“Great. Then we’re ready to go.”
I followed Whitney out into the hall and down the stairs, automatically turning off lights as I went. “Where exactly are we going?” I asked when we stopped at the front door to put on our coats. Anticipating the temperature outside to be well below the sixty-five-degrees we were keeping the house heated at, I picked out a heavy gray peacoat and a black cashmere scarf.
Pausing halfway through buttoning up her own coat - a far less sensible albeit much more fashionable leather bomber jacket - Whitney rolled her eyes at me. “The Pier, obv.”
“The…The Pier?” I repeated weakly. Of all the bars in Camden, why did Whitney have to pick that one? What if Daniel was there? What would I say to him? What would he say to me? After the way I’d embarrassed myself this morning, I wasn’t ready to face him yet. In fact, I was fairly confident I would never be ready to face him. Ever. “We can’t go to The Pier.”
A gust of crisp autumn air blew into the house as Whitney opened the front door. “Why not? I heard they might have a live band tonight and their drinks are cheap. Well, actually they’re free.” The porch light turned on, illuminating her grin. “At least for me.”
I balked in the doorway. “You can get free drinks anywhere.”
One dark eyebrow shot up. “I like The Pier. Is there a specific reason you don’t want to go there?”
I loved Whitney, but there were times when she could be a real pain in the ass. This was definitely one of them. “You know why.”
Her grin softened into a sly smile. “Your hot man friend probably won’t even be there, but if he is, what’s the harm? Come on. Tonight is going to be epic. When was the last time we went out bar hopping on a Saturday?”
“I…” Racking my brain, I realized I couldn’t come up with an answer which, I supposed, was an answer in and of itself. “I don’t remember,” I admitted.
“Which is exactly my point. Enough with the procrastinating and the worrying. You need to learn there are some things in your life you can’t control and this is one of them.” Whitney’s rings glittered in the dim light as she spread her arms wide. “As Elsa would say, you have to let it go.”
Who was I to argue with an expertly timed Frozen reference?
“Fine. You win. We’ll go to The Pier.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hot as Hades
Despite the chill in the air - or perhaps because of it - downtown Camden was busier than I’d ever seen it before. Bundled in coats and hats and scarves people flocked down the sidewalks in groups ranging from two to twenty, the hum of their voices growing louder and louder as the restaurants started to close and the bars began to pick up a brisk business. It was more obvious now than ever before that college was back in session, and the students - at least those old enough to drink - were looking to let off a little steam.
Holding fast to my arm, Whitney pulled me through the crowd, weaving in and out of the eager faced twenty-one-year-olds with expert precision. Unaccustomed to walking in high heels over two inches, I stumbled up and over the curb as we crossed the street to get to The Pier, earning an appraising glance from the bouncer and an exasperated sigh from Whitney.
“Pull yourself together,” she hissed in my ear as we jostled our way into the line of people waiting to be let inside.
“If you didn’t want me to look like a giraffe on stilts, you should have let me wear flats!” I hissed back.
“In that outfit?” I caught a glimpse of her horrified expression before she turned towards the bouncer. “No way. Get your I.D. out. They’re scanning them.”
Fumbling through my nondescript brown purse - chosen specifically because it didn’t have a designer label - I found my wallet and tugged out my driver’s license. It expired in three months, which meant the picture on the front had been taken four years ago. In it I looked young, and yet somehow exactly the same.
“Why are they scanning I.D.’s tonight?” I asked, glancing at the large bald man dressed all in black standing outside The Pier. Holding a miniature flashlight, he gestured for each person in turn to hold their I.D. up so he could read the birthdate before allowing them inside.
“Because college. How do I look?” Whitney asked, pursing her freshly glossed lips.
“Gorgeous,” I said automatically. “Why are you worried?” My best friend may have been many things, but insecure was not one of them. For good reason, her self-confidence level was through the roof; something I’d always admired about her.
