by Abby Brooks
Of course, I’ll never tell Dakota she was right about this place. For one thing, she’s the kind of girl that would never let me live that one down, holding it over my head for as long as she knows me. But for another? She’s restless as it is. This place is suffocating her. Strangling her. If she knew that I felt the same way about her home town as she did? I think it would just kill off that spark inside her.
To make things all the more strange, I don’t want to leave because I’m going to miss her.
Of all the people in all the world I’ve ever met, she is one of the few that I’m going to think about after I’m gone. One of the few that I’m going to want to stay in contact with. One of the few that I might actually want to come back and visit.
I see myself in her a little bit. Stifled by the stillness of life in a small town. By a family that loves her so dearly but wants her to fit inside the box they deem as normal. Dakota is color and energy. She’s vibrant, effervescent. She’s champagne when everyone around her wants beer. There’s no way she could fit in a box. There’s not a straight line on her.
Damn.
That’s been happening a lot lately.
Whatever I’m supposed to be doing gets taken over by thoughts of her. Like right now, I’m supposed to be packing up my things, getting ready for when the owners of the bed and breakfast ask me to leave, but here I am staring off into space, coming up with silly metaphors to describe Dakota. That girl has really gotten under my skin.
With good reason. I’ve been with her every day since I got here. We talk. We laugh. We fuck like crazed bunnies. Oh hell, do we fuck. She told me she’s not one to say no to any experience on our first date and boy has she ever proven that to be true. The things she lets me do to her…
My dick jumps to life and I readjust my pants. I fully intend to do things to her tonight, after she gets off work and poor Mr. Happy just isn’t feeling very patient right now. I wonder what she would say if I just grab all my stuff and ask to stay at her place until it’s time for me to head off to Vegas. Just skip the Grand Canyon altogether in order to get a few extra days with her. Would it weird her out? Would she read more into it than what it is?
And just what exactly is it? asks a voice somewhere deep inside my head.
“Fuck. I don’t know,” I answer out loud and start gathering up my things. Pulling clothes out of the dresser and closet. Folding them up. Stacking them inside my bags. I always love this part. It feels like sloughing off the old. Keeps me fresh. Keeps me alive. Keeps that awful fidgeting feeling I get when I stay still too long from showing up. Keeps me from having to think too much about the past.
I shake my head and clench my jaw.
It always comes back to that. No matter how many years pass. No matter how many times I leave a place. I always find myself thinking about my sister and how much I miss her. How her death rocked me, changed my course. And then there was Melinda and that awful day at the carnival…
You would think I’d have outrun those thoughts by now, but I guess it’s hard to outrun stuff that’s a part of you.
Honestly? I’m surprised I didn’t lose my mind being here as long as I was. So close to home. So close to where it all happened.
I think the only reason I’m not walking around under a black cloud of angst and memories is Dakota. Her smile. Not the one that’s too big, too wide. Not the one she brings out when she’s trying to hide how she really feels. The real one. The one I wait for when I’m taking pictures of her.
Her laugh.
Her sense of humor.
Her body. Hell yes, her body. The one I’m going to ravage tonight when I get to her apartment. I fit her like a glove, stretching that tight little pussy, and I swear she starts to come the very moment I push myself inside her. A guy could get used to that.
And there we go. I’m hard again. I think I’ve been hard since I met her.
Fuck. I’m going to miss her.
I stuff the last of my shirts into my bag and grab a handful of boxer briefs and socks and zip everything up. Maybe I shouldn’t go see her tonight. Maybe I should just go. My stuff is packed, all my material possessions zipped up into a few black bags sitting on some random bed in some random place. What good is it? Drawing out the inevitable? Why spend more time with her if I’m already worrying about missing her and I haven’t even left yet?
Maybe I just rip the bandage off now. Leave before she has time to actually mean something to me. The last thing I need is someone else’s ghost chasing me around the world.
Chapter Thirteen
The Bad Apple is on fire tonight. Ever since Dominic’s video hit YouTube, people have been flocking here, eager to talk to me. To meet me. To watch my super slick—not really, I’m still very clumsy!—bartending skills.
