by Kristi Rose
Making friends with girls has always been difficult for me. Maybe because my only real friend was Will and perhaps because of that I relate better to guys. Either that or Jayne’s different.
“Just a thought, but it might not be a numbers issue but more a you’ve-had-too-much-to-drink issue and this place is distracting. I can see from here that you’ve miscalculated column two.”
She groans and stares at the numbers. I touch my finger to the set where she went awry.
“It doesn’t help that you’ve been making eyes at tall, blond surfer over there.” I place a glass of water next to her wine.
“You’re a buzz kill,” she says in a bang-on American accent. Usually so posh with her Oxford English, it cracks me up when she does her American speak. She pushes the water back toward me.
“You should put this away and relax.” I tap her papers. “When do you do that? Relax?” She’s here every time I am and I imagine she’s here when I’m not.
She purses her lips. “Quite right. I haven’t relaxed in a long time. A good shag would fix that right up.”
I lean against the bar and rest my elbows on the top. “Is there a Mr. Jayne?” It’s my attempt at making casual girlfriend talk even though it feels intrusive.
She snorts. “No boyfriend. I’ve been casually seeing this guy, Brad, who, it would seem, is really just a scheduled shag when he’s driving through town. Which is about every other week. Clearly, not enough.” She smirks and nods toward the blond surfer. “How about you? You’re fairly new here, and if you tell me you’ve got a steady I might simply lose it. Not that I don’t want you to have someone but the reflection back into my own wasteland of a sex life...well.” She waves her hand dismissively.
Bemused, I laugh and roll my eyes. “I don’t have anyone, and I’m not looking for anyone either.”
“You say that with a firm determination. You just out of something serious?” She pulls the pencil from the knot on her head, places it on the counter, and then begins to massage her scalp.
“I’ve managed to escape something serious twice now.” I give a half shrug, feigning nonchalance, but the truth is Jayne is the first person I even hinted about my past too. Maybe I’m curious as to how she’ll react or treat me.
“Ohh, that sounds like a story.” She stops her massage to pick up her wine. “Do tell.”
I go for broke. “I was engaged two years ago and left him at the altar.”
She coughs on her wine and looks at me with large eyes. “You’re joking! I’ve never met someone who ditched at the altar.” She leans forward. “That took courage.”
She doesn’t know the half of it.
“Was he a creeper? Found out he was boning his dog or something?” She replaces her wine glass with more fries, still eating them by the handful.
I can’t contain my laughter as I try to picture Max, Mr. Lawyer Extraordinaire, getting cozy with his mother’s Labradoodle, Lord Byron. But as quick as I am to laugh, I’m just as quick to sober.
“He was all—what do you English say, broody? For one of the law clerks in his office.” I confess for the first time. “Every time he looked at her he got this stupid, sappy grin on his face. He’d get all nervous when she was around. It would have been cute if I wasn’t the girl in the office wearing his grandmother’s engagement ring. If people didn’t always give me looks of pity.” If I had someone who looked at me like that. Just once, even. “It was obvious he wanted her more than he wanted me.”
“Filthy bastard.” She pours more malt on her fish before breaking off a bite.
I nod in agreement. “But that’s not why I left. I mean to say it wasn’t the initial cause for why I left. Truth is, I wasn’t in love with him either. He was...familiar. I’ve known him since our mommy-and-me playdates.”
Jayne grabs her napkin and begins to wipe her hands. She sits back and stares, studying me. “What made you leave?”
I look around the bar. The steady stream of people coming in. The groups gathered in sections laughing and getting rowdy. I return my attention to her. “You ever been in a room like this, full of people, and felt utterly alone? As if you were invisible and weren’t sure you even existed out of the mold someone else created for you?”
Jayne shakes her head and quietly says, “I’ve often felt alone in crowds like this but never invisible.”
“What made it worse was the crowd of people was my family and the guy who was supposed to love me forever but didn’t even see me.”
Jayne covers her mouth, following it with a slight head shake. “I would’ve never guessed. Do you still feel that way?”
“Invisible? No,” I lie. Well, partially lie. I don’t often feel that way anymore. Only where Will is concerned.
It’s a heavy bomb to drop on someone you’re getting to know, so I try to ease the weight. “That and I thought about sex with this man for the rest of my life, and I couldn’t stop yawning. He doesn’t like to be sweaty.”
We laugh together.
“What about you? Any skeletons in your closet?”
Jayne holds her wine glass between her hands, a large smile on her face. “Not me. I don’t do anything that spans past a month. Six weeks tops.”
“Seriously? Even if you really like them?” I lean against the bar, anxious for her to share.
“I try not to pick guys that I could really like, that makes it hard to leave. But I really don’t have space in my life for anything more than casual, and I’ve found that after a few weeks casual becomes familiar. Men generally don’t like a successful woman. At least the ones I’ve found don’t.”
She glances at surfer guy. “Truth is, once I stand up and men see how ghastly tall I am, they either back off or come at me like they’re hunting giraffes and I’m a conquest. They want to see if their face lines up with my tits.”
