by S. E. Hall
“I’ll have a glass of house red please,” Jenee addresses the waitress politely.
I wait for Hailey to order her drink, but she’s busy with a mirror and replacing the lip gloss she’d lost to Sawyer’s face, so I go ahead. “I’ll just have a Coke, please.”
Once she collects the other drink orders, a beer and a Pink Squirrel, our waitress leaves.
Hailey is now sufficiently primped and ready to participate in conversation. “So, Jenny, how do you know Sawyer?”
Here we go.
“It’s Jenee, and from work. You?”
“Me what?” Hailey pops her gum loudly.
I’m just shocked she came away with her gum.
“How do you know Sawyer?” Jenee’s voice is polite, but screams “keep up.”
“Here and there.” She snickers, leaning over to bury her face in his neck, one hand disappearing under the tablecloth.
By the grace of God, our drinks arrive and we place our orders while Sawyer mauls the basket of bread just delivered. Jenee pushes back her chair, excusing herself to the ladies’ room, so I stand to help her. As I do, I see her.
Across the restaurant, looking like a vision in a light pink (of course) top, her hair down around her shoulders, is Whitley. Sitting across from her, looking like a goon, is some preppy little worm in a suit. A suit.
“I’ll be right back,” Jenee says, jerking my attention back to her.
“R-right, okay,” I stammer, consumed by my thoughts.
When Jenee has turned the corner, I look to Sawyer. “Hey, I see Whitley over there. I’m gonna go say hi real quick.”
I’m off before he can give me shit about it, which he undoubtedly would. She looks up as I approach, quickly forcing her shocked face into a grin. “Evan, hi, what are you doing here?”
“Same as you,” I shrug, “eating. I saw you, thought I’d come say hi.”
“I’m glad you did. Evan, this is Thad Conner. Thad, Evan Allen,” she introduces us.
Thad? That’s not a real name.
He stands, placing his napkin that he had in his lap, need I say more, on the table. He offers me his hand with a “Thad Conner.”
She just told me that, dumbass, I know your name.
“Evan Allen, still.” I raise one brow as I squeeze the shit out of his hand. “Well,” I focus on Whitley, “I better let you two get back to your date. See ya later, Whit.”
She starts to say something but I walk away, not at all happy, and not at all sure that my face won’t give away that fact if I stay any longer. Here I am, on a pretty decent date, mad that Whitley’s on one too? Nothing like painting yourself into a corner…forcing yourself to date everyone but the girl who you don’t like seeing date anyone but you. The whole “having your cake and eating it too” adage comes to mind, but that makes me think of cake; shortcake, in particular, with strawberries, that Whitley made me.
Not helping.
Jenee’s already back in her seat when I arrive at our table, so I apologize, explaining I saw a friend and wanted to say a quick hello. I don’t mention the friend is a tiny blonde who hums and digs worms and makes me cake and needs a real man who doesn’t own a fucking tie to swoop her up…no, I just say friend. She dismisses it easily, not bothered, much to my relief.
For 2.3 seconds. Until Sawyer speaks. He smirks. “Who’s Whitley here with?”
“Her date,” I grind out, offering Jenee an apologetic smile, ready to kill Sawyer for having the biggest damn mouth in Georgia. I grab a roll, amazed there’s one left with “Mouth of the South” sitting across from me and all, and begin to butter it, welcoming anything else to concentrate on.
Music blares out of nowhere, a song I’ve never heard, thankfully, ‘cause it’s terrible, and Jenee scrambles to fish her phone from her purse. “Sorry, I have to take this,” she barely offers before excusing herself again.
Offended? Not a bit…this looks like a big ol’ opportunity to me.
I whip out my own phone, firing off the first shot.
Evan: Do you need me to come rescue you? I owe you one.
Answer, come on, time’s a wastin’.
Whitley: No, I’m fine. Are you on a date? Texting me in front of her would not be okay.
Evan: She had a phone call.
Shit. See what she did there? Got me to admit I’m on a date. Tricky female.
Evan: Thad is not a real name. I looked it up. Whitley: Stop it.
Evan: You know what needs to stop? His ears growing.
WAY too big for his beanie head.
