by Ashley Drew
“Screw this. I’m outta here. I’ll be bussing tables if you need me.”
She rolls her eyes and disappears out of the bar area before I can even tell her to stay put. Jesus H. Christ! She chooses now to bail on us with all of these drink orders? Does she not fucking see the chaos here?
I start to follow after her when it dawns on me. She’s here.
The crowd in front of me disperses in opposite directions, drawing a momentary line of sight between me and the entrance of the pub.
And then I see Cori, standing under the dim light, looking just as beautiful as I remember, her inquisitive eyes seeking mine.
And all at once, my body falls numb to that straining ache in my neck, because in this exact moment, it sure as hell doesn’t even compare to the ache that has suddenly taken over my heart.
Nick’s olive-green eyes are hooked into mine, and my pulse quickens. Despite Jim Morrison’s attempts at infiltrating my ear drums with his raspy croons, he is no match for my throbbing pulse because it is all I hear. The dim light at the entrance shines down on me like I’m on display and makes me uneasy, yet the only person in that entire bar that has his eyes on me is a deadpan Nick.
It’s an expression I’m all too familiar with, the same look he wore when I told him I was leaving Santa Cruz all those years ago, and it pains me to see it on him again.
The music and voices in the bar return in a unified crescendo as Nick disappears behind a group of tall, well-dressed men. The men, suited up like they’ve come straight out of a Calvin Klein ad, seem out of place in a bar like this, and I grow extremely aggravated when their attempts at a Friday night conquest with a pair of women breaks my line of sight with Nick. When their perfectly combed heads finally clear the way, he is nowhere to be seen, and my aggravation turns to disappointment.
Perhaps, like his sister, he doesn’t care to see me.
I turn to leave, blinking rapidly and breathing heavily, cursing myself for unconsciously coming here when a strong hand grasps my forearm. I whip my head around, ready to ward off a drunken punk, but I look up and see Nick. When I turn toward him, his mouth breaks into a smile, and even if it’s only in this moment, it’s the very thing I need to make my worries disappear.
He surprises me when he pulls me in for a hug. I’ve thought about this moment time and time again, and I’d give anything so that it never ends. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I find comfort in his hold, like I had every single time he had held me before. What I thought might feel awkward and unfamiliar is anything but.
“Cori,” he speaks my name, finally releasing me from his hold but continuing to grip my hands in his. He keeps me close to him, his face within inches of mine. “I can’t believe you’re standing here right now.”
His eyes carefully study every angle of my face, and I blush, hoping he doesn’t notice the effect he has on me. Now I wish I had looked in a mirror before stepping out of the car. I must look like hell.
I squeeze his hands tenderly. “You and me both,” I respond with a jovial bounce in my voice. “It’s been way too long. How are you, Nick?”
“I’m doing great, and now that you’re here, I couldn’t be better. Tess told me she saw you earlier. You just arrived tonight?”
I wonder what else Tess might have said to him. When she saw me walk through the pub doors a minute ago, she looked as though someone had waved rat carcass in front of her face, so I can’t imagine that she’d be speaking very fondly of me.
“Earlier this afternoon, actually,” I say with a nod.
“You arrived this afternoon, and it’s taken you all day to come and see me?” Nick playfully questions.
All day? Try six years. “Better now than never, right?”
“Absolutely,” he replies, and it’s with his affirmation that my homecoming finally feels worth it.
“Hey Nicholas,” a young man with colorful tattoos running up and down his arms interrupts. He’s carrying two large buckets of ice while sweat traces his shaved hairline and long sideburns. “We’re getting backed up at the bar, and Tess is throwing a fit because table forty-one hasn’t gotten their drinks which, she claims, has been waiting for almost twenty minutes now. But knowing her, she’s exaggerating, so I’m thinking it’s more like ten.”
Caught in the moment with Nick, I almost forget how busy the pub is.
“I’ll be right there, Lucas” Nick hollers back, waving him off. His mouth forms a hard line, and I wonder if he’s as annoyed at the interruption as I am. Then again, it’s nothing I’m not used to, because life is a conniving little thing; she knows exactly when to screw me.
