Bittersweet

by Domingo, Sareeta

  As I walk home, the smell of flowers scenting the warm evening air, I feel a wave of romantic hope. Maybe there is someone out there who would make me forget the whole Jeff debacle, and all the potential heartbreak that goes with really letting someone in. Someone intriguing, someone different, maybe with messy dark hair that brings out his—

  Damn it.

  Chapter Five

  I breathe an audible sigh of relief as I see the lights of the Canal Club loom into view, and soon we’re turning into the parking lot. Turns out two of Todd’s many tattoos are black X’s on the back of his hands, which, Max informed me with glee, means he’s a straight-edge punk. And that means he holds to their ethos—no drink, no drugs? Designated driver!

  While I’m thrilled I don’t have to spend my one night out in ages booze-free and driving my dad’s borrowed station wagon to Richmond, it turns out that being cramped up in the back of a Prius for an hour, with not only Hal but Todd’s well-built sister Cindy, isn’t doing great things for my circulation. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but then I also want to have the use of my legs for the rest of the night.

  We finally park, and Hal helps Cindy out of the car, then watches me with a little smile as I attempt to disembark without flashing the line of people waiting to get inside. He helps me get out, looking at me kind of funny as he takes my hand, and I wish there were a couple of extra inches on this skirt Max loaned me. I’m really not sure I’m pulling it off; I’m definitely pulling it down a lot. But it’s not like I have a pair of jeans in my purse. If only I’d thought of that…

  Seeing my look of doubt, Max swoops over to me as we head toward the club. She’s a vision in a black belted jumpsuit and heels, like she’s a badass superhero about to fight crimes against fabulousness. She links her arm with mine.

  “Stop fidgeting,” she orders. “You look amazing. Tell her, Hal.”

  Hal chuckles at her demand. “Honestly? Maybe a little too good…” He looks at me and winks, but I try not to read too much into his comment.

  “There you go. Horn Dog gives you the seal of approval,” Maxine says with an air of finality.

  “All right, all right,” I say, glad that I’m at least wearing boots I can walk in, and my trusty leather jacket. Todd nods to the bouncer, then holds the door to the Canal open for us all to pile inside. We’re hit by a wall of pulsing music and heaving bodies. It’s hotter than a sauna, and Max and I immediately decide to check our jackets, reluctant though I am to be parted from mine. Maxine took her scissors to my old Meta tee, and now it’s not leaving much to the imagination either.

  We get in the line, which is stretching across the cramped lobby, if you could call it that, and over toward the men’s bathrooms, which are already emanating a godawful smell. I hope it moves fast. Hal, Todd, and Cindy were smart enough—or warm-blooded enough—to leave their jackets home this evening, so they head to the bar, with Max insisting Hal and Cindy get us shots as well as beers. It’s going to be that kind of night, it seems. Excited as I am for a good time and to see the band, part of me can’t help worrying about having changed my shift on a Friday night, and whether Joe’s going to be overstretching himself to cover. He said it was fine, but—

  “What’s that face? Stop that,” Maxine says, interrupting my thoughts. “We’re checking our coats, and then we’re checking for guys,” she says, matter-of-fact. Wow, she really means business tonight. I’m glad—I think her boot-camp-instructor approach is appropriate to my reluctant needs. She scans the area as we wait, and both of us clock the gorgeous Latino guy strolling out of the bathroom—but he seems to think a quick wipe of the hands on his jeans is all that’s required. Max and I grimace simultaneously, but she won’t be deterred. The line moves, and she points over to a guy with blond dreadlocks. I raise an eyebrow.

  “OK, OK. We can do better,” Max agrees.

  We reach the front of the line and I check my coat, but as I turn around to move off to one side and wait for Max, I slam straight into a toned torso.

  “Oh.” He grasps my bare arms in strong, warm hands, then slowly releases them. I hardly even have to look up to know who it is, because this is just my luck.

  “Uh, hi,” I say in a stupidly teeny voice.

