Wait With Me

by Amy Daws

  I cringe at the scene and look around to see how many people are looking. Not too many. Could be worse. But I appreciate Lynsey’s efforts because tables are tough to grab at West End Tavern. It’s a bar in Boulder with three levels of outdoor seating, and their rooftop patio is always packed in the summertime. It has a stunning view of the mountains, and it’s one of those places that’s always noisy, so you feel like you’re a part of something.

  I head over with a sheepish look on my face and mouth, “Sorry,” to the couple who’s backing away slowly. Lynsey finally slides down off the tabletop and into a chair.

  “Okay, so finish where you left off,” she says as I take a seat opposite her.

  “Where did I leave off?” I ask, sipping on a glass of wine because beer won’t cut it after the week I’ve had.

  “Well, Dryston is back…” she begins, repeating my earlier story.

  I bark out a laugh. “Yeah, well, that’s pretty much all I know. I got a text from him a couple of days ago while I was at the supermarket that said in all caps, WHERE IS MY SHIT. And he put a period instead of a question mark…idiot.”

  “Clearly he’s been back to the house then,” Lynsey says, brown eyes wide and worried.

  I shrug. “I guess so. He said he’s been staying with his friend, Mitchell.”

  She shakes her head, little wisps of her brown hair falling out of the messy bun on top of her head. “That’s eerie.”

  “Super eerie,” I agree, grabbing my own hair and pulling it off to one side to cool my neck down. “Dryston wasn’t supposed to come back for another month. I thought I had time to break it to him that I moved all his stuff into a storage unit.” Translation: I thought I had time to tell Miles the truth about my roommate.

  “So what did you say?” Lynsey asks, taking another drink of her Long Island.

  “I told him where the pod was and that I could have it delivered wherever he intended on living because now that he was back in town, I was going to change the locks.”

  Her eyes alight with excitement. “Oh my God, you didn’t!”

  I nod. “I did. Fuck him. He comes sneaking back into town without even an announcement, thinking he can just stride into my house like he’s been paying rent all summer? That’s bullshit because he most certainly hasn’t been sending me checks. I’ll pay him the deposit we split on the townhouse if that’s what it takes. I’m not moving!”

  “Good for you!” Lynsey exclaims, slapping the table in excitement. “You’re finally taking a stand.”

  “Damn right, I am,” I reply with a smile and take a drink of my wine. “So talk to me about you. Where have you been the last few days? I’ve stopped by and you’re never home.”

  Lynsey’s face flushes a crimson color at my sudden change of subject. Her eyes are practically twinkling in the swooped Edison bulbs overhead. “You’re going to be so proud.”

  “Tell me.”

  She sighs heavily. “Well, my thesis was going horribly, so I decided to go back to the hospital cafeteria to see if I could have a Tire Depot moment.”

  My smile is enormous. “And did you?” I nearly squeal.

  “Yes,” she squeals back and covers her face like the monkey emoji.

  “Why are you acting embarrassed? That’s awesome!”

  She rolls her eyes. “Well, gosh, I eat there every day now, and I feel like the cafeteria people think I’m there for some really tragic reason. They normally scream ‘next in line’ when it’s your turn to pay, but whenever they see me, they say ‘Come on up, sweetheart.’ It’s so weirdly obvious. I think people are starting to notice.”

  I scoff, “Like who? Other patients’ families that are all temporary? They’ll be gone in a week.”

  “Well…not only patients’ families. There’s this older doctor who is kind of a dick. He keeps scowling at me every time he sees me. I can’t tell if that’s his face or if he thinks I’m a freak.”

  “Just ignore him. If he’s a doctor, I’m sure he’s way too busy to worry about you.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. I’m only noticing him because he’s fucking stupid hot. Like take McDreamy and McSteamy and rub their penises together. That’s how hot he is.”

  I nearly spew wine out my nose. “Lynsey! That was scandalous!”

  She shrugs. “I know this girl who writes the best kinky books. You should check her out sometimes, broaden your horizons.” She shoots me a wink and adds, “So now that Dryston is finally officially gone, does that mean there’s nothing to stop you from pursuing more with Miles?”