My flair bottles have multiplied, curtesy of Big Jake, my boss. He wants me tossing them around at regular intervals, which was exciting at first, I’m not going to lie, but now? Honestly, it’s just getting hard to find the time to put on a show when so many people want drinks. At this rate, they’re going to have to bring in another bartender on my nights or people are going to start getting irritated by how long they sit with an empty glass.
A light layer of sweat beads at my forehead and a drop works its way down my back as I rush from one set of customers to the next. Tonight’s crowd is particularly rowdy, full of bawdy jokes and raucous laughter. Each and every seat at the bar is taken and everyone wants my attention at once. And not just for drinks. Oh no. Apparently, I’m supposed to take bets on bar tricks and kiss random customers at regular intervals, too.
The Fish has been here every night since Dominic shot that video, trying to stretch his fifteen minutes of fame into a lifetime event. Thankfully, he lost interest in flirting with me and I have had the immense pleasure of watching him get shot down by so many different women I’ve lost track. Tonight, he has a friend with him, a man whose features are all fighting for dominance on his overly square face. None of them are winning that particular battle.
“DoLo!” The Fish shouts my Instagram user name like he has a right to. “This is Jeremy. He has a trick for you.”
“Really?” Him and half the bar. I try to look interested, but I’m so tired of pretending like I’m excited about all this stuff.
“Yeah.” Jeremy leers at me. “Flynn has his camera all ready. There’s no way you’ll guess this one. We’re gonna put it up on YouTube just like that other guy.”
Finally, The Fish has a name. And wouldn’t you know, it’s Flynn.
I can’t stand Jeremy. I don’t know why. He’s said a whole three sentences to me but the guy just makes my skin crawl. When I slide his drink his way, he grabs my hand and my first instinct is to recoil. On any given day, I’m not a big fan of the customers getting handsy, but when Jeremy’s sticky, clammy hand clamps down on my wrist, I yank it away and scowl.
“Hands to yourself, big boy,” I say with a look that is not fun, not flirty, not subtle. All bitch.
Jeremy holds his hands up and sits back. “I get it,” he says and the relief I feel is so massive it has to be written all over my face. He doesn’t look like the kind of guy who would get the point on the first go. He leans forward again, his big old lips twisting into a smile that has my skin crawling. “I like a girl who plays hard to get.”
Great. Not only did he not get it, he also thinks I’m flirting. I hurry off to take really good care of the rest of my customers, thankful that we’re this busy. With Jeremy and The Fish sitting right at the bar, it would be hard to keep space between us if The Bad Apple was in the middle of a typical Monday. As it is, they leer at me every time I come back their way to cash someone out.
“DoLo!” Jeremy calls after me just a little too loud. “C’mere.” He gestures with his hand; a movement he probably thinks is sexy but just looks ridiculous on a grown man. “Get the camera ready, Flynn.” Jeremy elbows The Fish who then fumbles with what looks like a brand new piece of equipment.
Well hell.
Seems like this is really going to happen. Under normal circumstances, I would be cold and almost rude to these two. Really make sure that they get the picture that I’m not flirting. I’m not interested. And I’m not going to be any fun. But, wouldn’t you know, the rest of the bar has taken notice and people are gathering around. Everyone’s all excited about another video experience going down at The Bad Apple. If I pull out my super bitch now, not only will I alienate this whole crowd, but there will be video evidence that I’m not always a nice person and The Bad Apple might lose its draw.
What to do? What to do?
I watch as Jeremy sets up a trick that I recognize within the first few steps. Anyone who’s spent any time in a bar at all is going to know this one and I’ll look like a fool if I don’t guess it. Which will discredit Dominic’s video. Which may or may not make him mad.
The last thing I want to do is hurt Dominic. He’s made himself a pretty prominent figure in my thoughts—and my dreams! Hot damn the one I had last night was delicious! We’ve spent the last few days together and the more I learn about him, the more I like him. And the more I like him, the more I worry about him leaving.