I hear her laughter across the restaurant, a healing, delightful sound. Above the noise, dishes clanging in the back, all else, I hear her laugh.
Evan: Funny AND true. Whitley: Maybe a little.
“Here she comes, man, put that away. Work with me, dammit,” Sawyer warns in a low voice.
I shove my phone in my pocket and stand just as Jenee approaches. I pull out her chair for her, leaning way back to catch a peek at Whitley, who’s giving me a thumb’s up. I chuckle; Whitley’s being kind, approving of Jenee when it’s her that’s clearly the most radiant girl in the place.
“Everything all right?” I ask as I push her up to the table.
“Oh yes, fine. My roommate had a bad night, needed a little talking off the ledge. I’m sorry about that.”
“No worries, that’s nice she has you.”
And I text bombed the lovely lass across the way the whole time you were gone.
“Thank God! My stomach was eating itself.” Sawyer’s boisterous announcement earns an eye roll from our waitress as she settles the stand and tray, serving our dinners.
Jenee and I barely speak through the meal, but talk about the other side of the pendulum…Hailey is feeding Sawyer off her fork and wiping his mouth after each bite. Oh, and let’s not forget the kiss after every swipe of the napkin. It’s so nauseating I can barely choke down a mouthful and Jenee is fidgeting so much she’s either as uncomfortable as I am or she has worms.
“Sawyer!” I finally bark. “Enough! You know how to use a fork, I’ve seen you do it.”
“You testy fucker, you need to get laid,” he mocks me with a snarky wink. “You heard him, sweet thang, eat your own dinner and I’ll eat mine,” he directs his doting date.
“Thank you,” Jenee says under her breath.
Hailey takes turns between pouting and glaring at me, Sawyer biting back a smirk at my obvious discomfort to her scrutiny. He and I are gonna have to have a talk soon about the difference between a little PDA and all out porno previews.
“I thought I’d come by and say goodnight.” Whitley’s voice comes from beside me and I look up to find her blue eyes zoned in on Jenee.
“Hey, Whit.” Sawyer gets up and gives her a hug, eyeing Thad. “Sawyer Beckett, and you are?”
“Th-Thad Conner.” I can see his hand shaking from here as he offers it.
Sawyer gives him a brisk, and I’m sure painful, shake and then introduces them both to our dates. I say nothing because I’ve already played nice with the fagbag one too many times; my angry glare only leaves him long enough to return to Whitley, hers still zoned in on my date.
“Do you two want to join us?” Jenee asks politely, almost as polished as Whitley would have done.
“Thank you, but I’m afraid we can’t. I have a plane to catch.” Thad straightens his tie as he speaks.
“That’s right, well let’s go then. Bye, Ev, Sawyer. Nice to meet you both.” Whitley gives a small wave and turns to go with him.
“Bye, Whit,” I respond, my aggravation evident.
My head turns of its own volition and watches her walk out, gray skirt swishing with each flick of her hips until she’s completely gone from view. A plane to catch? Is he some out of town secret? Someone she dated back home? How long was he here? Is he what she had planned when she couldn’t hang with me the other night?
There it is—that familiar pain in my chest telling me I’ve blown it—again. If ever there was a guy
better at complete lack of timing or finesse with making a big move at the exact moment she needs you to make it, I’d love to meet his ass and gladly hand over the title that hangs around my neck like a noose.
Fuck.
“Evan.” I snap my head back to Jenee, who puts a hand on my arm and speaks. “Why is she not the one here with you tonight?”
Is there a right answer to this question? This feels suspiciously like a trick question that probably ends with another blast of cold water to my face. I’m being reeled in by the elusive female mind, begging me to trap myself right into a smacking or glass of ice cold water to the face.
But no, as I look for her tell, the twitch of an eye, flare of a nostril…I sense only empathy in Jenee’s soft voice and gentle touch on my arm.
Still, I have to go on instinct.
“She’s just a friend. I’m having a great time with you.”
Not a total lie. As far as recent dates go, this girl wins hands down.
“Good answer,” Sawyer says in a cough.
Jenee darts her eyes to him, warning him to butt out, then turns her warm, understanding brown eyes back to me. “Are you ready to get out of here?”
