says, looking up briefly from the phone she’s constantly glued to. Then she looks at Denise. “You should tell her about them.”
I look between all of the people I’m sitting with. “Who are them?”
Denise laughs. “Well, it looks like this might be perfect timing. They’re coming right now.”
I turn to look over my shoulder and like something out of a movie, I see a group of people about our age walking across the floor and heading towards the booth.
Growing up, you learn pretty quickly that people like to associate with what’s familiar. It’s why people typically don’t date outside of their attractiveness level, and aren’t usually friends with people from different backgrounds or socio-economic statuses. It’s the reason people so easily flock in gender or ethnic groups. Familiarity and similarity is the most comfortable place to be, because it is a reflection of yourself.
So it makes sense that the group of people that walk through the door all look like they stepped out of a magazine. Tall, fit, attractive. They ooze wealth and confidence.
They’re not the type of people to ever wonder if they belong somewhere. They’re the type of people who believe that somewhere doesn’t exist if they aren’t there.
“You’ll learn pretty quickly that the Hermosa elite have some sort of exclusive section everywhere in town. Here, it’s that booth. At The Wave, it’s an entire VIP section. At Bennie’s, they have their own table on the rooftop.” Denise pounds her drink. “They’re so fucking annoying.”
The noise from the bar is loud, but it fades slightly as I watch them. The ‘elite’ of Hermosa Beach. A tray of drinks is brought out but I didn’t see them order. They laugh and cheers and get out their phones to take pictures.
“Which one is the owner’s daughter?” I ask, just trying to make conversation.
“She’s not here,” Loren says. “She’s so hot. I’d love to show her what a real man is like instead of those pansy rich boys she’s always hanging out with.”
I hold back my disgusted face, but barely. I don’t like men who assume women can be manipulated with sex. Like getting fucked by someone strong enough or man enough will make them think differently.
I’ve always wished I was brave enough to confront pigs like Loren. They feel entitled to women’s bodies, assuming that because they find someone attractive, they should be able to control that person in some way. And when that woman doesn’t respond the right way, they’re a bitch or a cunt or a whore or any other number or names I’ve been called throughout my life.
But I’ve never been willing to stand up for what’s right. Hold them to task. Tell them what I really think.
That goes with anything, really. Sexist men, abusive foster families, the mean girls in high school. I don’t know how to speak up. When you live in a place where no one listens to you, enough time goes by and you start to believe your voice doesn’t exist anymore.
Maybe someday I’ll learn to speak up. But today isn’t that day.
Instead, I look back at the table of ‘rich bitches’ and take a sip of my vodka soda, and listen to the people I’m sitting with gossip about them.
I learn something about each person sitting at that table. How the brunette, Rebe
cka Jane, is an ‘influencer’ – a term Denise uses with air quotes and another roll of her eyes – and doesn’t have a real job. How the Asian girl, Ji-Eun, comes from old money in South Korea. How the blond guy, Aaron Singer, likes to make actual notches in his bedpost after sleeping with tourists.
“They own everything in town, which is why shit is so expensive,” Loren groans. “Double lots and pools and gyms.”
I bite my cheek, thinking of Lucas’ house.
“And that’s just the people sitting over there,” Eleanor adds. “You should see the rest of them.”
Instinctively, I know.
I know that Lucas and Paige are a part of this group that my fellow servers despise so much.
And in what can only be described as an act of God, the moment I come to this realization, I see Paige walk through the front door.
She looks just as beautiful and happy as she did the last time I saw her, strolling into the room with a big smile on her face. I see her eyes connect with that booth and she raises a hand in the air to wave at them.
And then, like it’s slow motion, her head pans across the bar, scanning, her eyes connecting with mine, passing, and then darting back.
Her smile grows.
I smile back.
I might not be the best at confronting assholes like the ones at my own table, but I do know that, regardless of who I’m friends with, I try to be nice to everyone.
As far as I know, Paige is the same way. Hopefully the people at this table can get over themselves and realize that at some point.
“Oh my God, is she actually coming over here?” Denise hisses at no one in particular.
Eleanor puts her phone down immediately and adjusts herself in her seat. “Do I look okay?” she asks, fixing her hair.
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes as I realize that everything Denise, Loren and Eleanor just told me, everything the rest of our group listened in on with wide ears and big eyes, was a bunch of bullshit.
Sure, it might have been true. There might be a girl who lives of her parents’ money and a guy who bangs tourists and another girl who wants social media to pay for her life.
But the people in this group right here who are talking about them like they’re the scourges of society? They’re fucking jealous. They’re outraged because it doesn’t feel fair.
Well I have a few opinions on life and what is fucking fair, and I can promise it has nothing to do with what the ‘Hermosa elite’ do with their time and money.
“Oh my gosh, Hannah!” Paige exclaims as she reaches our table. “This is awesome. I didn’t know you’d be here.” Then she glances around, her smile remaining. “Hey everyone. Eleanor, your hair looks awesome today. Did you cut it?”
Eleanor looks like she just fell in love when she runs a hand through her hair. “Oh. Uhm. Yeah. Last week.”
“I’ve always thought a bob was a great look on you. Remember that time you put blue highlights in?” Paige says, giggling, and Eleanor joins her. “I was so jealous. My mom never would have let me do that.”
Eleanor shrugs, her hand playing with the ends of her hair. “It was just wash out stuff you can get at the store. You should totally try it out.”
“Maybe,” Paige says. “If I do, I’ll ask you what brand you got. I’m always worried the color will bleed and ruin the rest of my hair.”
“Just let me know,” Eleanor says, nodding.
