String Beans (The Girls of Beachmont #2)

by T. K. Rapp

  “I can—”

  “We’d love to,” Callie interrupted, nudging my arm as she sat next to me. “You need to get out.”

  “You don’t know me well enough to say that,” I said, somewhat stunned by her assertiveness.

  “Getting out doesn’t mean hooking up,” she shot back.

  “She’s right,” Dallas added. “And if I have to, I’ll be your wingman…or the opposite of what a wingman is.”

  “So more like a bouncer then,” I snorted.

  “A bodyguard.” He smiled.

  “You can be my bodyguard too,” Callie said and winked.

  “Callie, I love you, but you do remember that I’m gay, right?”

  She huffed and rolled her eyes. “So? You’re still pretty to look at.”

  Dallas laughed and returned his attention to me. “What do ya say? You in?”

  I looked between Dallas and Callie, the two exchanging looks between them, and shrugged.

  “Well, my friend Jolie is coming to see me soon and she did insist I have someplace to take her.”

  “I like her already,” Callie said.

  “It’s settled. You two get ready and be back here at ten thirty,” Dallas said, grabbing us by our hands and practically pushing us out the door.

  I was already dreading the decision by the time I closed my apartment door behind me.

  ***

  It was eleven before we even left to get to the bar. Dallas and Callie insisted that we had to wait until later or we’d look like losers. They were both younger than me by a couple of years, but the way they talked to me, you’d have thought I was completely out of touch.

  They didn’t know anything about Will. They didn’t know about our nights spent at the bar or his band. And based on my insistence that I wanted to be alone, they likely assumed that I never got out.

  But bars, clubs, staying out late—these were the things with which I was well acquainted.

  In part, they would have been right. Since the night I moved out of our place, I hadn’t set foot in a bar or club if it wasn’t for work. In fact, our friends were calling my phone and trying to get me to come out and join them before they learned of the separation. I wondered why they were calling if they were with Will, but I assumed he’d failed to tell them what happened between us.

  After Dallas and Callie convinced me to go out, I alternated between excitement and dread. I always loved hearing live bands and the familiar noise that came with a full bar. But because it was something I was used to, I was worried about the memories that might sneak in. It was one thing to ruin my own night. I didn’t want to ruin theirs as well.

  So when Callie stopped by my place to ask what I was wearing, I had already decided on a shredded concert tee and skinny jeans.

  “What in the hell is that? Have you been to a club in L.A. before?”

  “What?” I asked, looking at my clothes.

  “Okay, just so you know, Mood Swings is the hottest club.”

  “At least for now…good to know,” I said. If she expected me to go starry-eyed at the idea, she was sorely mistaken. Clubs were nothing new to me.

  “Is that really what you’re wearing?”

  “What’s wrong with it?” I asked.

  “I get the whole unavailable vibe you’re looking to put out there, but this is screams I’m on suicide watch and I’m only here because my friends are keeping a close eye on me.”

  “Perfect,” I said, slapping my palms together.

  “You can’t be serious. Don’t you have anything sexy in your closet?”

  I shook my head, but Callie walked past me without another word to raid my attire.

  “You can look all you want. I’m not changing,” I called out as I walked to my fridge to get a beer.

  I heard the hangers rattle as she tried frantically to find something, but I ignored it. I had some great dresses and flashy shirts. But I always made it a point to wear what was comfortable.

  She walked into the small living room and held a red strapless dress in one hand and my skin-tight black dress in the other.

  I pointed at both and smirked. “No. And no,” I said.

  “Why not? These are hot,” she said.

  “Then you wear them.”

  Callie held them up against her body and looked down as she considered my offer.

  “Want a beer?” I asked, turning around and walking to the fridge again.

  “Hold up. What’s that?” she asked.

  I looked around and had no idea what she was talking about.

  “That shirt is crazy sexy in the back.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I walked over and started to hand her the beer, and paused as she reached for it. “You are legal, right?”

  “For eight months now,” she said, taking the bottle from my hand. She popped the top and took a sip before returning to the subject of my shirt. “I had no idea it looked like that from behind.”

  “A local band played at a bar one night in college. I bought the shirt because I loved the name.”

  “Snarkectomy,” she read off the back.

  The front was plain, and it was easy to understand why Callie wasn’t a fan. The weird stick figure with X-ed out eyes wasn’t anything to gawk at. And given our initial conversation, she probably figured it was a declaration on my current mental state more than anything else. But Snarkectomy was my animal sign…or something like that.

  “Okay, fine,” she conceded as she walked back to my closet. “But you need to wear some sexy-ass heels or something.”

  I pointed to the three-inchers behind her. “Like those?”

  Callie looked down and then back to me, revealing a large, approving smile.

  “Okay. Go. Let me finish getting ready,” I said.

  She disappeared and I decided that if I was going to a club, and wearing that shirt, I’d at least take her advice and do something extra to pull off the look. I didn’t mind wearing makeup, so I made it a point to accentuate my light brown eyes and put on enough mascara to make Tammy Faye jealous—only I avoided the hot-mess of it all.

