Abstract Love

by Samantha Christy

  It doesn’t escape me that Brittney and Carly have been assaulting me with their eyes. I wonder what Jace told them about me or if they even bothered to ask. I go to freshen up their drinks when Brittney says to me, “So, Jeri . . . was it?” Like I don’t know that Jace texted her my name when he introduced us.

  “It’s Keri, actually. With a ‘K’.”

  She snorts at me and waves off my comment. “Whatever,” she says. “Are you having fun being Jace’s latest project?”

  “Project?” I question her.

  “Yes, project. You know what a nice guy he is. How he likes to give to the less fortunate. Surely you realize what is going on here, right?”

  Project? I’m his project? Like one of his charities? I absorb her words and I don’t want to believe them. He isn’t like that. Surely they are just jealous because he wasn’t giving his full attention to them.

  Carly laughs and says, “Oh my God, you think he really likes you. Oh, you poor dear.” She shakes her head and gives her friend a look. “You could never compete with Morgan, you must know that. Even if they don’t get back together, there are so many more women he can choose from. His possibilities are endless.”

  “And I suppose you two would be first in line.” I try not to appear hurt by their words, the words that cut through me like a serrated knife. The words I know are true. There are plenty more suitable candidates for Jace. What would he ever want with a bartender who comes from a broken past?

  Brittney pipes in, “Oh, we wouldn’t lower ourselves to stand in any line. We would never throw ourselves at him like a commoner.” She laughs and then covers her mouth in mock surprise. “Not to say that’s what you are doing or anything.” She rolls her eyes at Carly.

  “No, of course not,” Carly says. “That would be pathetic, even for a bartender. Well, we have better things to do on a Saturday night.” They get up to leave and she turns around and spits out, “See you around, Jeri.” And then they walk out, not even bothering to pay for their expensive drinks.

  Tanner’s arm comes around my shoulder. “I only heard the end of that conversation, but Keri, don’t let those bitches get to you. It’s exactly what they want. They must know Jace has feelings for you and they are jealous. That’s all this was, nothing more.”

  I nod at him and try to hold my head high, but a tear betrays me and falls down my cheek just as Jace walks back up to the bar.

  Jace: Are you okay? What happened? Where did Brittney and Carly go?

  “I’m fine, the keg kicked back at me when we changed it and I got some foam in my eye. The girls left a few minutes ago, you just missed them.” Tanner shakes his head at me in disappointment that I didn’t rat Jace’s so-called-friends out to him. I know what Tanner is thinking—where’s that Keri he met back at Freeway. Where’s the girl with a backbone. The girl with the thick skin that couldn’t be penetrated by inconsequential words from shallow people. The girl who could stand up for herself when she needed to and even throw down if she had to. But that was different. Back at Freeway, we were all on a level playing field. Here, with girls like those, I’m completely out of my element.

  Jace and I talk for a few more minutes. I give him Shana’s address for Scrabble Night, then he gets up to leave, throwing a hundred dollar bill on the bar. I stare him down.

  Jace: I know they didn’t pay for their drinks, Keri. They never do, and I’m not about to short the till. I’m sure when you work it out, you’ll see I’ve left you an appropriate, not over-the-top tip.

  He walks to the end of the bar and waits for me to come over. He pulls me close and whispers, “See you Monday.” Then he walks out, leaving me a quivering mess. A mess because of his hot breath on my ear and his sexy whisper along with that scent that I’ve come to love so much. A mess because his friends confirmed for me what I know to be true, that he is way out of my league. A mess because I am a stupid, stupid girl who continues to get trampled on by fantasies of more-than-enough love.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  It was nice to be able to volunteer at Freeway on a Monday again. The feeling I got when I woke up this morning was incredible. No more chemo. After thirteen weeks of waking up and knowing exactly what was in store for me that day, it was so nice not to have it all scripted out. Especially tonight, I have no idea what tonight will bring. I’ve changed my clothes no less than four times. It’s not a date. I keep reminding myself of that, but this is the first time Jace will see me when it’s not related to chemo or work. I want to make a good impression, yet still seem calm and casual.

  I settle on my favorite jeans and a blouse that, when coupled with my push-up bra, make the buttons stress just a tiny bit, drawing the slightest attention to my artificially-augmented cleavage. I’ve learned to embrace my breasts through all this, both literally and figuratively. God blessed us with them not only to feed our young but to appeal to men. Since I don’t have any young to feed, I’ll gladly use them for their secondary purpose as long as they shall remain attached to my body. Of course, it’s not all men that I’m trying to appeal to. In fact I could care less about all men. One man, that’s all I care about. One man among the billions of men on Earth.

  I ride with Tanner over to Shana’s. Greg, the guy he met at his temp job, is meeting us there, as is Jace. I wanted to arrive a little early to explain to those I haven’t seen in a while that Jace is not my boyfriend and that he needs to text instead of speaking out loud.

  I spend the next twenty minutes checking and re-checking my appearance. I decided to go natural, letting my still-thinned-out wavy hair flow down my back. I may have used a bit more mascara than usual and my pocket has a tiny container of Tic-Tacs—just in case he sits close enough to whisper to me.