  “Except for that whole pesky first name business,” I reply, pursing my lips off to the side because I already miss him like crazy. I’ve been avoiding Miles for fear of Dryston stopping by unexpectedly. But I’m not going to be able to stay away much longer. I need to come clean about everything. Get it all out there and hope he understands.

  She shakes that off like it’s nothing and sucks down the rest of her drink. It’s nearing eleven, but I can already tell this is going to be one of those nights we have to cab it home.

  Lynsey looks around with a pinched expression. “Do we not get a waitress over here?” She lets out a little growl and stands up. “I’m going to go pee and grab drinks at the bar. Another wine?”

  “Please!” I bellow at her retreating back.

  And no sooner do I sit back in my chair to ponder what I should text to Miles now that Dryston is somewhat squared away, than the man himself sits down right next to me.

  “Honey, I’m home!” Dryston laughs obnoxiously and grabs my wine glass. He tips it to his lips, guzzling down the last remaining drops and hits me with a half-lidded stare. “How are you, Katie?”

  I roll my eyes and shake my head. He’s the only one in my life who’s ever called me Katie, and I can’t believe I ever thought it was cute. “I’m fine, Dryston. How are you?”

  I eye him up and down for a minute, noting that he’s clearly drunk. His body is swaying slighting as he props his arms on the metal table. It’s been two months since he left for the summer, and I haven’t missed him one bit.

  And he’s clearly still trying to come off like some Hamptons big shot, which means absolutely nothing in Boulder. I glance down and see he’s got his typical boat shoes on with no socks and his standard khaki chinos. On top, he has a white button-down with at least five buttons popped open to reveal his ridiculously perfect summer tan. His blond hair is styled into a mess of over-gelled spikes with his sunglasses propped on top of his head even though it’s been dark out for hours.

  He is the exact opposite of Miles in every possible way.

  What the fuck was I ever thinking?

  My only defense is that it was before I even knew that guys like Miles existed. And even though Dryston was a pompous ass a lot of the time, we still had some fun times together. I can’t deny that fact. We traveled the world, went to crazy parties, and experienced a lot. I think he kept me around because my job was so flexible that if he wanted to fly to the beach for the weekend, we could. It was easy to get swept up in the excitement of travel and ignore everything else that was missing between us.

  The connection. The emotion. The passion.

  We never had any of that. I’ve known Miles a fraction of that time, and we have that in spades.

  “Goddamn, Katie. Did you look this good when I left?” he asks, his brown eyes lowering and taking in my tight olive green tank dress. It’s ruched on the sides, and the scoop neck goes low enough to show a little cleavage, but I mostly love it for its color. Green complements redheads, and I had some sick hope of ending up at Miles’s place tonight.

  “This is so typical.”

  “What?” he leers.

  “You come crawling back into town and think you can get whatever you want.” I shake my head in disgust.

  He doesn’t seem the least bit put off. “What? I don’t remember your tits looking this good. I need a refresher.”

  “Don’t be a pig, Dryston.”

  �
�Don’t be a bitch, Katie.”

  I eye him with a cold glare, my posture stiffening at his combative tone. Through clenched teeth, I ask, “What do you want?”

  He leans across the corner of the table and slides a finger along my upper arm. “I want to come home.”

  “No!” I exclaim, yanking myself back from his touch. “Dryston, we’re broken up. Your shit is in storage. There’s absolutely no reason for you to come back to the house.”

  “Well, it’s fucking bullshit that you moved it without my permission. If anything is damaged, I’m making you pay for it.”

  “Fine! Send me the bill. I don’t care.”

  He laughs haughtily. “So I suppose you’re fucking someone new now, and that’s why you’re giving me the cold shoulder?”

  “That’s not why,” I snap, my eyes fierce on his. “I want you gone because I can’t stand you, and I don’t feel like living with my ex who turned out to be a total douchebag.”

  “How was I a douchebag?” he asks, his jaw dropping with indignation.

  “Many, many reasons!” I exclaim, feeling the veins in my neck bulge. “But the one that is my absolute favorite is you being ashamed of me to your family. We’d been together for almost two years, and you wanted me to lie to them about what I do for a living.”

