One Night

by Allie Everhart

  "He didn't call you?" She huffs and slumps back in her chair. "What an ass. Why are there so many assholes in the world?" She glances at the bar. "And why do we keep falling for them?"

  "I didn't give him my number," I say. "The next morning I left without saying goodbye."

  Her eyes shoot back to me. "Why? Was the sex that bad?"

  "No, it was great. Best I've ever had. I just didn't want to get involved with him."

  "Why not?"

  "Because that night was perfect and I want to remember it that way. If I'd dated him, we'd probably be broken up by now and I'd be left hurt and alone and that night would be ruined. I'd rather just keep it a memory. What happened that night was something that will never happen again and I don't want to ruin it."

  "Hmm." She drums her fingers on the table. "I kind of get what you're saying."

  "You do?" I ask, surprised, because I thought for sure she'd say I'm crazy. Even I think my reasoning is a little crazy and yet I haven't changed my mind about Dylan. If I ever find him, I'm still not going to date him.

  "Last year I dated this guy and we had the absolute best first date. Like the kind you see in movies. I mean, seriously, it was so perfect that part of me was convinced he was my future husband."

  "And then what happened?"

  "Found out he had a girlfriend. Apparently they were on a break." She puts air quotes around the word 'break'. "After I found out, that first date didn't seem so great after all. I started dissecting it, picking it apart, and by the time I was done, I'd decided it was the worst date ever."

  "Yes! Exactly!" I say, elated that someone actually gets my somewhat-crazy reasoning. "If I had dated Dylan, the same thing could've happened to me. Things wouldn't have worked out and the memory of my perfect night would be ruined."

  "But still...aren't you curious if things might've worked out? I mean, I didn't have a soulmate connection with The Cheating Dumbass. That's what I call him. He's not worthy of a name. Just like The Asshole." Her eyes flit to the bar, then back to me. "If I'd had that kind of connection, I'd have to know more about the guy. I'd have to at least see him once more, or call him, to see if I still felt that connection."

  I've thought about that. About meeting with Dylan just once to see if I still felt that way about him. But I don't have his number or last name so it'll never happen, which is probably for the best.

  "I'd rather have it just be a memory," I tell her. I check my phone and see that our break is over. "We have to go, but remember, you can't tell anyone about this. It goes in the vault."

  "Got it. It's in the vault." She stands up. "Looks like someone just got seated at your table."

  "Seriously?" I get up and see two men in suits sitting at table eight. "It's two-thirty. Who eats lunch at two-thirty?"

  "It's probably a business meeting. Maybe they're just getting drinks."

  "They have menus. They're getting lunch."

  "The young guy's kinda cute, in a nerdy, nice-guy type of way."

  "Then maybe you should wait on them. I'll switch tables with you."

  "I don't like guys like that."

  "Why not? You said he looked nice."

  She looks at me. "And when have I ever dated a nice guy? I go for bad boys. The badder the better."

  "Which is why you keep ending up getting hurt by guys like Ian. You should try a nice guy." I nod in his direction. "The guy at table eight may be your soulmate."

  She laughs. "Yeah. I don't think so. Get to work." She takes off, leaving me there. I straighten up and smooth my long blond hair, which is in a sleek, low ponytail, and walk over to table eight.

  "Hi, I'm Amber," I say, putting on a big smile. "Are you gentlemen here for lunch?"

  "Yes," the older man snaps while perusing the menu. He's probably seventy, with white hair and bushy white eyebrows. "I'll have the Caesar salad, light on the croutons." He slams his menu shut and shoves it at me.

  "Would you rather just have the croutons on the side so you can add them yourself?" I ask in a sugary sweet tone. I've found that smiling and acting overly sweet gets me better tips, especially with old people.

  "Then it wouldn't be a Caesar salad, now would it?" he shoots back.

  "Got it," I say, keeping the smile going. "Light on the croutons. And for you?" I ask the younger guy. Holly was right. He is cute, but not at all nerdy. I don't know why she said that, other than the fact that he's wearing a suit, but a suit doesn't make someone a nerd.