  Every time there is a knock on the door, my heart beat races so fast that Nurse Stacy would probably be calling 911. Finally, he arrives. Precisely on time. He carries a six pack of beer under one arm, a bag full of quarters in one hand and a tray of deli subs, cut into small sections, in the other. Tanner and I share a look and giggle. What did we expect . . . a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue along with a tray of caviar? I love the way Jace continues to surprise me with his taste for simple pleasures.

  The first thing I notice is that he has what appears to be a five o’clock shadow. On his face and covering his entire head. Oh, his hair is coming in! I want so badly to walk the few steps over to him and run my hands across his cheeks and on his head. How I long to feel the scruffiness of fresh stubble under my fingers from the hair that promises to come.

  I introduce him to everyone here. “Jace, this is Shana and her boyfriend, Kevin. She and Ashley over there are waitresses. This is Austin, one of the weeknight bartenders. You know Tanner and that’s his date, Greg. Ashley and Austin have come stag as well, so we’re in good company.” Everyone shares a look as he goes around and shakes their hands. I know what they are thinking. It’s the same way the people at chemo looked at us. I shake off their raised eyebrows and direct Jace to the kitchen to deposit his contributions. “Do you think they know you are the boss’s kid?” I ask him.

  Jace: Didn’t you tell them?

  “It’s not my story to tell,” I say, with a smug little smile, throwing his own words from a few weeks ago back at him.

  Jace: Then, no, they probably don’t know. If we can keep it that way, I’d prefer it. They seem like a great bunch and I don’t want to make them uncomfortable thinking they have to behave a certain way around me. I like to get to know people for who they are, not who they pretend to be when they find out who I am.

  I get that. I’m sure once people find out who he is, some of them may ask him for money. Others, women mainly, probably try to get him into bed. I think back to what Brittney . . . or was it Carly, spoke about him having a line of women waiting to be the next girlfriend of the most eligible bachelor in South Florida. “Okay then, grab a beer and let’s head out so you can get a rundown of the rules along with Greg.”

  Jace: I’m not drinking tonight. But
I didn’t want to come empty-handed. And, it’s Scrabble, doesn’t everyone know the rules?

  I laugh at him and say, “Oh, you thought this was regular old Scrabble? Come, my young Padawan.”

  I start to walk out and he pulls me back to him, then types out a text.

  Jace: Keri, you just quoted my favorite movie of all time. Lead the way, Obi-wan Kenobi. Wait . . . we’re not playing Strip Scrabble are we?

  He looks up at me with a smirk on his face that makes me blush. We grab a couple of sodas and head out to the table with eight chairs crowded around it. Shana lays out the rules for Greg and Jace who are the only two here who haven’t played before.

  “Gentlemen, this is a drinking game. However, in the name of responsibility, since most of us work in a bar, you may choose to drink soda and watch the rest of us get smashed, or you can utilize one of the cab companies we have conveniently listed on the kitchen counter. But everyone’s car keys go in that drawer over there and nobody gets them back without the approval of the OSP.”

  “OSP?” Greg asks.

  “Yes, the Only Sober Player,” Shana replies. “We have one every week. It’s like a Designated Driver. This week, Keri has graciously volunteered her services.”

  I see Jace whip out his phone.

  Jace: Keri, why don’t you have fun with your friends. Let me be the SOB, or OPS or OSP, whatever. I probably won’t drink anyway.

  I laugh at his text. “No, it’s already been decided per the rules of the game. Plus, I just finished chemo last week and I want all that crap out of my system before I really tie one on. Maybe you can be the OSP next week, if we lose that is.” I say, hopeful that he will be returning to become a part of our Monday night group.

  Jace: You have a deal. But I never lose.

  “As I was saying,” Shana says, rolling her eyes at our private conversation that interrupted her rule-telling, “here is a copy of the rules.” She hands them each a printed slip of paper. “In a nutshell, if you use more than five tiles for a word, the other teams have to take a drink. If you use five tiles or less, your team has to take a drink. If you can’t make a word, the team with the most points pours you a shot—their choice. If you use a word that doesn’t exist on Wikipedia, you take a drink and lose your turn. Any tiles you have left at the end of a game, you take that many drinks. Oh, and dirty words always score double word points and all the other teams must take a shot. We usually keep playing over and over, adding up the cumulative scores until someone passes out. Questions?”

  Greg raises his hand like a kid in school, making the rest of us giggle. “Yeah, what does the winner get?”

  “I’m glad you asked that,” she says. “The winning team gets to pick next week’s OSP from the losing team. But usually anyone on the losing team was so drunk that they are still hung over the following week so they really don’t care. Oh, and the winners also get the quarters. It’s one quarter per point on the words that you play, not counting doubles or triples, just face value, I mean we only work in a bar, we don’t own one.”

  My eyes go wide and I look at Tanner. He shakes his head at me to let me know he didn’t say anything. I look around to see that everyone is laughing and that her remark was purely coincidental.

  Jace shrugs off the comment as well and then leans close and whispers, “Lost your last game, did you?”

  “Big time,” I reply. “As in, I’m still recovering almost four months later.”