  Greg looks me up and down, and back up again, making me feel … well and truly seen. I swallow a little. He reaches up to push a dark lock of hair out of his eye. He’s in a plain black T-shirt and faded jeans, and yet somehow makes this look like the sexiest ensemble known to man.

  “Third time in three days. Must seem like I’m stalking you,” he says.

  I should be so lucky, I think. God, Cathy, get a grip…

  “A little bit, I’m not going to lie to you,” I retort, but he smiles in return, and I wonder if this is what it feels like to score a touchdown.

  “You changed your hair.”

  My hand moves up to my head self-consciously. Does the color look weird in this light? “Oh. Yeah, I did. I’m still kind of getting used to it, I’m not sure if—”

  “It looks great,” he murmurs, but I’m not sure I heard him right over the pounding music.

  I stare up at him dumbly. Say something. “Um. So you’re into Meta?”

  He clears his throat, nodding, and leans closer to me so I can hear. “Yeah, love them.” His eyes drift away, then back to me. “I actually didn’t think I’d see you here—”

  “Why, you think all us local yokels are interested in is banjo music or something?” I fire defensively, even though I’m struggling to concentrate because he smells amazing. He pulls back a little and looks at me, his brow creasing. Jeez, what was that I was thinking earlier about not being so standoffish? Working well so far.

  “I get down to a little bluegrass with the best of them too,” he allows, his eyes twinkling again.

  I smile with relief. “If you say so.” I glance behind him, half expecting to see Jenna coming back from the bathroom or something, though I have a feeling she’s working. God, if she’s not on tonight either, they really will be slammed at the restaurant… “Are you, um, here alone?” I ask.

  Greg shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs, making the muscles in his arms tighten and flex in a super-distracting way. “Yeah. Probably safest,” he says with a sort-of far-off look in his eyes for a second. I’m about to ask what he means, but I’m distracted by loud coughing behind me. I look over my shoulder. “Oh, uh, this is my good friend Maxine. Max, this is … this is Greg.”

  Max’s eyes sweep over him, widening with every inch they take in, and they almost seem ready to pop out of her head when she reaches his face.

  “This. Is. Greg,” she repeats in a murmur, then looks at me like I’m insane for even entertaining the notion of not pursuing him.

  “Yep,” I say, attempting to fight back the waves of crimson beginning to make their way across my cheeks. He holds out his hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Maxine,” Greg says, and Max turns on her full, irresistible smile.

  “Likewise,” she replies, still grinning like a crazy woman, then looks over his shoulder as she sees Todd and the others beckoning to us from the bar area. “Oh, hey, we should go over to those guys. Greg, you want a drink? We’re doing tequila shots.”

  He glances over to the bar, then back to me. “Oh. I, uh—”

  She grips his arm and begins to drag him along, turning to me and mouthing ohmygod like the queen of unsubtle that she is. We push our way through the crowd to where the others have lined up shots and beers along one end of the bar, while other patrons trying to order look at us with barely masked irritation. Hal ushers me over to the bar and grins as he hands me a shot. Max thanks Todd for the drinks at length, with her lips, and apparently her tongue, then pulls away finally and turns to Greg, who’s watching us all with an odd expression on his face.

  “Oh, guys—this is Greg; he’s a friend of Cathy’s,” Max says quickly. “He’s in town for this whole Bittersweet thing.”

  I’m about to debate whether calli
ng us “friends” is getting a little ahead of ourselves, but Greg steps in before I get a chance.

  “Uh, well,” he replies, “she just gave me a moment or two of her time recently.” He glances at me, then quickly looks away as though he’s got somewhere else pressing to be. “I don’t know if that counts.”

  O-K… He was sort of taciturn before, but he seems to be taking it up a notch. Maybe he really did want an evening to himself. I try not to feel like a deflated tire, and instead down my shot, then take a long slug of my beer. Hal whoops at my efforts, and clinks his bottle to mine, putting his arm around me and squeezing my shoulder into him.

  “Well, good to meet you, Greg,” Todd says amiably, sipping his Coke. “My sister Cindy seems to have gone off to find some of her pals, so go ahead and have these.”