  He shakes his head. “Well, my family is religious, and what you do isn’t exactly wholesome, Katie.”

  I roll my eyes, murmuring under my breath, “Frickin’ weak.”

  He growls back, “Well, you don’t get to just kick me out of our house. Our lease doesn’t end for another seven months.”

  “Let me buy you out then!” I exclaim, my eyes wide and accusing on him. “My best friend lives next door. The only reason I even found that place was because of her. Stop being so selfish and find somewhere else to live! Or move in with your buddy. Your stuff is all packed up and ready to go.”

  He sits back in his chair and snaps, “I don’t even have a car that’ll tow a storage pod.”

  My face crumples with disbelief at his idiotic comment. “They deliver it, Dryston. And don’t worry, I’ll pay for that too. Heaven forbid, you have to dip into your trust fund.”

  He cuts a mean look at me. “You can be a real cunt, you know that?”

  “And dirty, so you better run away before you catch my erotica stank!” I wiggle my fingers toward him in dramatic fashion when a deep, familiar voice sounds off from beside me.

  “What the fuck did you call her?”

  I look up, and my heart falls through the floor when I see Miles Hudson standing right next to me.

  Normally, I avoid places like West End Tavern. They’re usually overflowing with people who are all trying too hard to have a good time. A good time shouldn’t be something you have to go to great lengths to have. It should come naturally.

  But tonight, I’m itching to get my mind off Mercedes and her lack of communication, so I follow Sam up the stairs to the West End Tavern’s rooftop. The noise and music are lively, and it’s busy, but not so busy that I regret my decision to venture out.

  Sam sees a couple of guys we know from the shop, so we make our way over to the bar. After ordering a couple of beers, I look to my right and see a familiar brunette down at the end of the bar.

  Mercedes’s friend’s eyes find mine at the exact same time and go wide with surprise. “Miles?” Lynsey says with a smile and waves her hand at me.

  I give her a nod and hold my place at the bar as she makes her way over to me. The bartender is just handing me a bottle when she reaches me.

  She presses in beside me and beams up excitedly. “What are you doing here?”

  “Here with my buddy,” I reply, gesturing behind me to Sam. “What about you?” I ask, fighting the urge I have not to do a sweep of the patio in search of a redhead I miss more than I’m even ready to admit.

  Lynsey pokes me in the stomach and replies, “I’m here with Kate! What are the odds?”

  I frown down at her. “Who’s Kate?”

  Her eyes go wide, and her smile falls as she looks down for a moment. Slowly, her eyes lift to an area over my shoulder, so I turn to see what’s got her so freaked out.

  At that moment, I see red.

  Literally and figuratively.

  My hand tightens around my beer bottle when I spot Mercedes sitting at a table with some guy. This would annoy me under normal circumstances. But that fact that I recognize this douchebag from the tire shop, Mr. Green Shirt Fucking Prick, means that I’m not just annoyed. I’m fucking pissed.

  And they aren’t merely sitting across from each other like a couple of old friends who ran into each other. He’s sitting right next to her, his seat scooted over, so their legs are touching. And he’s leaning in so goddamn close he can smell her lip gloss.

  Sam must pick up on my mood shift because he catches my eyes with a confused frown. I head nod to what I’m looking at, and I know he instantly recognizes the prick too.

  Sam looks back at me. “Is that…?”

  I nod slowly.

  “And is she talking to…?”

  I nod slowly again.

  “What the fuck, bro?”

  My jaw is tight, and a muscle is reflexively ticking away on my cheek like a madman ready to hulk out on this entire bar.

  When Green Shirt Douche-canoe’s hand reaches up to touch Mercedes’s face, I’m moving across the patio in huge, hacked-off strides.

  “Miles, it’s not what you think,” Lynsey’s voice chirps from behind me as I struggle to get through a pack of people. Lynsey’s hands wrap around my bicep as she tries to hold me back.

  I turn and loom over her to reply, “It looks pretty crystal-fucking-clear to me.”

  “He’s no one,” she states, chewing her lower lip nervously.