  "I'll have the turkey club," he says, smiling. "No modifications needed." He glances at the old man, who's too busy with his phone to notice the young guy's comment.

  "Dammit!" the old man says. "Griffin didn't get the contract right." He stands up, his eyes on his phone. "I need to deal with this." He walks off and goes outside.

  "Anything else?" I ask the young guy. "Drinks?"

  "He'll have a scotch," he says, pointing to the now empty chair across from him. "I'll have an iced tea."

  "Sounds good. I'll be right back with your drinks." I go to the kitchen, put the order in, and return to the table with the scotch and iced tea. The old man is still outside.

  "So what's your name?" the young guy asks.

  "Amber."

  "I'm Matt." He smiles. "Do you go to school around here?"

  "Yeah. Katswick College. It's small. You probably never heard of it."

  "I've heard of it. I went to a party there last year. I graduated from the University of Chicago in May. Got a job as a project manager. Allen is my mentor." He rolls his eyes.

  I laugh. "The old guy?"

  "Yeah. This is our first mentoring session. As you can probably tell, he's not too pleased to have to mentor someone, especially someone my age. He pretty much hates anyone under the age of fifty."

  "So not the best job?"

  He shrugs. "The job's not bad. Just my mentor. But I'll survive." He backs his chair up, turning to face me. "I don't usually do this, but would you ever want to get coffee sometime?"

  He's asking me out? This is the first time this has happened. Most of our customers are older businessmen so I never considered that I might get asked out at work.

  "Oh, um, I don't know," I say, not sure if I want to agree to it. Matt is cute but I'm not feeling any sparks. Then again, I don't usually feel sparks when I meet someone. Except for Dylan.

  "Do you have a boyfriend?" he asks. "Sorry, I should've asked you that first."

  "I don't have a boyfriend. It's just that you took me by surprise. I wasn't expecting you to ask me out."

  "I'll tell you what." He pulls a business card from his suit jacket. "I'll give you my card and if you ever want to meet for coffee, just let me know. It's on me, and you can pick the place."

  I take the card. "Thanks! I'll think about it." I put the card in my pocket. "Need anything else before your food comes out?"

  "No. I think we're good." He glances outside. "Allen's coming back." We watch as the old man swings open the door so hard it hits the wall. "Looks like this is going to be a stressful lunch."

  "Good luck," I whisper, then I sneak away before the old man gets back.

  "So?" Holly asks when I return to the kitchen. "What happened?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "That guy. Nerdy, nice guy. Did he ask you out? I saw him give you his card."

  "Yeah, he asked me out."

  "I knew it! I had this feeling he'd ask you out. So what'd you say?"

  "I told him I'd think about it."

  "You don't like him?"

  "He's not bad. I just wasn't feeling any sparks. But that doesn't mean I won't go out with him. He wants to have coffee."

  "So you're going to meet him for coffee?"

  I pause to consider it. "Actually, yeah, I think I will."

  She shrugs. "You can, but if you're not feeling any sparks, there's really no point in going out with him."

  "That's not true. Just because I don't feel anything right now doesn't mean I never will."

  "If it's not there
in the beginning, it'll never be there, so why waste your time with this guy?"

  "I don't know. He seems nice and I feel like I should at least get to know him."

  "Suit yourself," she says walking off. "But if I were you, I'd ditch nerdy nice guy and find Dylan." She turns back and winks at me. "See if the sparks are still there."

  I know the sparks would be there. That's not even a question. But eventually those sparks would die out and then what? We'd break up, ruining the memory of that perfect night we had. I'm not willing to risk it. As much as I want to see him again, Dylan will remain a memory. A mystery. A fantasy.

  Matt is real life. The type of guy I should be with. A nice guy with a decent job who seems mature and responsible and would make a good husband someday. Not that I'm looking for a husband right now, but eventually I'll want that and when I do, I'll seek out someone like Matt. Guys like Dylan do not make good boyfriends, or husbands. That initial flame of passion or attraction or whatever it is, burns bright in the beginning but then fizzles out, leaving you bitter and angry and wondering why you ever married that person. At least that's what happened with my parents, and I'm determined not to repeat the pattern.