“Does that actually happen? Guys begging off when you stand up?” She’s certainly tall but not freakishly tall. More like model tall.
“More than I care to count. I suppose I shouldn’t complain.” Her shrug expresses an indifference I’m not certain is real.
I tap my finger on the bar in thought. “Hmm. Men are assholes.”
Jayne laughs. “We should go out sometime. Someplace other than here, where my mum is not so quick at hand.”
I shrug, hoping she doesn’t recognize it for the lack of commitment it is.
“Give me your phone,” she says, holding out her hand, her fingers wiggling.
“How do you know I’m not some crazy single white female or something?” I pause, my hand on my back pocket, fingertips on the phone.
“I have a radar for crazy women. My cousin’s mum is a true nutter. Learned early with her. Hand it over.”
After pulling out my phone, I slide it across the bar.
She picks it up and, I presume, adds her number to my contacts before texting herself. She hands me back my phone then fidgets with hers.
“There. We’re BFF’s now.” She giggle snorts and covers her mouth, surprised.
I laugh as well.
“I don’t think I’ve ever said that before without being sarcastic.”
“I’m sure I’ve never said it unless I was teasing my brother,” I say and slide my phone back into my pocket. I return to what I’m supposed to be doing. I fill more drink orders and refill Jayne’s water glass. I’m reaching for her wine glass when she snakes out a hand and stops me.
“Are you cutting me off?”
“Do you think you need another drink?” Neither of us moves our hands.
“I think I’d like another drink.” She presses her lips together to keep from laughing.
“I think you’d also like to get your bookkeeping completed, accurately. Don’t look now, but here comes surfer dude.” I clear any extra dishes from the space around her and she waves away her nearly empty dinner plate. She flashes me her teeth and I give her the thumbs-up; she’s clear of all food particles.
/> “Hey,” Surfer doll says, leaning against the bar. “I couldn’t help but notice you noticing me.” He sounds like a cliché. His words are slow, deliberate, as if he’s thinking them up on the spot and it requires a tremendous amount of brainpower.
Jayne and I glance at each other and look away before we both end up laughing.
“I do apologize,” Jayne says. “I wasn’t noticing you as much as I was staring at the space over where you were.”
Jayne motions to the wall along the far side of the bar where a sign proclaiming Hard Work is the Path to Success hangs.
“I’m doing my accounting and the sign is motivation to not pack it in.” Jayne’s hand rests on the leather books spread before her.
“But you’re noticing me now, aren’t ’cha?” He leans forward, or more sways forward.
I pull the table number up on the computer and see that for a table of three guys, they’ve ordered five pitchers of beer. Catching Jayne’s eye, I hold up a pitcher and five fingers.
“I’m not, actually. Without a doubt you are in my space and I see you, but I’m not noticing you in the way that you’d like.” She pushes him back and he burps in her face, blowing it out.
“Sorry,” he says and waves the air between them.
“Mmm. As am I,” Jayne says but the sarcasm is lost on him.
I laugh and turn away so surfer guy can’t see. Jayne convinces him to go back to his friends without causing any sort of commotion, an art I admire. When he’s back at his table getting what I’m sure is a ribbing, I return to Jayne and smile.
“Nicely done. Maybe next time you do your books and need to concentrate you should keep your gaze downward.”
She smirks then giggles. “Perhaps you’re right. Too bad he was a bit dim. Is it wrong to assume he’d be that way in bed as well?”
I shrug and shake my head. “Not worth the risks or effort.”
“Agreed.” Jayne hiccups loudly and covers her mouth in surprise. “I’ve had too bloody much to drink. Which is good news for my ledger but shitty news for me because now I need a ride home and you know what that means?” She holds out her wine glass, tipping it to let me know she wants it refilled.
“You’ll be taking a cab?” A glance at the clock tells me her parents have left for the night.
“Worse, I’ll end up calling my cousin, Pippa.”
“Pippa? Come on, with a name like that she can’t be too bad.” It’s a weak argument and not one I’d use in a court of law.
“I told you her mother was mental. Pippa though, she’s lovely. In small doses. Very small doses. Miniscule.” Jayne’s thumb and index finger are a hairsbreadth apart.
I refill her glass. “Seriously?” If it’s as bad as she says, she deserves a drink.
“Bloody right I’m serious. Pippa will probably want me to meditate before she lets me out of the car.”
I arch a brow.
“She’s a nutter for yoga and all things like it. Moony.” She clasps the wine close to her chest.
“If you want to wait until closing, I can take you home,” I offer with a shrug of one shoulder.
“Bless you,” she says and grins.
“If she’s such a pain, why do you hang out with her?”
“Because the American government continues to cock up and issue her tourist visas and because she’s my family and the one friend I’ve had my entire life.”
I nod in understanding.
We don’t get to finish our conversation as the bar’s patronage picks up and I’m slammed with drink orders and helping out with the occasional table delivery.
I scan the crowd. The bar is filled with a mix of die-hard locals still in their work clothes, names sewn across the pocket of their shirt, bikers with their leather chaps and helmets resting on the floor, and college know-it-alls. They wear smug smiles and tight clothes; at least the girls do. Every garment is chosen to show off their tan, and as a flock of them pass headed for the restroom, the telltale aroma of coconuts and sunshine lingers behind them. I watch them with eyes that now have experience.