  “Then why are you holding me back?” I snap, looking down at her hand on my arm. She smartly lets me go, and I murmur a thanks and resume my earlier pace.

  I didn’t really make the conscious decision to come over here and approach them. It was an instinctual, knee-jerk response that I really couldn’t fight.

  Green Shirt’s voice catches my ear just as I’m close enough to hear, “You can be a real cunt, you know that.”

  Mercedes replies something snappy and wiggles her fingers in his face right before I add, “What the fuck did you call her?” I nearly growl, moving up close to stand on the other side of Mercedes.

  Green Shirt looks up at me with an annoyed expression painted all over his face. “Excuse you?”

  “Excuse you,” I snap back and lean down, splaying my hands out wide on the table.

  “Miles,” Mercedes says, her voice strained. I can feel her eyes on me, but I can’t move my laser focus off douchebag here.

  “What the fuck did you call her?” I repeat my question earlier and add, “I won’t ask again.”

  Green Shirt, who’s actually in a white shirt tonight, just laughs. “This conversation has nothing to do with you, grease monkey. Why don’t you take a walk? You’ve clearly been sniffing too much gasoline.”

  “Dryston!” Mercedes snaps at him and just the way she says his name seems familiar. Like this might be a person she knows more than I’d like to believe.

  “You know this fuckwit, Mercedes?” I ask, sliding my eyes to her. She’s twitchy and nervous, struggling to make eye contact with me. Her chest is flushed with hives like I’ve never seen.

  The guy barks out an obnoxious, pompous laugh. “Mercedes?” He looks at me with raised eyebrows. “You think her name is Mercedes?”

  My brows furrow and look at Mercedes for approval. She shakes her head quickly and rushes out, “I was going to tell you everything.”

  “Tell me what?” I snap, my hands turning into fists on the table. “Who the fuck is this guy?”

  “He’s no one!” she states adamantly through clenched teeth, her eyes flying all over my face as she reaches up to touch my arm.

  Green Shirt hoots out another obnoxious laugh and says, “No,
I just lived with you for two years.”

  “Lived with you?” I ask, completely confused because this fucker did not give me a gay vibe at Tire Depot. “Is this is your gay roommate that you kicked out?”

  Green Shirt leans across the table and murmurs, “I didn’t fuck her like I was gay, brah.”

  Rage. Undiluted rage rips through my body, and I straighten, chest heaving. Mercedes rises to grab my arm and stop me from walking around this table and ripping this dick’s fucking throat out.

  “Miles, please, if you’ll just let me explain,” she rushes out, her voice shaky and garbled.

  “Yeah…Katie,” Green Shirt adds, “explain to him how I was your boyfriend for two years and still basically live with you.”

  “You do not live with me, Dryston!” she shouts, her own hand fisting at her side as she stomps her foot.

  My face twists up in confusion as I turn my shoulders to face her. “Why is he calling you Katie?” I grind through clenched teeth that feel like they could crack any moment. “Your name is Mercedes.”

  “Her name is Kate Smith, moron. Mercedes is basically the hooker name she made up to write those god-awful things she calls books.”

  Now I’m done. I’m done with this douche. He’s said the last asshole thing I can handle.

  I reach across the table and yank him up onto his feet by the collar of his shirt. Sidestepping, I wrench him right up to my face so hard, he has to stand on tippy toes to just reach my chin. “Call her a fucking name again, and you will regret it.”

  The dude is like a limp sack of noodles in my arms, his eyes half-lidded as his lip curls up and whispers, “You can have the trashy cunt. She’s not suitable for mixed company anyway.”

  My eyes fly wide, and before I know it, I rear back my arm and send my fist flying into this fucker’s pompous nose. A satisfying crack vibrates against my knuckles, and blood sprays out all over his face.

  He howls in pain and crumples to the ground, his hand covering his nose. “You fucking ape!” he shouts, his voice cracking at the end. “I think you broke my nose!”

  “Good,” I grind through clenched teeth as Sam wraps his arms around me and hauls me backward. My shoulders rise and fall rapidly as I suck big gulps of air and stretch and flex my fingers on the hand that made contact.