  But that doesn't mean I don't still believe in romance. Love at first sight. Soulmates. Instant connections. I believe all that exists. It just doesn't last. And I don't want to be disappointed when it's over. Or crushed from the loss of it.

  So guys like Matt? They're perfect. Nice. Dependable. And don't mess with your emotions.

  I take out his business card. I think I might call him. Not this week but maybe later. Maybe once I've convinced myself I'm over Dylan. Because I'm still not over him.

  Chapter Five

  Dylan

  I've been working on this song for weeks and it's finally ready but I'm not sure I want to share it with Van and Austin. They'll give me shit for it because for one, I've never finished a song, and two, it's a ballad, which I've always told them I don't like.

  "Hey," Austin says, appearing in the basement where we practice.

  Van leans back on the beat-up plaid couch that's sitting against the wall. "Did you just come from the gym?" He sniffs the air. "Because something stinks."

  "It's not me. I showered at the gym. It's this basement." Austin takes a sniff of air. "It smells like something died down here."

  I set my guitar down. "I said the same thing." I turn to Van. "Why the hell does it smell so bad?"

  "Why you asking me? I don't smell. I showered like an hour ago."

  I walk over to him. "The smell is worse over here. It's gotta be the couch."

  This house came with the furniture and since it's been rented out by countless college students over the years, who knows what it's been exposed to? I try not to think about that whenever I sit on the furniture.

  Van sniffs the air again, then sniffs the cushion next to him and reaches under it and pulls out a sandwich. He smiles as he holds it up. "So that's where it went. I couldn't find it the other day. I assumed I ate it but I was still hungry so I couldn't figure it out."

  "That's disgusting," Austin says, noticing the hairs sticking to the bread. "What is it? Salami?"

  "Yep." Van gets up to toss it in the trash.

  "Upstairs," I tell him. "Put it in the trash can in the garage."

  Van rolls his eyes as he walks up the stairs. I swear, if Van lived by himself the whole place would smell like rotten sandwiches.

  "So how's it going?" Austin asks, taking his guitar out of the case. "Do anything interesting today?"

  "Not really. Work was boring, as usual." I work at a record store, which sounded cool when I took the job but it's so freaking boring. Records are supposed to be making a comeback but I'm not sure that's true because nobody ever comes into the store so I just stand around looking through albums. It seems like the perfect job for a musician, and it is, until you do it all day, every day, and have flipped through every stack of records at least a dozen times.

  "Why don't you find something else?" Austin asks.

  "Because it's easy. And the pay is decent."

  "You could be a waiter. You'd make more money."

  "Can't. I tried it and I sucked. I'm not good at any kind of foodservice. I couldn't even work the coffee cart on campus. They fired me after the first day. The record store is boring but at least I'm good at it. And I only have to work there until classes start. That's only a month away. Anyway, how about you? How's work?"

  "Good. I'm on a new job with Nash. Started it yesterday."

  Van comes bounding down the stairs. "Shit, it stinks down here."

  "You didn't notice that before?" I ask.

  He shrugs. "Guess I was used to it." He goes over to his drums, taking a seat on the stool. "So what are we starting with?"

  Austin looks at me to answer. As lead singer, I decide on our set list. I take their input if they have any, but they usually don't. Van and Austin just like to play. They don't care what order we do the songs.

  "We're going to try a new one." I'm nervous just saying it, my pulse racing. I poured my heart and soul into that song and I'm afraid to share it with anyone.

  "New what?" Van asks, tapping his drumstick on his knee.

  "A new song."

  "You finished it?" Van asks. I thought he was talking to me but his eyes are on Austin. I'd forgotten Austin was writing a song.

  "No," he says. "I decided I didn't like it so I stopped working on it."

  "It's mine," I blurt out, wanting to get this over with. I know they're going to be idiots about it so I just want to hurry through all that so we can move on and play the song.