“I’m sorry to have shown up at the worst possible time,” I apologize but without any regret.
Nick beams from ear to ear and chuckles. “We both know perfect timing has never been your strong suit.”
He breaks our gaze and glances over at the chaos ensuing at the bar. The lone bartender, a woman with bright red, pixie-cut hair and piercings galore, shoots Nick a need-help-now look of frustration, and I see the concern in his eyes.
“I’ll let you get back over there, Nick,” I yell over the amplifying music and chatter, which seem to have steadily increased as more and more people fill the pub. “I should go anyway.”
He flips his attention back to me, still concerned, and before I know it, he’s grabbing my hand and nodding his head toward the bar. “I’m gonna buy you a drink.”
After my overzealous wine escapade earlier, the mere thought of alcohol of any sort should deter me from indulging my liver with any further refreshments, but I’m not about to pass up Nick’s invitation.
Holding my hand, he leads me through the throngs of people, and the motion feels familiar, like when he’d hold my hand to make sure I didn’t fall and crack my head while we played down at the creek below our houses. He always worried about that after I stumbled off a slippery rock one time. Luckily, I managed to escape the incident with nothing more than a few scrapes on my forehead, but thereafter, Nick had always made me hold his hand. If it put him at ease, I didn’t protest.
We reach the bar but not without getting a few elbows in our sides and a couple of vodka cranberries spilt on us. Thankfully, the crimson color of the cocktail blends in with my blush top. I take a seat on the bar stool at the end as Nick lets go of my hand and makes his way behind the bar.
“What’s your poison?” a beaming Nick asks, throwing a bar towel over his shoulder and leaning against the counter to take my order. His smile almost makes me forget my headache, but with the bottles of whiskies, vodkas, tequilas, and rums staring straight at me, that pain in my head reminds me it’s still there.
“I’ll take an ice water,” I order, massaging my temples with my forefingers.
“Ice water?” Nick questions, but without hesitating, begins scooping ice into an empty glass.
“Let’s just say I enjoyed the company of the wine at dinner more than that of my father and Jamie.”
He laughs as the water from the soda gun flows into the glass. “You know what they say? The best way to soothe a hangover is to keep the party going with more booze,” he suggests, a devilish smirk appearing at the corner of his mouth.
As cute as Nick looks right now, that thought makes me queasy. “The water will do just fine.” I grin, grabbing the cold glass from his grip when he hands it to me, my fingertips lightly grazing his. A sudden shiver travels up my spine, and I’m going to think that it has everything to do with the cold glass and nothing else.
“The Cori Bennett I know would keep the party going. What happened to you? You used to be fun.”
“Oh, I’m still fun, but I call it quits after ten.”
The easygoing exchange between us feels like not much time has passed. Nothing feels forced or fake. It’s like we’re picking up right where we left off, but it doesn’t surprise me. Being friends with Nick was always as natural as breathing, and despite the throbbing ache in my temples, I can’t help but smile.
“Hey bro
! What does a man have to do around here to get a drink?” An overly-tanned, burly man appears beside me and yells at Nick. His V-neck shirt clings to his upper body so tightly, his biceps spill out from under the sleeves, while his pecs protrude at least an inch off his chest. He looks like one of those stereotypical bodybuilder types, and serving as his arm candy is a well-endowed, leggy blonde, wearing the lowest cut and shortest dress I think I’ve ever seen. The two of them together are a little over-the-top.
The man’s eyes find me, tracing a slow line from my face down to my chest where they stop, his mouth forming a lascivious smile. I think bile just rose up my throat. He points his thumb in my direction, turning his attention back to Nick. “I know this chick here is beautiful, and if I were you, I’d be trying to get at that too, but c’mon!”
I feel the blood rush to my cheeks at the man’s declaration. I want to sock the Ric Flair wannabe in the face, and my old self might have done it. However, the last thing I want to do is cause a ruckus in Nick’s bar. I think I’ve caused enough ruckuses for one night.
