“Okay,” she nods.
“But, in case I can’t wait that long, can you give me your number?” I ask. She grins before plugging her phone number into my cell. Her cheeks are rosy as she smiles to herself.
“It was nice meeting you, Evan.”
“I’ll call you, maybe we can hear a band together sometime?” She smiles and nods as I place my phone back into my pocket. Chelsea walks away and I return to the table with Patrick, looking forward to when I can see her again.
Chapter 18
Kate
July 12, 2012
Almost two weeks ago, he was sitting right over there at the table near the pool table. His arm perched next to the blonde who was probably a librarian or a teacher. Two weeks ago when I hid in the backroom, watching him as Bree berated me, daring me to saunter over to him, to shake my ass and get him to follow me to the bar. But, I couldn’t.
I’ve seen him twice since he broke my heart two years ago. But, he hasn’t seen me. Every single shift I’ve worked since that night has been agonizing. My breath catches any time a dark haired man walks through the front door of Molly’s. He must be coming back for a reason. Or does he just want to torture me, make me hide like a fool in the backroom, reminding me again and again that he’s moved on when I can’t?
“Kate,” Bree says, waving a hand in front of me.
“Sorry, must’ve spaced out,” I say, shaking my head.
“Uh, yeah, I said your name four times. Where were you?”
“You don’t want to know.” I hop off the barstool and roll my sleeves up a bit before grabbing a cloth to wipe down tables.
“Try me,” Bree says, raising both her eyebrows. She stands straight, with her hands on her hips.
“You watched me last month when I hid in the backroom. You thought I was pathetic, didn’t you?”
Bree sighs and walks towards me, touching my arm gently. “You’re not pathetic, Kate. I just want you to move on and be happy, and I feel like we keep having the same conversation again and again. He’s not worth it,” she says dismissively.
“But, what if he is?” I stand, clutching the rag in my hands.
“Then, do something about it,” she says. Her words are strong . . . and tempting.
“I wish I could. It just feels so impossible. He doesn’t trust me,” I say, twisting the rag in my hands.
“Well, then, screw him. You deserve to be trusted,” Bree insists.
“You don’t really believe that, do you, Bree?” I ask incredulously.
“I do. I’ve known you for years now and you’ve never disappointed me. Not once. If he can’t see that, then it’s his problem, not yours.”
“There are things he knows that you don’t, Bree.” My voice has a warning tone to it. Part of me is hoping she’ll drop it so I won’t have to tell her about my past with men.
“Like what?” she looks shocked as her voice is raised an octave.
“I’m a cheater.”
“Like, at poker and shit?” Bree asks, looking confused. I can’t help but laugh.
“You’re not that naive, Bree. Don’t patronize me.” The second I finish my statement, Bree gets a look of recognition on her face. We’ve been friends for a long time. But, we didn’t get close until I was dating Evan. There was no reason for her to know about my embarrassing dating history.
“How many times?” she asks.
“Too many to count,” I say with a shrug. “Almost everyone I ever dated since high school.”
“Why?”
“To be honest, I don’t know.” I raise my arms up in the air in defeat. “It’s like no one ever made sense to me. I’d get all wrapped up in the newness of everything, the excitement, the wooing. And then, when it stopped, I got . . . restless. God, my mother is right about me. I’m restless, I’m flaky, I’m — God, I don’t know what I am anymore.”
Bree takes a deep breath in, deep creases set in her forehead. “So, Evan knew all of this? He knew you cheated on all your boyfriends?”
“Yes.”
“So you basically scared the shit out of the guy.”
“Yes, without meaning to. I wanted to be up front with him. I wanted a clean slate.”
“Okay, I’ve wanted to ask this next question for two years. But, I was honestly afraid you’d throw something at me. Can I ask it?” Bree asks with the smallest bit of a smile. I nod.
“Did you cheat on him with Shawn?” she asks, holding up a barstool in front of her face.
“Put it down, Bree. I’m not going to throw anything,”
“Okay, then. Answer the question, please,” she persists.