“Absolutely.” I rise, helping her with her chair before pulling out my wallet. “Will you wait and pay, Saw?” I ask as I toss money down on the table.
“On it. You kids have fun now.” He salutes us with a shit-eating grin.
“Nice to meet you, Hailey,” I offer as sincerely as possible.
Truth is, she’d offered little to the evening except exhibitionism. “Bye,” she giggles before smothering herself in Sawyer’s neck, our exit obviously her green light to resume festivities.
I usher Jenee out with a hand to her back, and once outside realize we’d arrived in separate cars.
“Did you want to do something else, or—”
“Evan,” she raises a hand to my cheek, “let’s just have some fun, hmm? How about a drink, some dancing?”
“Sure, where’d you have in mind?”
I know of exactly two bars, and while my I.D. is pretty legit, how embarrassing would it be to get turned away in front of her?
Safe bet it is.
“Ya know what? I know just the place. Let’s take my truck.” With that, I nudge her and lead us to where I parked, helping her up into the beast. Her skirt tightens as she climbs in, offering a fantastic view that I genetically appreciate.
Once settled, her long legs cross at the ankle. “Thank you,” she says smoothly, adjusting her skirt.
“Of course,” I answer, shutting the door and moving quickly to climb in my side.
“You know The K?” I ask her, once in the truck.
“Yes,” she snickers.
“Oh, ok. That good then?”
“Wonderful.”
I’m missing something, I think. I’m not much of a talker, so the ride could be silent and it wouldn’t bother me any, but Jenee is of a different opinion.
“Do you go to The K often, Evan?”
“I wouldn’t say often, but when I do go out, it’s usually there.”
“So you don’t go out much?”
“Not really. I like a cold beer as much as the next guy, but I’m not big on the club scene. You?”
“I love to go out, especially to dance. That’s what I want to do one day, dance professionally, in a big city.” Her voice lifts, like she’s dreaming of just that while she says it. “I’m GM of a gym right now, but just to pay the bills.”
Good for her. Everyone needs a dream, but as if I didn’t know before, it’s settled; Jenee and I will only ever be friends. You will never get me to live in a big, ritzy city, hobnobbing with the elite, clubbing for exposure with famous artists. No, sir.
I probably don’t have to think so deep into first dates and could just go with the flow and have some casual fun, but casual and Evan Allen aren’t familiar. Parker had nailed it on the head—I’m a romantic. Take it or leave it.
We’re here, so I help her out of the truck and hold her arm as we walk in. Something about girls in stilt heels just screams “face plant” to me. The place is packed, loud beats vibrating the walls as hard as the bodies on the floor.
“You want a drink?” I try not to yell at her.
She bobs her head up and down. “Bay Breeze, extra pineapple please.”
“You okay here or you wanna get a table first?” I again have to almost scream in her ear.
“I’m gonna dance. You grab a table and come find me, k?”
I nod, hating that plan. God knows we should stick together, but she’s sober, and we’re not cozy enough for me to be bossing her around… No, I just can’t do it. I catch up to her, grabbing her elbow.
“Jenee, why don’t you come with me to the bar, then we’ll wander together?”
“Aren’t you the sweetest thing?” She kisses my cheek and pats my chest. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”
“All right,” I begrudgingly concede, walking away slowly, trying to keep her in my sights as long as possible, which isn’t long once she moves herself into the middle of the pack on the dance floor.
The bar is packed. I’ve never seen it quite like this in here, and I’d bet money at least three fire codes are being broken right now. When I get close enough, the line barley creeping, I see Tate tending, sweat rolling down the sides of his face. And scrambling beside him, actually running into him and dropping stuff more than actually serving any drinks, is Zach. Ah, this is too good, I cross my arms and watch in amusement.
“What can I get—oh, Evan, thank Christ!” Zach is extremely happy to see me. “Text or call Sawyer now, and tell him to get his ass down here! DJ Funky something, local celeb I guess, came in and took the tables. Look at this fucking place!”
“You guys okay?” Dane walks in behind the bar, frantically searching Tate and Zach’s reactions. “I’m closing the door, we’re well at max.”