  "You shittin' me?" Van asks. "You actually finished a song? Like actually finished it?"

  "Yeah. I've been working on it for a while and it's finally done. I'm not saying we're gonna perform it. I just wanted to hear how it sounds."

  "What's it about?" Austin asks.

  "A girl." I shoot them both a look. "And before you say anything, I'm telling you now, I don't want to hear shit from either one of you. You've both written songs about girls. And our fans love those songs."

  Austin and Van both stare at me. My fast talking and defensive tone has them even more curious.

  Austin speaks first. "So is this about a specific girl or just a girl in general?"

  This is why I didn't want to tell them about the song. I knew they'd ask who the girl is.

  The song is about a one-night stand and how the girl ran off before the guy could find out who she was. It's a sad, soulful song that expresses how I felt when I woke up and found that Amber was gone.

  "It has to be a girl he was with," Van says to Austin. "Dylan never finishes a song, so the fact that he did means he was inspired." He chuckles. "Let me guess. The redhead from that team project you had to do last year?"

  "No. It wasn't her." Although I did date her for a week. We went out a few times and that was it. There wasn't anything wrong with her. We just didn't click.

  "You spent a lot of late nights with her," Van says. "And you always said you wanted to do a redhead."

  I look at him funny. "I never said that. YOU did."

  He laughs. "That's right, I did. But I meant a true redhead. That chick from your class dyed her hair. That doesn't count."

  "It wasn't her. Now can we just play the song?" I take the music out and hand them each a copy.

  My stomach twists as I see them reading the lyrics. Damn, this is hard. Harder than I thought it would be. If it's this hard to share the song with my two closest friends, there's no way I could actually perform it in public.

  "This is really good," Austin says. "I like the lyrics." He smiles at me. "But a ballad? That's the last thing I ever thought you'd write."

  His comment proves how much I try to hide my romantic side. I don't want them knowing it's there, or knowing anything about my dating life. I don't like sharing that stuff. Pick any other topic and I'll talk to them about it, but girls? I like to keep that private.

  "Yeah, I know
," I say. "It's not really my style but it seemed to fit the lyrics."

  "Is this Lyndsay?" Van asks, holding up the music.

  Last March, I told Van I slept with this girl, Lyndsay, that I met at a party. I told him it was a one-night stand, but the truth is, I just made out with her. We didn't have sex.

  When I told Amber I'd never done that before, I wasn't lying. Amber was my one and only one-night stand. But I was hoping it would be more than that. So much more.

  It's been two months and I can't stop thinking about her. I think about her all day when I'm bored out of my mind at the record store. I think about her when I wake up in the middle of the night. I think about her when I'm performing, wishing she was out there in the crowd.

  She's all I think about it and yet I can't find her. I've spent hours, weeks, months, searching online for every Amber in New York City, but so far I've come up with nothing. I considered going there, in the hopes that maybe I'd run into her in some kind of fateful encounter. If it was fate that brought us together the first time, maybe it would intervene once again.

  "Was it Lyndsay or not?" Van asks, since I never answered.

  "No. It wasn't Lyndsay."

  "Then who is it?" He taps his drumstick on his leg, then stops suddenly and points it at me. "That girl!"

  "What girl?" I ask, although I'm sure he's figured it out. I didn't tell him much about Amber but he knows I slept with her and he knows I searched for her after that night. And since he lives with me, he saw how depressed I was when I couldn't find her. That lasted about a week and then I went back to being myself so Van wouldn't give me shit about being that upset over a girl. But the truth is, I'm still upset that she's gone. How could she just leave like that? After the night we spent together, she should've at least left me her phone number.

  "What girl?" Austin asks.

  "That one he met at the frat party after finals week," Van says. "Anna."

  "Amber," I say, correcting him.

  "The girl who took off without leaving her number?" Austin asks.

  "Yeah," I mumble, not wanting to talk about it.

  "You still can't find her?" he asks.

  "No. But she's in a city with eight million people, and a lot of people are named Amber."