  He hands Greg the shot and the beer, and although he starts to protest, Todd shakes his head. “I insist,” he says with his burly-bear grin, and Greg shrugs and downs the shot, nodding his thanks.

  People start to jostle us, and Hal guides me away from the bar area. I turn to check where Max and the others are, but while she and Todd are following behind us, Greg seems to be hanging back.

  “Greg, you coming?” Max calls, clearly desperate to foster her romantic dream of him and me hooking up. From the look on Greg’s face, I don’t see that happening this millennium.

  “Oh, I don’t want to crash what you guys have going on,” he says, avoiding my stare. Despite the heat in the club, I shiver at the sudden frost. What’s this guy’s problem? “I think I’ll just head down to the front before the opening act comes on. See you guys later…” he mutters, and starts to push away through the crowd.

  Max shoots me a desperate look, but then her eyes widen as they alight on Hal’s arm draped around my shoulder.

  Oh. Shit.

  Chapter Six

  I shrug Hal’s arm off quickly and step away as subtly as I can while Hal looks at me in confusion and a little of his beer sloshes on the floor. Max swivels around and paces through the crowd after Greg, tapping him on the shoulder.

  “Nonsense,” she says loudly. “No man left behind. Or in front or whatever. We’re going to show your NYC ass how we get down in Virginia.”

  I cringe internally, but I see Greg’s expression soften a little in the face of Max’s relentless hospitality. That woman’s friendship is totally worth the extra apartment clean-up and TV domination. I’m surprised at how badly I wanted Greg to stick around. He tentatively comes closer to where we’re all standing, and while Max snakes her arm back around Todd and he kisses the top of her head, I make a point of holding my bottle up at Hal.

  “Hey, thanks for the beer, buddy,” I say. Ugh. Buddy? “Next round’s on me.” I take a swig and hope I don’t sound as much of an idiot out loud as I do in my head. But I shouldn’t have worried because Maxine’s taking over the loony duties for me.

  “You know what’s funny about living in a small town like Dogwood?” she asks, but then continues without waiting for an answer. “The friends you make in high school, are, like, your friends for life. I mean, me, Cath, and Hal here pretty much grew up together, you know? We’re, like, brother and sisters.”

  “I claim no relation to you, Maxine,” Hal says with a grin, but looks a little irritated. He clearly sees what’s going on here, and I think he preferred Greg’s initial impression better.

  “That’s, uh, that’s great,” Greg says, and takes a sip from his bottle of beer. He seems a little more relaxed now, and I see a sparkle of amusement in his eyes as he finally lets them drift toward me again. Great. Now he knows that I … like him, or whatever this is. We wouldn’t be going to these embarrassing lengths to make it clear I’m not with Hal if I didn’t. I think I need a moment to regroup, and as the opening act roars to life on stage, I figure it’s a good opportunity. I drain the last of my beer.

  “Why don’t I go get us another round now, while the bar’s quieter?” I say. Everyone’s headed to watch the band, so the crowd at the bar has died down.

  “Great idea,” Maxine says immediately. “Hey, Greg, why don’t you go help—”

  “All right, Max,” I interject quickly, but Greg nods.

  “Sure,” he says, smiling a little at me.

  Tugging on my skirt, I walk back over to the bar, acutely aware of him following closely behind me. It’s still a little busy at the bar, but I manage to squeeze in between a short, stocky guy with piercings and a hair-sprayed blonde chick. I feel Greg sidle in beside me, and feel my breathing quicken at his proximity. My shoulder rubs against his arm as we both lean on the bar, squeezed together, and I turn and look up at him. His face is … really close.

  “So Hal’s not your boyfriend,” he states, his eyes still twinkling with amusement, but with something a little more dangerous behind them too. I glance away.

  “Nope.” I look back up at him. “What if he was?”

  The alcohol’s making me bold.

  Greg holds my gaze. “Then he’d be a lucky guy.”

  We both snap our eyes away as the barman clears his throat. “What’ll you have?”