Her dark eyebrows wiggled up and down. “Because college.”
She sauntered ahead as the line dwindled, leaving me gaping after her. College guys? She was going to go after college guys? She couldn’t be serious. Except, knowing Whitney, she probably was.
“Hey, you in line or not?”
I looked behind me and saw a trio of girls with their hands on their hips as they impatiently waited for me to either move forward or get out of their way. Despite their heavy handed makeup techniques, they couldn’t have been older than twenty-one… if that. Staring at their exposed shoulders and legs, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Aren’t you freezing?”
The shortest girl in the group, a petite blonde wearing a short green dress, rolled her eyes. “Duh. Which is why we want to get inside. So are you in line or what?”
“Don’t you have jackets?” The second the question was out of my mouth I regretted it. I knew exactly what I must have sounded like to these young, pretty, carefree girls: an older, stodgy, dull woman with nothing better to do on a Saturday night than lecture about the necessity of appropriate outdoor apparel. Which, I admitted with a grimace, isn’t too far from the truth. “I’m sorry, it’s really none of my business.”
The blonde’s upper lip curled in derision. “You’re right about that.”
I blinked. “Well you don’t have to be rude.”
“Who are you, my mother?”
“Certainly not, but-”
“Sorry I’m late! I got here as soon as I could. The frickin’ taxi took forever.” A tall girl in skinny jeans and a white crop top hurried towards us, her heels clicking loudly on the sidewalk. Even before she lifted her head and her eyebrow piercing caught the light of a street lamp I recognized her. I’d always been able to remember faces, and I rarely forgot names.
“Maddy, right?” I said. “From the coffee shop.”
Her short red hair, styled in choppy waves, flew in an arc as her head jerked in my direction. “Yeah, that’s right. How did you… Hey, I know you.” Much like it had in the coffee shop, her smile dimmed as recognition dawned. “You’re the new English professor.” She nudged the blonde in the side and lowered her voice. “The one I was telling you about.”
Given that her tone was less than complimentary, I thought it safe to assume her first impression of me had not been a good one. The three collective gasps that followed Maddy’s announcement only confirmed my suspicions.
“That’s her? But she’s not even pretty,” the blonde said.
“Seriously,” one of the other girls, a tall brunette with a pixie cut, agreed.
Maddy shrugged. “Whatever. I’m so over it. I don’t even care anymore .” She looked pointedly past me. “Are we going in or not?”
Their pettiness - Maddy’s in particular - caused the corners of my mouth to tighten. I had done nothing to them, and yet they’d already tried and convicted me based on one girl’s unfounded jealousy. Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t have mattered - I was more than accustomed to being ignored and overlooked - but if Maddy was going to be my student, there needed to be some measure of respect or, at the very least, a mutual understanding. As the newest faculty member at Stonewall, the last thing I needed was a rumor circulating amidst the students that I was sleeping with the head of my department, which I knew was exactly what Maddy thought and was the root of her animosity.
“Can I speak to you for a moment?” I asked her. “In private.”
She propped a
hand on her hip and used her slight height advantage to stare down her nose at me. “Whatever you have to say to me you can say in front of my friends, Professor.”
I fought the urge to look behind me for Whitney. This was one problem I would have to solve on my own. “Very well.” Taking a breath, I adopted what I hoped was a calm, pleasant smile and said, “I know Professor Hainsworth and I came into Beany Business together the other day, but we are not together in any sense of the word. We’re work colleagues. Nothing more. I just wanted you to know that.” All things considered, I probably should have stopped then and there, but the glass and a half of wine I’d consumed at the house demanded I continue on into territory that was really none of my business. “And I think you would be much happier with someone your own age. I’m sure there are plenty of suitable young men on campus who would be very interested-”
“What the hell do you know about it?” Maddy interrupted, her blue eyes flashing. “Maybe you should shut your mouth, because you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“No idea,” the blonde echoed.