  I styled my brown hair into a braided messy bun, making sure to pull my bangs out of the mix. It had been a while since I’d taken time to fix myself up, and when I was done, I felt pretty.

  No. I felt sexy.

  There was a knock at the door and I opened it to see Dallas and Callie, looking like the young, beautiful people they were. They were ready to have fun, and for a moment I felt self-conscious.

  “Look at you two—you look awesome,” I complimented.

  “Wow,” Callie said, looking me up and down. “I had no idea you could look like that.”

  Dallas swatted her thigh and she jumped from the contact, realizing her words, but I wasn’t offended. Maybe I should have been, but I wasn’t.

  “Thanks.”

  Dallas stepped forward and closed my door behind me. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 8

  From the outside, Mood Swings seemed like it was small, and nothing notable stood out. The beige stucco building had a few lights along the solid wall, and a modest sign containing the club name was scrawled along the top. There was a long line of people waiting to get in, but lucky for us, Dallas knew the bouncer so we didn’t have to stand outside for too long.

  But once we were in, I was shocked at the enormity of Mood Swings. The place was packed with scantily clad bodies on the dance floors and in cages along the sides. The music was so loud that I could feel it pumping in my veins. I hadn’t realized how much I missed that scene until we were there.

  Everywhere I stepped, I was bumping into someone, the words “I’m sorry” spilling from my lips every few seconds. After about the one-hundredth apology, I gave up and just continued to follow my new friends. Dallas seemed to know a lot of people, stopping to hug some and offer a wave to others. Callie was all smiles, checking out guys and talking to a few people that she knew. Seeing those two having fun made me miss the days of going out with the girls when we wer
e in college.

  By the time we found an empty spot at the bar, I was already a sweaty mess and in desperate need of a drink.

  “First round’s on me,” I said over the music. Dallas and Callie smiled and began debating what to get, so I took the opportunity to get a better look at the place.

  I always enjoyed bars and clubs, if for no other reason than to people-watch. It was fascinating to look around and create a story in your head that pertained to the aforementioned people. Spotting the desperate chick waiting for someone to throw her some attention was easy. She was what the girls and I referred to as the ego-boost.

  Then there was the resting-bitchface chick, whose invisible fuck-off sign flashed brightly overhead. People gave that one a wide berth, and for the first time in a long time, I related to her.

  My favorite was the doesn’t-give-a-shit chick. If the first two watched her close enough, they could see that she had it all figured out. She was there to have fun, and because she was having fun, people flocked to her.

  I had a feeling Callie was that chick. And Dallas was too.

  “Tequila shots,” Dallas shouted.

  “What?”

  I heard him, but I didn’t think he was serious. Or at least hoped he wasn’t.

  Tequila, he mouthed.

  I closed my eyes and winced, just imagining the burn, before turning to the bartender. I waved him over and smiled when he approached, his blue eyes catching my attention. There was no way those were real because they were a striking blue.

  He leaned forward and smiled, a dimple appearing on his right cheek.

  Are all L.A. people bred to be gorgeous?

  He was almost too pretty to be real, but I didn’t let myself fall for the flirtatious act. Will would turn on the charm in an instant all to get a tip, and I was certain the man in front of me was no different. Instead of flirting, I ordered three shots and handed them to Callie and Dallas, who held theirs up in the air.

  “To moving on,” Callie said with a smile that faded when Dallas bumped her arm and shook his head.

  “To having a good time,” he corrected and raised his drink in the air a little higher.

  I nodded and smiled before tilting the glass to my lips, already dreading the likely hangover.

  Tequila and I were not friends. We’d had a fight freshman year in college and I never quite forgave him. But since he and my new friends were on a first-name basis, I figured it was time to bury the hatchet.

  “That was awful,” I groaned.

  Callie was shaking her head and bouncing in place like a cartoon about to launch into space. I raised a brow and leaned closer. “You’ve had alcohol before, right?”

  She smiled and slapped her hand on the bar top, trying to get the guy’s attention.

  This is going to be a long night.

  Dallas was talking to some guys that had walked over, leaving me to deal with Callie. She kept commenting on all the sexy men walking around and how she needed a little liquid courage to approach them. But given the way she’d introduced herself to me, I highly doubted she needed courage of any sort since she appeared to have it in spades.

  “Here,” she said, shoving another shot glass toward me.

  “No way. Thanks,” I laughed. “I’m good.”

  “C’mon, this one’s to new friends,” she said.

  I hate new friends.

  “Please?”

  I rolled my eyes and forced a smile when I noticed that Dallas was intentionally keeping his back toward us.

  “What about Dallas?”

  He turned and narrowed his eyes at me, but I only laughed when she turned to order another. With glass in hand, I swallowed quickly, feeling the burn in the pit of my stomach. When I set the glass on the counter, she smiled triumphantly. At the rate we were going, I’d be short for the evening.

  “Let’s go dance,” she shouted.

  “No way.” I smiled. “You two go ahead, I’ll save our spot.”

  Dallas gave my hand a tug but I winked and waved him off. It was his turn to entertain Callie. They started to walk off but Callie turned back around and hurled herself toward me and pointed.

  “Don’t look now, but isn’t that Wyatt over there?” she asked.