  I order four more beers, and a Coke for Todd, then hand a couple of the bottles over to Greg, trying not to notice a weird electric feeling when our fingers brush.

  We force our way back over to where the others are watching the opening act, just as they finish their short set. Handing over the drinks, I see Maxine grinning at me, and I can’t help smiling back, though I’m still not entirely sure she should get her hopes up. I mean, Greg hasn’t exactly been giving the clearest of signals. But then again, the way he reacted to the idea that Hal and I might be together was … confusing.

  The crowd shuffles restlessly as the techs set the stage up for the headline act, and I feel that buzzy anticipation wash over me too. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a live show; I almost forgot how much I love it. I take a sip of my beer, grinning as I see the Meta-logoed drum kit being put into position.

  “Looking forward to the show?” I hear Greg say, and turn to nod, seeing him smile at my obvious excitement.

  I chuckle a little. “Yeah. I’ve kind of had their latest on a loop, so…”

  “Me too,” he says. “Another thing we have in common.” His eyes flick away, like he’s sort of embarrassed by that last part. “I mean, my dad running a bakery, and…” He peters out, and I think I actually see a little bit of a blush.

  I take a breath and turn to the group. “You know what? You guys always make us stand at the back—”

  “Well, yeah, cos being in back gives you a better impression of the overall—” Hal begins, but he breaks off as Max elbows him subtly in the ribcage.

  “—but I think Greg’s right,” I continue. “I actually wouldn’t mind getting a little closer.” I look up at him with a smile, which of course is rapidly accompanied by a crimson cheek-flush when I realize how that sounded. He bites his lip a little, like he’s trying not to laugh, but something else in his eyes gives me a little flutter of confidence. Like maybe, just maybe, he likes the sound of getting closer… I try not to let my mind or my heartbeat speed too far out of control.

  Greg steps to one side and holds an arm out to show the path. “Let’s get a little closer to the action then,” he says.

  As we push our way through the crowd, Greg tries to help ease my passage through the sweating, jostling bodies by moving toward me in a sort of protective cocoon that makes me even warmer than the air pressing in around me. Still, we make it almost right to the stage, and there is a lot more buzz and excitement as everyone stares up at the empty expanse, waiting for the band to come on. I glance back, trying to see Max or Todd or Hal, but as the lights dim down and the crowd roars, I lose track of them altogether. I can feel Greg standing right behind me though. His heat seems more particular than that of all the bodies around me. I close my eyes for a second, but the roar of guitars makes me fling them open, and I let out a whoop and turn to grin back up at him, without really thinking.
He laughs, and his smile is more carefree—and more ridiculously beautiful, if that’s possible—than I’ve seen on his face before.

  We begin to move with the crowd, jumping up and down, hands in the air and singing along to the band’s latest hit, and I feel the buzz of music and alcohol pulse through my veins, along with the undeniable excitement of Greg pressing closer into me as the crowd jostles him forward. At least, I assume that’s why.

  But as Meta launch into their next song, a big guy with a shaved head manages to spill most of his JD and Coke down my arm. I shoot him a ferocious look, but he just laughs. I grit my teeth, telling myself that’s just what happens at a concert, even though I’m going to have to try and find the ladies’ room to wash the sticky mess off after. But then Shaved Head’s buddy pogoes into him, causing the big guy to fall hard against my shoulder. I grimace, but he doesn’t bother apologizing.

  “Watch it!” I shout.

  “What’s your problem?” he yells back, a drunken grin on his face.

  “First with the spilled drink, now you’re slamming into me? How about you gain a little control?”

  “Oh what, you don’t like the wet T-shirt competition, Miss Twinkle Toes? Why don’t you move the hell back if you can’t handle it?”

  I’m taking a breath, about to give the guy a piece of my mind, when I hear Greg interject.

  “Why don’t you go back to your cave, asshole, and tell the lady you’re sorry before you do?” He moves to step in between me and the lunk-head, his eyes dark. Flattered as I am, I’m just about to tell Greg I can fight my own battles when the guy edges closer.

  “Fuck you say?”