I suddenly found myself the recipient of four very angry glares as Maddy’s friends closed ranks. “You’re right,” I said, holding up my hands in the universal gesture of surrender. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I apologize, Maddy.”
“Well I don’t accept.” With one final glare Maddy shoved past me. The other girls followed right on her heels, leaving me standing under the halo of the streetlamp by myself.
I never should have said anything to any of them to begin with. It wasn’t my place. I wasn’t their friend. With the exception of Maddy, I didn’t even know their names. A knot formed in my stomach, its twisting loops brought on by the knowledge that I’d sorely overstepped my bounds. I had used my position of authority to lecture a student outside of a classroom setting. Way outside of a classroom setting. I’d also made an enemy, for if Maddy had disliked me before she had every reason to hate me now.
And I hadn’t even assigned her homework yet.
Shaking my head at my own stupidity, I turned my attention back to The Pier. Maddy and her pack had already been admitted inside, but to my surprise I saw Whitney still standing by the door, hands on hips, a disgruntled expression on her face as she talked to the bouncer.
No, not talked.
Yelled.
“What?” Alarmed, I hurried to her side, almost twisting an ankle in the process. “What is it? What happened? Is everything okay?”
Visibly upset, she whirled to face me when I grabbed her elbow. “He didn’t ask for my I.D.!” she wailed, jabbing her pointer finger at the bouncer. He looked in our direction, met my gaze, and shrugged his massive shoulders as if to say, I don’t know what the hell her problem is.
“Isn’t that… a good thing?” I ventured hesitantly.
“No! It’s not a good thing. It’s… it’s… racist! He’s racist.”
Taking a quick look behind us, I noted the curious stares being aimed in our direction and swiftly steered Whitney out of earshot. We went around the side of the building and into a narrow alley that smelled vaguely of trash and air freshener with some fish thrown in for good measure. “I don’t think he’s racist, Whit.”
“How do you know?” she demanded.
“Because you’re both white.” I knew under normal circumstances Whitney would never be so oblivious, but when her temper was aroused all reason and logic flew right out the window.
“Oh. Well…then he’s prejudiced!”
I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “What did he do?”
“I told you! He didn’t ask for my I.D.!”
“And…”
“And isn’t that enough?” Sniffling, she carefully dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the tip of her pinky finger. “This is discrimination.”
“Whitney…” Not sure how to point out the obvious without upsetting my roommate further, I proceeded with extreme caution. “You do know you’re over twenty-one, right?”
“I know that. But he doesn’t!”
“Since he didn’t ask for your I.D., I kind of think that means he does.”
“Mo!”
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Throwing my hands up - again - I kicked a tiny pebble with the pointy toe of my very uncomfortable shoe and muttered under my breath, “We should have stayed home.”
“No, we just never should have come back to this shitty place. Come on.” Skimming a hand through her hair, Whitney allowed herself one more sniffle of self-pity before she reapplied her lip gloss. “We’re going to the bar across the street where people of our defined age and wisdom are appreciated, not discriminated against.”
That was fine by me. I’d never wanted to go to The Pier in the first place for fear of seeing Daniel again, and I certainly didn’t want to go now after my run-in with Maddy. As far as I was concerned The Pier was one establishment in Camden I had no intention of ever stepping foot in again.
“Whit, I think that’s the best idea you’ve had all night.”
Her freshly glossed mouth curved. “I know. Come on, sexy lady. Let’s go find ourselves some hot men to buy us drinks.”
“Oh. Well, I wasn’t really planning on-”
“Mo.” Her sigh was long and suffering. “For once, can’t you just smile and go with it? For me? I’ve had a very traumatic event happen to me and it’s not even eleven yet.”
“I’m not sure if not being carded constitutes as a traumatic event-”
“Imogen!”
Biting hard on the inside of my cheek, I forced myself to smile even though I had absolutely no intention of ‘going with it’.