But none of that is relevant right now because Jeremy has set up the trick and the entire bar is gathered around. I’d like to call the conversation they’re all having at once a ‘gentle murmur’ but this crowd is a little extra toasty for a Monday night. There’s nothing ‘gentle’ or ‘murmury’ about the roar of words and laughter cheering us on. The Fish has his camera up and running, swooping in and out like he thinks he’s the next best Hollywood cameraman and the rest of the patrons are leaning in, trying to get their fifteen minutes of fame on the next Bad Apple video to blow up the internet.
Jeremy stands up. Puts a finger to his mouth. “Shhh.” He’s sloppy drunk, trying to be coy and stumbling as he turns to address the bar. “This one is sure to get her.” He goes on through his intro, referencing Dominic’s video and placing similar stipulations on me losing as he did. If I don’t figure it out, I have to go out with him.
I study the crowd, trying to decide how they’ll react if I shoot this guy down for the entire internet to see. A handful of them are openly laughing at him. The rest? I don’t know. They’re as drunk as he is. I’ve already decided that I’m going to solve his puzzle. That’s a no brainer. I’ve also decided that I’m definitely staying behind the bar. There’s no way I’m getting myself any closer to these guys than I am already.
And just like that, Jeremy has finished his opening spiel and The Fish has the camera pointed at me. Someone in the crowd is shushing the others and an expectant almost-silence falls over the place. From somewhere in the back comes the crack of a cue ball bouncing off billiard balls and the familiar roll and thunk that comes after a good break. Someone groans in disappointment and I wish I was standing back there with them instead of standing up here.
I love the spotlight, but not like this. Not when it’s forced and unwanted. Not when I’m busy worrying about how the whole damn world will take it.
“Look,” Jeremy says, giggling like an idiot. “She’s confused.” He all but points and laughs at me. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll make sure you’ll have a real nice time when we go out.” And then the asshole does the most asshole-y thing he could have possibly done in this situation. He puts his fingers to his mouth in the shape of a V and flicks his tongue between them.
The crowd is equal parts shocked and ecstatic, judging by their raucous reaction. Me? I’m disgusted and irritated and ready for this part of my day to be over. I arch an eyebrow and purse my lips, ever aware of the camera in The Fish’s hand. With very little flare and a cold eye trained on the grinning Jeremy, I solve his puzzle. I shrug and tilt my head to the side, making a very sarcastically apologetic face.
The crowd loses its mind and I can’t help but smile, folding my arms on the bar and leaning forward. I’m relieved. Jeremy made himself enough of an ass that I don’t think anyone is going to judge me for being a bit of a bitch and The Bad Apple might get to keep on riding its swell of internet fame. Plus, I can keep going home with a fat wad of tips in my purse.
Of course, I’m an idiot. What was it Dominic did after I solved his puzzle on camera? Oh, that’s right, he grabbed me and kissed me. I thought I was smart to stay behind the bar, but I forgot the power that is alcohol mixed with stupid mixed with a bruised ego caught on camera.
Jeremy grabs my arms and pulls me forward, while he leans in with his sausage lips open and heading right for my mouth. I turn my head and squeeze my eyes shut so he just gets a mouthful of my hair, but that doesn’t deter him. Oh no. He’s got my arms and he’s not letting go. I plant my feet and try to pull away but damn, he’s strong. My ribs and hipbones dig into the hard wood of the bar. Condensation smears against my wrist as we bump into his drink and then the twinkling of shattered glass as I struggle and knock it right to the ground.
I shriek just in time for Jeremy to be pulled off me by some good Samaritan in the crowd. Off balance, I stagger back and almost fall right on my ass, but manage to catch myself against the wall of booze behind me. There’s a struggle and a scuffle and the energy of the crowd goes from good-natured fun, to angry mob in a heartbeat.
Jeremy is locked in some kind of strangle-hold, struggling, his big eyes even bigger, wide and rolling with adrenaline.
“Settle down, asshole.”