  “Not tonight,” he whispers. Oh, he is competitive. I like that in a man. We take our seats, all squished in around Shana’s small table. There is barely room for eight chairs, let alone eight people and I’m very aware that my thigh is firmly pressed up against Jace’s. And that he is wearing a very large smile on his face.

  After about an hour into the game, things get exciting. I find I have just as much fun being OSP, watching the others get silly drunk, as I do participating in the drunkenness. Jace seems to be really enjoying himself as well. Everyone has their phone in front of them so he can text them and participate in the conversation. He is really getting to know everyone at the table, as the more they drink, the more secrets they reveal about themselves. It’s quite funny when we find out that Greg was actually a drag queen at a bar in Vegas one time when he couldn’t find a job and make rent. We all laugh when we gather around Shana’s computer and watch a YouTube video of one of his performances.

  As the night goes on, the words get funnier and dirtier. Shana looks all proud of herself as she puts down the word ‘fagshag’. We all look at her with raised eyebrows. “What? I’m half British, I can use it. You know, fagshag, when you sleep with your gay best friend, like Keri and Tanner over here.” She giggles like it is the funniest thing she’s ever said. Everyone else at the table momentarily bursts out laughing until they see Jace doesn’t find it amusing. Then all eyes go between Tanner, Jace and me.

  If Jace weren’t here, I would probably be laughing with the rest of them. Even Greg finds it funny. But seeing the look on Jace’s face, like someone just told him his puppy dog died, makes it not so funny. Tanner holds up his hands in surrender, looks Jace straight in the eye and says, “Seven years ago. One time. I swear.”

  Jace gets up from the table and goes to the kitchen. I follow him and watch as he pulls one of his previously untouched beers out of the refrigerator and drinks it. The whole thing. In one drink. Then he looks up at me and I’m not sure what to say, it’s not that I was hiding the fact that we had a hookup, it just never came up. When Jace asked early on if Tanner was more than my roommate, I simply left out that tiny little detail. After all, Jace and I didn’t know each other very well back then. Now, looking at his face, I feel guilty that I didn’t tell him. I feel bad that he had to find out this way, in front of other people.

  Jace: I get it. You don’t go around advertising it. That is something I understand. It’s in your past, Keri and I have no right to hold it against him or you. Hell, I have no right to be pissed even if you were sleeping with him or any other man right now. But even though I know that, I can’t help but stand here and want to beat him and every other man that has touched you into a bloody pulp.

  I laugh at his text and he gives me a questioning look. “How do you think I felt every time I saw Morgan?” He nods at me in understanding. Then he grabs another beer, takes a calming breath and leads us back out into the other room.

  With each beer that Jace drinks, I find we are getting more comfortable with each other. He keeps kicking the heel of my shoe with the toe of his. He will knock his knee into mine repeatedly, the whole time smiling as if he is enjoying a private joke. Sometimes our hands brush together when we both reach up to grab a tile at the same time. And when he leans over to whisper in my ear . . . well, I’m just glad we are stuffed in like sardines or I might fall right out of my chair into a gooey puddle of hormones on the floor. Every touch, every knee bump, every whisper is making my body hum and the little hairs on my neck stand at attention. I’m so grateful that I’m the OSP tonight or I might end up making some very bad choices. I make a note to myself that one of us must always remain sober when Jace and I are together. He is my weakness, my kryptonite and I’m beginning to think that I might very well be his.

  After one o’clock in the morning rolls around, the liquor has dried up and the yawns come out. I assess all of the people here. Ashley is going to sleep on Shana’s couch. Greg stopped drinking before eleven and has sobered up. Tanner, Austin and Jace are what we bartenders call completely wasted. Greg has offered to take Tanner and Austin home. I will drive Jace home in Tanner’s car, and Jace can just come back to Shana’s for his car in the morning.

  We say our goodbyes and head out to the parking lot. Jace sends me a text. I have to read it twice to understand his drunken words.

  Jace: take my caar that way have escuse to see you tmorrow.

  I shake my head at him. “You want me to drive your car, so you can see me tomorrow?”

  He nods.

  Jace: yo
u cn drive home nd bring it bak tomorrow.

  My blood pumps harder at the idea of driving the kind of car he would own. “Which one is your car?” I ask, looking around for a Ferrari or Maserati, but I don’t see one. He gives me the keys and I press the unlock button and I spy the flashing lights a few cars down. As we approach, it’s easy for me to see it under the street lights in the parking lot. It is a BMW M3 Coupe. It looks very sporty, which I would have guessed, and it looks like a very nice car, one that I would never be able to afford. Still, it’s not the uber-flashy car that I would expect a multi-millionaire to drive. “Is the Aston Martin in the shop?” I tease as I take him around to the passenger side, very aware that in his drunkenness, he is holding on to me quite tightly.

  Thirty minutes later, I’m waking him up, which means removing his hand from where he placed it on my thigh when we got in the car. I’m a little concerned about how I’m going to get him up the stairs to his loft, but once he comes to, he seems slightly less inebriated than when we left Shana’s apartment. He is able to manage the stairs with me next to him providing balance.