* * * * *
Despite its name, Swordfish was much more modern and streamlined than The Pier. The crowd seemed a bit older as well, and the music - turned up to a volume that had me wincing as we stepped inside - had a definite pop edge.
To my relief, the bouncer - a thin man with oversized black glasses and a fedora tipped low over his brow - asked for Whitney’s I.D. as well as my own. Batting her lashes she handed him her license and all but floated through the double doors when he returned it, her self-confidence restored.
“See that?” she asked as we stepped up to the wrap around stainless steel bar to order drinks. “He didn’t think I was old.”
“The other bouncer didn’t think you were old,” I couldn’t help but point out as I picked up a drink menu and scanned the wine list. “He just thought you were over twenty-one.”
“How would he know that without looking at my I.D.?”
I bit back a sigh. “It’s his job, Whit. It’s what he’s paid to do.”
She made a noncommittal sound of agreement before she peered over my shoulder. “What’s that? Wine?” Her hair brushed across my cheek as she grabbed the menu and flipped it over. “Are you kidding me? No way lady. Tonight, we’re drinking martinis.”
“I really don’t think-”
“After two martinis, you won’t have to think. Bartender! Excuse me! Well, hell-o.”
I didn’t have to look up to know the bartender was hot. The sudden purr in Whitney’s voice said it all. Annoyed by her bossiness, I grabbed the drink menu and purposefully turned it back over. The last time I had a martini I ended up sleeping next to the toilet. I had no intention of repeating the experience.
“Hello, Imogen.”
The sound of my name, so huskily spoken, sent shivers tingling down my spine as my fingers tightened reflexively on the menu, crinkling the sides.
There was only one man whose voice could make my heart rate instantly accelerate.
Only one man who could make me feel hot and cold all at the same time.
Only one man who I wanted to see almost as much as I wanted to avoid.
And his name was Daniel Logan.
My head jerked up so fast I felt an unpleasant pop at the base of my skull, but all traces of pain were instantly forgotten when I found Daniel’s grey eyes waiting for me. The dimple in his right cheek fluttered as he s
miled, and even though I knew it was absolutely ridiculous not to mention impossible, I could have sworn I heard harps playing.
This is not a cute romantic comedy, I told myself sternly, and you are not Rachel McAdams. There are no harps. There are no doves. Pull yourself together.
Faced with Daniel’s smoldering stare, it was easier to think than do.
“Why…How…What are you doing here?” Was the best I could manage.
“I bartend here part-time.” He leaned forward onto his elbows and even though the bar was packed from front to back, it suddenly felt as though we were the only two people in the entire room. “You look beautiful, Imogen,” he said quietly, his gaze never leaving mine. “Truly beautiful.”
After the way I’d ended things between us, his actions were - to say the least - unexpected. Then again, where Daniel was concerned I was quickly learning up was down and down was up. After my disappearing act most men would have probably had a few choice words to say, but not Daniel. Instead of calling me rude he said I was beautiful, leaving me at a complete loss as to what I should say to him. As the familiar tendrils of anxiety began to unfurl like a smoky mist slowly pouring out across a vacant field, I took a step back and bumped into Whitney.
She pressed her hand against the small of my back, as much to steady me as to prevent me from escaping. “No room to run this time biotch,” she hissed in my ear, her smug smile revealing she knew exactly who Daniel was.
“Is this your roommate?” Daniel asked, looking curiously at Whitney.
“Yes.” I took a deep breath. Introductions I could do. Introductions I could manage. It was everything else - the flirting, the handholding, the unwavering stares - that I had trouble with. “Daniel, this is my roommate Whitney. Whitney, this is…” I froze as I struggled to think of the best way to introduce him. Boyfriend was out of the question, of course, but even friend seemed a little forward. Acquaintance? Associate? Hot man I had a huge crush on? “Daniel,” I said finally when the awkward silence demanded I come up with something. “This is Daniel.”
Brilliant, Imogen. Positively brilliant.
Learning to Fall Page 9