Amused, Nick looks to the man, then back at me and chuckles. “You’re right. She is beautiful. And I hate to break it to you buddy, but no amount of trying would do it for you. Now what can I get you?”
I raise an eyebrow at Nick, shocked he would say such a thing to a customer yet thankful he put the guy in his place.
It’s apparent the man doesn’t appreciate Nick’s insult. His free arm leans over the bar with his hand balled up in a fist, and the woman hangs on to his other arm. Just when I think he’s going to retaliate, he says, “I’ll take a Makers on the rocks, and she’ll have a martini dry.”
“Duty calls,” a smirking Nick excuses himself to make the drinks.
As he gets pulled away, I look around the pub, noticing how the old place almost looks the same—the bar in the center, booths lining the perimeter, small round tables scattered throughout. Only now, it has more character, with hundreds of differently sized framed posters lining the crimson walls. Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Nirvana, among others, each taking their place in what could only be described as a rock ‘n’ roll shrine. There is only one other person I know who hails the rock gods as much as I do.
Nick moves swiftly behind the bar. His motions seem monotonous yet effortless—glasses, ice, liquor, pour, garnish, serve—like he could wear a blindfold and still know where everything is. My eyes carefully study him. Hidden beneath his clothing, his toned frame is evident with every move he makes. The light scruff lining his jaw adds a touch of maturity, yet his eyes reveal his youthful soul. When a lock of his brown hair falls to his face, he runs his hand through his tousled waves—a bit longer from what I remember—brushing back the loose strand. Images of me pulling at Nick’s hair in the front seat of his car flash in my mind, and I immediately look away in hopes they disappear. They don’t.
My eyes shift back to him as my teeth gnaw at my thumbnail. I’m definitely not looking at the teenage boy I once knew. Everything about him—the way he looks, the way he talks, the way he moves—all screams man in every sense of the word. My cheeks blush, and I stare at him for a good ten minutes before he turns his attention back to me and catches me red-handed. Embarrassed, I look away in hopes he hadn’t noticed me staring at him like a complete moron, but my eyes seem to have a mind of their own. When I look back at him, he’s walking in my direction.
“What?” Nick asks as he leans over and rests his forearms on the bar in front of me, a huge grin on his face. When he stares at me, yet again, my eyes dart to each of my shoulders, because I swear—my heart has jumped out of my chest and split in two, each half claiming a side as they pound against my ears. If my nerves weren’t apparent before, they certainly are now because I’m sweating like a freaking pig—on my forehead, my upper lip, my underarms. My face is glistening more than Lake Superior on the sunniest day.
“You looked like you needed some help back there,” I lie. Nick had it perfectly under control, but it’s the first thing that pops into my head. “I was about to jump in and help you.”
“Is that right? Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t see you as the bartending type.”
“I happen to make a mean Manhattan. I’d like to think my regulars come to the bar for me, but that wouldn’t be entirely true,” I tease, patting the sweat along my forehead away with the back of my hand.
“No kidding. You bartend?”
“Five nights a week.”
I regale Nick with stories of cafe and restaurant jobs I held throughout the first few years of college before landing the bartending gig the beginning of senior year. By the time graduation had come and gone, I hadn’t made up my mind career-wise; I wasn’t sure if teaching was what I still wanted to pursue. So, I stayed at the bar. It’s easy money—good money—and it gives me the freedom to travel if and when I want. It’s not what I initially envisioned for myself, but as I’ve learned, most things in life often don’t end up as planned.
“Who would have thought? Cori Bennett taking orders from people.” Nick pauses, squinting his eyes, as if to ponder the idea, and then exclaims, “I like it!”
Reaching across the bar, I flick the back of my hand against his tricep, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt, even if it’s only for a split second. “Don’t test me, buddy. Besides, I saw you make that dry martini. You may have gone a little overboard with the vermouth.”
His left eyebrow raises at my jab. “Are you saying you can make it better than me? Think you can take me, hot shot?”