“No, absolutely not. Shawn was just being a jackass, and Evan was paranoid or something because Shawn kept showing up here. He just unleashed all this anger on me, and before I knew it, we were over.”
“He hit a breaking point,” Bree offers. I nod in solidarity.
“And there was no going back,” I add.
“Did you ever try to win him back?” This question hurts. Because my answer is filled with regret.
“I couldn’t. I was stubborn, waiting for him to come back to me. One month passed and then another and another. And before I knew it, it was way too late. He was gone. But, I don’t understand why he keeps coming back here. There are so many other bars he could take his dates to without showing up here.”
“He’s obviously hoping to see you,” Bree asserts, her hands on her hips, looking at me like I’m a fool.
“No, I don’t think so,” I counter. “When we were together, he fought for me. He didn’t walk away like that.”
“That’s not true. He got pissed at you once and you were furious because he left. Remember? I had to cover for you while you went to his apartment to confront his ass.”
“That’s right,” I say in realization. “Regardless, I think he comes back here because it’s familiar and it’s comfortable. I don’t think it has anything to do with me.”
“You’re protecting yourself. Deep down you’re hoping he’ll walk through those doors, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “What the hell is wrong with me? It’s been two years!”
“It’s time for you to start dating again, my dear. Guys are constantly hitting on you. Just go out with one of them and get your feet wet. Relax and live a little. Stop sitting here, waiting for him to come back.”
“But, he’s the only one I want,” I insist.
“Because you don’t know any different. You’re stuck, stuck here doing the same thing you did when you were with him,” Bree says snidely.
“Excuse me? You’ve been working here longer than I have!” I snap at her defensively.
“You’re right, you’re right. But, I ditched Jon a long time ago, and I moved on with someone else. And now I’m happy. You’re not happy at all and you know it.”
“So, what do I do?” I ask, my defenses lowering. “I don’t want to feel like this, Bree. I don’t want to think about him every goddamn day. I’ve wasted hundreds of days thinking about him.”
“Tonight, if someone flirts with you, flirt back. If they give you their number, take it and then use it. Go on a date or two or three. Do what Evan’s doing. Move on.”
Those last two words make my stomach churn. The thought of Evan moving on, falling in love, getting married make me ill. Instinctively, my attention falls on my empty finger; I twist the skin missing the sapphire ring that used to sit there. The biggest mistake I ever made was taking that ring off.
“I’ll try, but I won’t promise anything. I’m not going to date some loser just to get over him. I’m not that desperate.”
“Whatever, I’m not saying you should shack up with the next drunk ass frat guy who walks through the door. I just want you to open yourself up a little. Try to imagine a future with someone, anyone, besides Evan.”
“Fine, we’ll see.”
***
Three hours later, the bar is packed and just as Bree predicted, men are paying attention to me
. I’m not shocked. I’ve been working here for years and I’ve had my share of intoxicated men showering me with compliments and pick-up lines. I guess I’m just immune to it. But tonight, I’m coming to terms with opening myself up to the possibility of meeting someone. That someone might be here in this bar tonight, someone worth spending time with, someone who might help me forget about him.
As I’m taking drink orders, I notice a man with sandy brown hair at the far end of the bar, typing on a laptop. He’s handsome with small tortoise shell glasses, wearing a button down shirt with a t-shirt underneath. He looks up from his laptop and we make eye contact. When I notice the t-shirt has a picture of The New Kids on the Block, I laugh to myself. He looks down at his shirt and shrugs his shoulders, smiling at me. I let myself smile back as I finish pouring two pints of beer. Just as I’m giving change to my customer, I see t-shirt guy has made his way down to this side of the bar.
“Hey there,” t-shirt guy says through a grin. His hair is a little spiky in front, which reminds me a little of Evan. But, his pale skin and freckles are attractive and different.
“What can I get ya?”
“What do you have on tap?” he asks, looking at the beer dispensers behind the bar.
“Everything we have is listed on the board,” I say, gesturing to the chalkboard above the bar listing all of our beer on tap.