“Josie, I really have to pee. Can you take this order to table fifteen and check in with seventeen?” Sara, a bouncy college junior, pleads. She’s a hard worker so I do her a solid and wave her off but not before warning her of the pincher at table three.
I come from behind the bar with Sara’s notepad and pull up the tray I’d just loaded with a pilsner and a cosmo. Seriously? Cosmos are over and usually the person ordering one is attempting to reach a coolness they’ve only witnessed on TV.
“Here you go,” I say and place the cosmo in front of a blonde wearing a black short-sleeved sweater set accented with a long strand of black and white beads that she’s twirling around her fingers.
“And for you.” I put the pilsner in front of the guy who’s face deep into his smart phone. When he glances up, my eyes clash with the swampy green ones I’ve seen before. The same color as the new cashmere throw I indulged in when I moved into my fabulous apartment.
We both gasp and I give a short, quick laugh.
“We meet again.” I wink.
“You work here?” McRae asks. The phone in his hand chimes.
“No, I’m sitting at that table of guys and saw you all were without your drinks, so I thought I’d pitch in.” I point to a random table behind him. He looks at the group of frat boys then back at me and laughs.
“You’re working, I see.” I nod to his phone.
“How long you been here?” He slides the arm he was resting behind the blonde back from the ledge of the booth and places it on the table where he flips his phone face down and begins to toy with it.
“My shift started a few hours ago.” Hoping to contain my smile, I pull on my lower lip with my teeth. Don’t want to be too obvious with my pleasure at seeing him again. “This is the end of my second week.”
My body begins to vibrate; my nipples pucker under my shirt simply from being in the same space as him. Holy Hades, McRae is hot.
“You two know each other?” The girl asks, looking between us.
‘“Yes,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine.
“No,” I say at the same time. Then add, “Sorta. Not really.”
I’d like to get to know him. The charge of attraction sparking between us is intense and just as strong now as when I felt it in the truck on the drive down. Only now we’re in a setting where it’s common to hit on people and we’re a little less strangers. Which is the stupidest rationale in the world. Clearly, we’re still strangers. I don’t even know if this is his wife next to him and he’s the sort that doesn’t wear a ring. Though I have a hard time imagining the tailored blond to have the skills set to keep his attention; she’s more concerned with herself than anything else.
“Josie is...” He cocks his head to the side, maybe trying to find a way to define me. How he knows me. Josie is the girl I picked up on the side of the road. If that’s not a public service announcement for crazy, I don’t know what is.
I throw him a bone. “Sara, your waitress, will be around in a flash to see if you need anything,” I say, hoping to let the subject drop. His eyes dart to my chest, my exposed midriff, and my legs before bouncing back up. “Have a good night.”
I move to the next booth, and the four guys turn their attention to me. The big one on the end gives a wolf whistle. He’s clearly the ringleader by the way he monopolizes the larger portion of the bench and is leaning away from his friends while they lean toward him.
“What can I get you boys?” I don’t lean on the table or act coy. My woman’s intuition has kicked in and all thoughts of McRae and his blonde are gone. I remove the three empty pitchers of beer as fast as I can and stand back so they know I’m ready to take their order and nothing else. The metaphorical pad is out and pen is poised. Experience has taught me to be leery of the sort of personality the ringleader seems to embody. I’m always hopeful I’m wrong.
“I coul
d use a tall glass of you,” the oaf says and I detect a slight lisp. My kid brother, Stuart, has one and years of speech therapy have taught him how to get around it.
The asshat grabs the knot at my waist where I’ve tied my Oxford United jersey, and tugs, trying to get me to step closer, his fingers purposefully grazing my exposed midriff. He lets go to trace a knobby finger along the painted henna vines that scroll across my belly.
I bat his hand away. “Keep your mitts to yourself unless you want me to break them. Consider yourself warned.” I’m glad I decided on my heavy Doc Martins, whose sole purpose is to inflect lasting pain when kicking the shit out of someone.
I gesture with the empty pitchers and wait patiently for an order, refusing to engage further. Dumb-dumb continues to leer, his fingers drumming against his leg. Another guy, in what I assume is an attempt to steer the conversation away from me, asks the oaf which draft he thinks they should try. But oaf boy is not so bright.
“How ’bout you let me show you my man skills?” He snakes out his hand, trying to grab my waist, but I quickly side step.
“Are you going to place an order? Because I’m moving on.” I look him square in the eyes. The busboy passes by and I dump the empty pitchers in his bin, freeing my hands.
“Yeah, Rolling Rock, draft,” he says. His lips press into a thin line.
“OK, Sara will have those to you soon and will take your food order then.” I walk one step away and the stupid fuck slaps my ass with a fat hand. He ends the slap with a full-handed cupping of my butt cheek and a squeeze. I swivel on my heel. McRae is glaring and starting to get out of the booth when I catch his eye and wave him off. He hesitates a second before slowly sitting down, his fist clenched at his side.