All of a sudden, we’re back six years to that day on the beach, Nick pulling me into him before he tossed me into the water. My eyes locked on him, I reach down and slide my hand across my waist, as if I can still feel the warmth of his strong hands on my bare skin.
Snapping back from my daze, I release my hand and respond, “No. Another time. I’m on vacation.” I smirk.
“I’m amazed.”
I raise my eyebrow curiously. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I haven’t seen you in years, and I’m amazed I can say you haven’t changed all that much. I feel like you’re still…you.”
Nick lowers his eyes to the towel knotted in his hands, and I sense he may be feeling a little embarrassed by his bold assertion, maybe feeling like he’s overstepped some sort of boundary. It doesn’t bother me the least bit, giving me hope that if our friendship lies beyond that boundary, it’s well within reach.
“I am still me,” I assure. With a warm smile, I rest my left hand on top of his. “Just a little older. And wiser. And now with frown lines.” My eyes look up as I point to my forehead with my free hand.
“Older? Yes. Frown lines? Not at all. Wiser? Highly doubtful.” I lightly shove his hand away from beneath mine, but I’m not at all offended. “So, who’s this lucky guy?”
Nick’s question catches me off guard. “Guy?”
He gestures to my left hand, and it takes me a couple of seconds to understand, making me feel like an idiot. I realize that ever since I stepped foot into this bar, neither my impending nuptials nor my fiancé has crossed my mind, and I suddenly feel guilty.
He grabs that hand, the one displaying the ridiculous, three-carat Cartier diamond that screams ‘I’M TAKEN!’ in the most obvious way. Don’t get me wrong. The ring is absolutely stunning, and it decorates my hand quite nicely, if I say so myself. Still, when it comes to my wardrobe and accessory choices, I always choose simplicity over complexity, comfort over trendy.
“Yeah, this thing nearly blinded me the moment you walked in here,” he teases, sprawling his hand in front of his eyes. “It’s pretty…nice,” he adds, hesitating for the right word. Though, by the look on his face, nice is probably an understatement. “So, who is he?”
I pull my hand back from his and start fidgeting with the ring in a nervous tick. Most women would probably show off something so beautiful, but a part of me suddenly feels embarrassed for having it on my finger. Oddly enough, I’ve never fel
t embarrassed by wearing it before, but Nick looks at it strangely, like he knows it doesn’t suit me.
“His name is Cooper. Cooper Reed.” It sounds like the music in the pub has increased dramatically, for I have to practically yell to make sure he hears me. Or perhaps it’s the awkwardness of the conversation. “He’s in real estate.” I want to kick myself for that last bit. It sounds so trite as it rolls off my tongue.
“Well, Cooper Reed in Real Estate certainly has good taste in jewelry—and women,” he declares with a wide grin, making me blush yet again. “Congratulations. I’m happy for you, Cori.”
“Thank you.” It’s all I can think of to say. I’ve never had a problem gushing about Cooper to anyone else who’s asked, but it doesn’t feel right gushing about him to Nick.
Since Nick asked me about this part of my life—my love life—I feel like I should ask him about his.
But I don’t. And not because I don’t want to ask. Because I don’t want to know.
Thankfully, I don’t have to ask because Tess appears behind the bar, scowling.
“Forgive me for being rude and interrupting…this.” She looks to Nick, then to me, flicking her hand back and forth between us as she raises her voice. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got drink orders coming out of my ass, and none of them are being filled! It would be nice if you weren’t so distracted and helped me out here!” She storms off, huffing and puffing.
It bothers me that she calls me a distraction. Leggy women with tiny waists and double D’s are distractions. Impeccably flawless girls with full, luscious lips and long locks that perfectly frame their faces, are distractions. We used to be great friends, and now, I’m merely a distraction?
As much as I don’t want to admit it, I’ve overstayed my welcome. Besides, the jet lag has finally caught up to me, adding to the miserable aftermath of my romp with Robert Mondavi at dinner. The grogginess, the aches, the uneasiness, and the excitement are all coming together in one tumultuous whirlwind that is heavily clouding my mind.