“Oh, sorry, this is my first time here,” he says, looking up a the board. “I’ll have a Sam Adams, please.”
“You got it,” I reply, lifting a glass and filling it with amber liquid. “Laptop in a bar, huh?” T-shirt guy grins, looking down at his Mac.
“I’m a writer. Sometimes I like to people watch a little bit. It gets me inspired, I guess.”
“Interesting,” I say, getting a closer look at his clothes. “Nice t-shirt. Most guys wouldn’t be so bold as to wear that.”
“I’m comfortable in my heterosexuality,” he grins, sipping his beer.
“NKOTB, huh?” I ask, trying hard to suppress my smile. “Boy band from the 90s. Who was your favorite guy?”
“Haha, don’t know that I had a ‘favorite’. They were all pretty cool.”
“So you actually listened to them?”
“The New Kids? Are you kidding? My older sisters were obsessed. They wore jean jackets with New Kids buttons, we had VHS tapes of their concerts and Teen Beat posters hanging everywhere. My parents were very tolerant.”
“Wow,” is all I can think to say. “So, I can see you’re still a fan.”
“My sisters gave this to me last Christmas as a joke. It’s comfortable, so I wear it. Whatever,” he says. “My name’s Jason. Jason Kelly.”
“Nice to meet you, Jason Kelly. I’m Kate.”
“That’s a beautiful name,” he says before taking another swig of his beer. Normally, I’d say something sarcastic and tell the guy to leave me the hell alone, but I’m trying to follow Bree’s advice.
“Thank you,” I say. “So you’re a writer. What are you working on?”
“It’s a suspense novel, and it’s a royal pain in my ass. I’ve been trying to finish this chapter for a week now.”
“Wow, must be a long chapter,” I reply.
“No, not really. I’m just a really slow writer. Usually I write in the coffee house down the block, but tonight I wanted to hone in on a few shady characters in the story, and I thought a bar would be a good place to find some to observe. You know, for inspiration,” he says polishing off his beer.
“Can I get you another?” I ask, pointing to his empty glass.
“Yeah, that’d be great,” he says, closing the laptop and resting his elbows on the bar. He twiddles his thumbs round and round as he watches me pour his second drink. His intent stare makes me a little uneasy, but in a good way. T-shirt guy may be worth considering. I haven’t thought about Evan for the last few minutes. Until now that is. Damn him.
“So, are you a full-time writer?”
“Someday, I hope. But, right now I’m also waiting tables at The Cheesecake Factory downtown. Glamorous, I know.”
“Nothing wrong with being in the service industry,” I reply, pointing to myself. He laughs in response.
“So, what about you, Kate? Is bartending your passion?”
“Hardly,” I say, shaking my head in disgust.
“Tell me, what makes you tick?”
“Photography,” I say tentatively.
“Awesome,” he says, wide-eyed. “Would I have seen any of your work? Like in a magazine or something?”
“Would I have seen any of your books at the bookstore?” I counter, defensively.
“Whoa,” he says, raising his arms in a pose that says ‘I surrender’.
“Sorry, it’s a little bit of a sore topic for me.” Pursing my lips, I feel guilty for reacting so strongly.
“Okay, I get it. Well, to be honest, no, you wouldn’t see any of my books at the bookstore, but you can buy them. Online, that is. I self-publish.”
“Oh wow, I’ve never heard of that. Do you like it?”
“I actually love it,” he grins.
“That’s great,” I say sincerely, “you’re making your own rules.”
“Absolutely, I mean I could send queries for a year, hound agents and beg them to represent me or I can market myself and sell books my own way. And I’m lucky because it’s working.”
“So, how many have you written?” I ask, leaning up against the bar. Feeling a kinship with a fellow artist. The fact that he’s doing things his own way is actually motivating for me. Maybe there’s a way that I can make my own rules when it comes to my photos.