I know that voice. Excitement surges through me at the sound of it. Dominic. Dominic is the guy who saved me from being assaulted.
Jeremy obeys Dominic’s command and stops struggling.
“You in control?” asks Dominic, his voice low and in powerful. The warning rattle of a snake. The growl of a bear. “Because I’m going to let you go now and you’re just going to stay right where you are. Understood?”
Jeremy nods frantically, the whites of his eyes almost glowing in the dim light of the bar. The crowd is silent and The Fish still has the camera trained on his friend. Dominic doesn’t let him go, but turns his attention to me.
“You okay if I release him?” he asks, his voice softening, his eyes seeking out mine.
I nod. “Yeah, I’m good.” My hands shake, but my voice doesn’t, so at least there’s that.
Dominic steps away from Jeremy. “Apologize.” His voice is all pointed again. Wicked.
Jeremy mumbles an apology and leaves, his pride battered and his friend still recording it all. There’s a rush of energy as attention turns to me. So many people are crowding in towards the bar, asking if I’m okay, retelling the story to their friends who just watched the whole thing, cell phones out and aimed my way. The shelf on the back wall presses into my back and I realize that I’m recoiling, arms wrapped around my chest.
“Give her some space,” orders Dominic. He makes his way behind the bar and wraps me up in his arms. “You okay for real?” he whispers into my hair.
I nod, not trusting my voice. I hate to be one of those women who dissolves into nervous tears after something like this, but it looks like that’s exactly what I’m about to do. “I’m sorry,” I say, preemptively apologizing for the scene I might make in a few seconds.
“Don’t you dare apologize.” He drapes his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in close. Leads me to a stool at the end of the bar, far away from any people and pours me a drink.
“You shouldn’t be back there,” I say, voice strong. No quaver.
“Says who?”
“Says Big Jake, the owner.”
Dominic makes a show of looking around. “Not only is Big Jake not here, but he wasn’t around when his most famous bartender of all time got assaulted on the job. I think this Big Jake has a lot more to worry about than me behind the bar, pouring you a shot of vodka.”
He hands me the shot and I throw it back. I prefer mixed drinks, but I’m not feeling picky tonight. The quaking feeling in my hands and stomach settles down and when Dominic pours me another shot, I throw that one back, too. He sits next to me. Holds my hands in hi
s and inspects me for any damage. There’s an angry red mark on my arm that’s sure to bruise. A scrape on my hip. But all in all, I’m okay.
“I should have hit that guy,” says Dominic, his finger running gently across the mark on my arm.
“I wouldn’t have minded. Although I’m glad you didn’t.” I say it because that’s the right thing to say. The decent thing to say. But right and decent aside, there’s a part of me that gets really excited thinking about Dominic punching that jerk.
“What happened?” he asks, raising his voice to be heard over the raucous laughter and conversation.
“That guy…” I gesture towards the door with a little jerk of my head. “He’s been trying to get me to pay attention to him for weeks. He thought he’d try your tactic and trick me into going out with him. When it didn’t work, he got handsy.”
“I’m so sorry, Dakota.”
“It’s not your fault.” I run a hand up into my hair and lean an elbow on the bar.
“Would this have happened if it wasn’t for my video?”
“No, but…”
I trail off when Dominic holds up his hand. “Then it is my fault. Inadvertent though it may be. Besides, even if it wasn’t at all my fault, can’t I be sorry that you’re hurt and scared and some asshole put his hands on you when you didn’t want them there?”
The look in his eyes, the tenderness in his touch, the open honesty in his voice, they all have my head reeling. I put my hand to my heart and open my mouth to tell him just how sweet he is when Big Jake comes lumbering up to us, invading our space.
“What the hell, London?” He crosses his meaty arms over his massive belly and glares. “I don’t pay you to sit on your ass and flirt with my customers.” His eyes land on the shot glass so clearly sitting in front of me. “And I sure as hell don’t pay you to drink on the job.” He takes a step forward, shaking his head.
Dominic stands up. “Do you pay her to get assaulted by one of your customers?”
Big Jake looks confused and shakes his head.