“Good!” Tate yells over his shoulder at him. “Start paying people to go home! And where the hell is Sawyer?”
“I’ll find Sawyer!” I assure them.
Dane’s head jerks to me now. “Evan, hey, how are you? Yeah, if you could track down Sawyer, that’d be great. You guys good, Tate, or you need stocked?”
“I don’t know what we need, haven’t had time to look. How’s Bennett? You’d better have somebody watching them!” He scowls, concentrating on drink slinging but clearly waiting for Dane’s confirmation.
“I put Brock on them, they’re fine. I’ll check stock. Evan,” I look up from my phone at Dane, “you got Sawyer? I need him down here ten minutes ago. Then can you go help watch the girls? Drinks on me, man, I’d appreciate your help.”
No way am I drinking now. I have to herd in Sawyer and watch a bunch of girls we all care about in this crowd; I need my wits about me. “Yeah, I’m on both. Where are they?”
He points. “Table by the stabilizer pole. Look for Brock, big bald dude in a neon shirt, says ‘Security’ on the back.”
I affirm with my head jerk, turning to fight the crowd. I hadn’t forgotten Jenee’s drink, I just don’t care anymore. I know one of “the girls” is Laney, and I don’t like this shit one bit. Surely she doesn’t either, this place is a madhouse.
The big ass bald dude is not as easy to spot as one might think. Neon shirt, nope, not jumping out at me, either. Laney sitting at a table plugging her ears…bingo! I touch her arm and she jumps, her mouth open and eyes bulging for only a moment as she realizes it’s me.
“Evan!” She leaps up to hug me, a stranglehold around my ribs.
Something rips me back, her falling away from me, and I flip around to see…a big ass bald dude.
“Can I help you?” he growls, lip snarled.
“Brock,” Laney grips his arm, “he’s fine. He’s my friend. Let go!”
The big man, who would eat Sawyer’s lunch like a snack pack, and that’s saying something, releases his death grip with a skeptical glare. “Don’t need to handle Mr. Kendrick’
s lady.”
“Oh, Brock, stop! Go find the other three, I’m fine.” Laney pushes him, not that it moves him, but bless her heart for trying. “Where’s your date?” She turns and asks me, brows scrunched.
“How’d you know I had a date?”
“Whitley may have mentioned it.” She shrugs. What? Whitley called her? Or—No!
“Is Whitley here?” Just like that, my chest seizes and I see red. It’s something completely different than what I felt when I knew I was searching for Laney in this mob, and I’ll contemplate that later. Right now all I want to do is lay hands on Whitley.
“Yes, she’s out there somewhere,” she waves her hand toward the dance floor, “with Avery and Bennett. She’s fine, Evan.” She rolls her eyes at me, but then gives me a knowing smile just as fast.
Leave Laney alone and go find Whitley or stay here? Well, if this isn’t the proverbial crossroads staring me in the face I don’t know what is. My decision, already made, shocks and excites me in ways that give me hope and chest pains at the same time.
I think somewhere in my own deepest recesses, I knew already, but this makes it so…like the Psalms… I have truly turned the corner and emerged alive and well on the other side. It’s like I had an epiphany—my number one priority has been realized and I feel alive.
Luckily, Brock hasn’t strayed far or taken at least one corner of one eye off Laney, so I motion him over.
“Can you stay with her? I’ll go find the others!” I yell ask him.
“Hmm,” he grunts, moving closer to Laney.
“Don’t move,” I tell her before weaving my way into the mass.
Arms are waving, there’s pushing, grinding, and people actually falling on the ground. I am never gonna find anyone in this nightmare, and honestly, I have a hint of vertigo setting in. Fuck this—I push, trying to make sure it’s not into any ladies, my way to the DJ stand and climb it.
Holding on to the edge of the booth with one hand, I use the other to bang on the wood, getting Funky Fresh Jam’s attention. “Gimme your mic!” I yell in his face.
“Shoot, get on,” he dismisses me with a snort and brush of his hand.
“Dane, the owner, is my boy and he sent me. Now gimme the mic!” This time I’ve already grabbed the neck of the mic stand, curling it around to me. “Turn down the music!”