“This is my third novel, and it’s really the hardest one. I thought it’d get easier and easier, but it doesn’t. I’m learning that,” Jason pauses, looking me up and down. “Okay, so I want to ask you another question about yourself, but I’m afraid you’re going to bite my head off again.” His audacity makes me laugh.
“Go for it, but I promise nothing. I still might bite your head off. We’ll just see what you ask.” I’m flirting. Wow, it’s been a long time since I’ve done this. But, Bree’s right . . . it does feel kind of good.
“What kind of photos do you enjoy taking?” he asks, guarding himself by quickly putting his laptop in front of his face. I push down on the machine and peek over to see him smiling at me. It’s a nice smile.
“That question is acceptable, don’t worry. Um, I love to take shots where the lighting is key, and I don’t just mean sunsets; that’s so cliché. I love when the light is peering above something, like a tree or even an animal. And I love faces. But, I don’t want to work at Sears and take people’s portraits. I’m more fascinated by all of the emotions one face can show in a person’s features.” Jason is studying me as I talk. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
“No, not at all.” He smiles at me and for the first time in years, I feel a tiny flutter in my stomach. I think I might be interested in this guy. Just a little bit.
“Excuse me,” a woman calls from the other end of the bar.
“Just a sec,” I say to Jason, touching his hand lightly before walking down to the woman to take her order. Without meaning to, I glance at Jason, who’s watching me with a grin on his handsome face. It’s unnerving and exciting at the same time.
Jason drains his beer and rises from his barstool as I return. I’m shocked to realize that I’m disappointed. He opens his wallet and pays for his drinks. But, then he takes a business card out of his wallet and places it on the bar. I look down at the card and then at Jason with an inquisitive stare.
“I’d like to take you out sometime, if that’s ok,” Jason says.
“I think that could be arranged,” I smirk.
“Well, I’m gonna take off. I need to get some writing done and if I stay here, I’ll be too distracted.”
“Yeah,” I say, glancing around the bar, “it’s getting pretty loud.”
“I meant by you, Kate. I need to get some work done tonight, and if I stay h
ere it’ll be impossible. Maybe you can distract me Saturday night?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.
Grabbing my phone, I pretend to check my calendar, knowing full well that I have absolutely no plans this entire weekend. I don’t want to seem too eager, and I’m feeling a little flustered at the fear and excitement currently flooding my veins. I haven’t done this in so long. It used to come so easy, but now . . .
“Yeah, that should work fine. Wanna meet here around 7:00?” I ask.
“Sounds great, I’ll see you soon.”
“Bye, T-shirt guy,” I say, tilting my head to the side before turning around and bending down to pick up a napkin that had fallen near my feet.
When I turn back to him, he has a goofy grin on his face. I laugh out loud, realizing he was checking out my ass! My laughter snaps him out of whatever daydream he was having. He turns three different shades of red before waving good-bye and heading towards the door. Maybe I can do this.
***
Two nights later, I arrive at the bar, looking nice without trying too hard to impress. A pretty black satin tank top with ruffles near the neckline and linen pants. I have no idea where Jason and I will be going, so I’m trying to keep it simple.
All day I’ve had this feeling of dread. He seems like a nice guy and we’re both artistic, which is appealing. But, the last two days have brought nothing but thoughts of Evan. Every time I look at the table next to the pool table, my heart skips a beat. Every time a guy who even remotely resembles him takes a seat at the bar, I lose my breath. It’s infuriating and terrifying and it makes me wonder if maybe I’m not ready to date. Not yet.
Jason walks in just a couple minutes after I do. He has another crazy t-shirt peeking out from underneath his plaid button down. I gesture for him to show me the rest of the shirt and he unbuttons the three top buttons.
I laugh at the shirt, which simply says, “Sweep The Leg” with a picture of that crazy actor who played the Cobra Kai sensei in The Karate Kid. God, I hated that guy.
“Nice shirt, I feel like I’m learning a lot about you just from your t-shirts. So, you’re a Karate Kid fan now, too?” I ask as Jason stands before me. He looks pleased with himself as he adjusts his glasses and begins to button up his plaid woven shirt.
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