  “Where?” I questioned, a little too eagerly.

  Damn it.

  She pointed to one side of the club and I followed her gaze, trying to see the familiar face in a sea of strangers.

  “I think your eyes are broken,” I laughed.

  “Not there,” she said, taking my chin in her hand and aiming my face in another direction. “There.”

  It took maybe one second to find him, and I hated the way my stomach fluttered when I did. From my vantage point, I could see that Wyatt was in a button-down shirt and jeans, but that was all I could make out. He was with some other people, laughing and having a good time. I found myself watching longer than I meant to and I noticed him scanning the people around. I quickly averted my eyes and turned around before he could spot me, only to have Callie laugh at me.

  “What was that all about?” Dallas asked loud enough for us to hear over the music.

  “Vi has an admirer,” Callie said. “Have you been to the coffee bar down the street?”

  “Are you talking about the owner?”

  “Yep.”

  “You could do worse,” he said.

  “I’m not trying to do anything. He’s just made conversation with me a few times, and that’s it.”

  “And he’s totally trying to score a date,” Callie said as I turned around and she ordered another round of shots. I worried about my ability to keep the next one down.

  “Already?” I asked, hating the sound of disapproval in my voice. I wasn’t trying to mother her, but three shots in less than fifteen minutes…we were screwed.

  “You can handle it,” she said over her shoulder.

  I turned my attention to Dallas, ignoring her comment, and pointed at Callie. “Weren’t you two about to go dance or something?”

  “I got this,” he said.

  Callie turned to us and handed out the shots, quickly drinking hers and slamming the empty glass on the bar.

  “Let’s do this,” Callie said as Dallas pulled her behind him and away from me.

  The shot was poised in my hand, ready to go, and I reluctantly let it pour down my throat, the initial burn long gone.

  Hangover, here I come.

  I set the glass on the bar and leaned my elbows against it. There was a group of people to my right talking loudly over the music, and a couple to my left making out. And in front of me, a blond guy walking toward me, eyes locked on mine.

  He was a good distance away, but I knew I was his intended target. At least I assumed so until he stopped, shrugged, and then turned around.

  “I thought that was you,” a deep voice rumbled in my ear over the music. His hot breath tickled the side of my neck and I almost shivered.

  Slowly, I turned to my right and was face-to-face with Wyatt and those hazel eyes. They weren’t as stunning as the bartender’s, but at least Wyatt’s were real.

  Where did he come from?

  “Hey, Earp,” I said, smiling up at him.

  “Doin’ okay?” he asked, flashing a lopsided grin. He took the empty shot glass off the bar behind me and sniffed it before setting it down. “Tequila. Nice.”

  “It certainly was.”

  A thin blonde walked up behind Wyatt and practically slithered her arm around his body. I didn’t know much about the guy aside from the few conversations we’d had when I went to String Beans and the night we spent eating. I’d made it clear that my walls were high and thick; no one was getting through.

  Yet I found myself jealous watching the woman metaphorically piss on him to mark her territory.

  “Hey,” I said, acknowledging her presence. “Viola. Nice to meet you.”

  She didn’t say anything in response, but Wyatt’s eyes hadn’t left mine. I tried not to look as his hand took hold of her
s and removed it from his torso. And I tried not to notice that he hadn’t said two words to her.

  “I should get back to my friends,” I said to him and then looked at blonde. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Mind if I join?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?” I said, looking at his needy date.

  “Waylon…what about me?” she whined.

  He scoffed and that time looked at her. “I told you, the name is Wyatt.”

  I covered my mouth to hide my smile as she stomped off.

  Wyatt rolled his eyes and shook his head. “All night.”

  “Too bad. She looked like a sure thing,” I noted as I walked toward the dance floor.

  I knew Wyatt was behind me but I kept walking, hoping that Callie and Dallas could act as a buffer. I hated dancing and I rarely did it in front of others, but it was the only way I could escape a conversation.

  I was halfway across the dance floor when his hand snaked around me from behind and pulled my back flush against his strong front. I was struggling in his arms, trying to free myself, mortified that Wyatt was such a handsy guy. I didn’t get the impression he was anything like that. We didn’t even know each other. Certainly not well enough for him to just grab me.

  “Let go,” I muttered, struggling to free myself, but his grip only tightened. “Wyatt! Let. Go!”

  Only, when I finally managed to turn myself around in his arms, it wasn’t Wyatt, but some other man.

  “Enough, asshole,” I said as I pushed hard against his chest.

  He finally released me and scowled before finding someone else to grope.

  “Are you okay?” Wyatt asked, appearing beside me. “I tried to get to you.”

  I shrugged and blew out a shaky breath. I’d dealt with my share of drunks and grabby men at clubs and bars, but I’d always had Will there. I was briefly terrified in that moment when I’d realized I only had myself to rely on.

  But I’d handled it, and in the end I was okay.

  “I’m good. Thanks.”

  I turned around and decided that buffer or not, the dance floor wasn’t where I wanted to be. I’d wait until they were done dancing, and if that meant I’d be alone with Wyatt for a few minutes, I’d survive.