“Hannah, Lucas is going to be here soon if you want to come join us,” Paige says, giving me a smile and then glancing around to the group again. “But no pressure if you’re making new friends.”
I nod, giving Paige my own smile.
“Thanks. I’ll probably swing by to say hi when Lucas gets here.”
“Sounds good. Bye everyone!”
And then she whisks off, moving confidently across the floor and over to the booth where her friends are waiting.
There’s a pregnant pause and I can feel everyone’s energy shifting, moving in my direction. Something that’s confirmed when I glance around and see every set of eyes at our table trained on me.
“What?” I ask, though I definitely know.
“How do you know Paige Andrews?”
“She’s friends with my brother.”
“Who is your brother?” Denise asks, one eyebrow raised high enough that it looks like it’s gossiping with her hairline.
“Lucas Pearson. Do you guys know him?”
I take a sip of my drink, knowing full well that they know who he is. And of course, my admission is like a bomb dropping in the group.
Eleanor seems excited, her eyes lighting up. Loren looks suspicious, his face pinched in an expression that tells me he thinks I might be full of shit. Denise seems a little pissed, but is trying to hide it. The rest of them seem to only be half listening as they fuck around on their phones.
“I didn’t realize Lucas had a sister,” Eleanor says, leaning forward on the table, her eyes wide. “I thought he was an only child. He never had siblings when we were in school together.”
“We just found out about each other,” I say, though I immediately regret it. One of the very first things I learned when I moved here was that the gossip machine is aggressive. I have to be careful what I say, and who I talk to.
Denise looks like she doesn’t know how to handle this bit of news. But before she can ask any questions, I cut it off at the knees.
“I’d rather not talk about that, though, since it’s so new. I’m gonna grab a drink and then head over there since it looks like Lucas just got here. I’ll see you guys at work, okay? And thanks for inviting me out.”
I stand quickly and head over to the bar for a new drink, trying to buy myself time before I head over to Paige’s table.
The last thing I want is some kind of barrier between me and the people I work with. I mean, I can’t control who my brother is. And it would be stupid of them to treat me different just because they can kind of associate me with this group of ‘elite’ that they seem to despise, or be really jealous of.
But it doesn’t seem like the people here handle things with maturity. The pyramid of importance is based on wealth, and gossip is its own unique form of currency.
I’ll just have to wait and see how things go during my next shift, I guess. But if I’m completely honest? I don’t see myself making great friends with Denise or Loren, so I’m not too upset about it.
After grabbing my vodka soda, I head over to the booth in the corner. Paige and Lucas immediately make room for me, getting everyone to scoot in so I can sit on the end.
“There she is,” Lucas says as I approach the table. “Everyone, this is my sister Hannah. Hannah, these are some of my good friends.”
I get some friendly smiles and one or two curious glances. The group has grown since the gossip-sesh back at my previous table, and there are at least eight people all seated around the booth.
“Congrats on the job at Bennie’s,” Lucas says, taking a sip of his drink.
I smile. “I went by this morning around nine o’clock to drop off the application and Hamish hired me on the spot.”
Lucas smiles. “I’m glad it all worked out so well.”
“Yeah, things tend to work out well when you’re friends with Lucas.” The guy who says it is sitting next to my brother, and he chuckles and takes a sip of his own drink.
Lucas rolls his eyes. “Ignore Otto. He’s just being a dick. We’re not actually friends.”
Otto laughs again, and I nod and give him smile, but a sense of unease rolls through my body.
I’ve never been one to take a handout. Just being here already makes me feel like I’m abusing someone’s generosity, not to mention the meals he and Paige have paid for, and borrowing some of Paige’s clothes for the event last night.
But if Lucas had something to do with me getting that job? I’m not sure I know how to respond to that.
Obviously sensing my discomfort, Lucas leans towards me. “It wasn’t a big deal. I just flick
ed Hame a text letting him know my sister was probably going to swing by to apply for a job. That’s it.” He bumps me in the shoulder. “I feel like I missed out on a lot of things that being a big brother entails. The least I can do is make sure the people I know can help you get a job if you’re qualified for it, right?”
I grin, brushing off that earlier feeling. He’s just doing the brotherly thing. The helpful thing. Like what Paige said at breakfast the other day. Family helps each other.
“Thanks for that,” I say. “I definitely need extra cash this summer, so I really do appreciate the help.”
He bobs his head and takes another sip of his drink.
I continue to sip my own drink slowly, and choose to stay fairly silent for the rest of the evening, just observing Lucas and Paige interact with their friends.
I glance back at the other table a few times. I can see them looking at me as they talk.
This is why I don’t gossip. Why I don’t like to sit around and talk shit about people. Because it means the second I leave, they’re going to keep doing it, but this time, it’ll be about me.
People talk shit. I can’t control that. But I can control what I say, and what I listen to.
And this is my lesson. This is my one smack over the head to remind me that I don’t have to sit and listen to stuff like that. It doesn’t feel good. It feels manipulative and aggressive and angry. It feels like it’s filled with jealousy and bitchiness.
Those things aren’t me. And if I’m going to finally find my own place in this world, I have to stay me, even if that means I stick out here.
Eventually, someday, I’ll find the place I fit.
CHAPTER TEN
Wyatt
I wake up to a small hand poking me in the face.
Squinting, I peek open one eye and spot Ivy sitting on the edge of the bed with a smile.
I close my eyes again.
“I know you’re awake, weirdo,” she says, poking me again.
I pull my hands out from under the comforter. Then why are you poking me?
Promise Me Nothing (Hermosa Beach Book 1) Page 11