The Cowboy Junkies played from the overhead speakers and echoed across the white cinder block walls. There was something sexy about the singer’s voice. Her swoon-worthy take on an old Lou Reed song sounded like she was whispering in my ear. And damn if I didn’t wish my name was Sweet Jane.
The more she sang, the more hushed the bar seemed to become. No one wanted to talk over the hauntingly romantic song. Respect.
I glanced around the dimly lit cave and spotted her behind the counter. Hannah. Her brown hair was tied in one of those messy buns that Carson once told me wasn’t easy to make look messy. I could practically smell her from where I stood. I expected last night to be a simple hookup, but there was something about this one. Her face was angelic. And when she spoke my name, it was like God himself was calling me home. She was simply gorgeous.
But Hannah was more than just some sorority hottie. She was smart, funny, and fuck if she couldn’t mix a drink.
I laughed. My heart had already overtaken my mind.
Would that be so bad?
The bar was open early in preparation for one of the last football games of the season. She was pouring a shot of whiskey into a hot cup of coffee for some frat guy, who leaned way too far over the bar for my taste. In a maroon sweatshirt with gold Greek letters across his chest, it was like he announced to the world that he bought his friends. It was the same thing I’d said to Branson when he joined a fraternity. Lame. I was a GDI—God Damn Independent—and proud of it. I didn’t need some guy swatting my ass with a paddle while I recited the Greek alphabet to feel good about myself. Or that I belonged to something.
When she saw me, my stomach fluttered like it did before the start of a track event. My palms instantly got clammy, and I was pretty sure my upper lip had a sweat mustache going on.
Jesus. Get a grip, Aaron.
I cocked my head toward her like I was chill. Really, it was the only move that didn’t require me to speak since I was pretty sure I’d sound like an idiot if I did.
“Hey, Aaron, what’s your poison?” she said with a wink that about dropped me. This girl was trouble—in all the right ways.
I shrugged, still not sure my voice would work.
“Irish coffee? Mexican coffee? Perhaps a Bavarian?”
Her eyes danced, and I felt myself fall for a woman I barely knew.
“Bavarian?” was all I said.
“Ah, yeah.” Hannah slowly nodded, and her lips curved into a delicious smile. Those lips did things to me last night that I didn’t think was humanly possible.
“So what’s in it?” I asked, finally finding my voice.
“Peppermint schnapps, Kahlua, a dash of sugar, whipped cream, and my personal favorite, chocolate curls.”
“So, this Bavarian drink.” I raised an eyebrow, and she replied with a grin. “Does it have any coffee in it?”
Her cheeks instantly flushed. “Duh, of course, and coffee!”
Our laughter mixed like a blended, rich coffee that I couldn’t wait to drink.
The moment was perfect. So of course it had to be ruined.
A group of her sorority sisters pulled a table across the granite floor, which was worse than nails on a chalkboard, the shock to my nerves continuing the longer they dragged it.
I pleasantly smiled in their direction as I darted to their rescue. The sooner I got there, the sooner I could return to the bar and to Hannah.
“And who are you?” A woman with white-blonde hair and dark roots tilted her ruby red lips into a smile.
“I’m Aaron. And you are?”
“Not interested,” she said with a laugh as if she had coined the turndown.
“Well, that’s good, because I’m here for Hannah.” I pushed past her and grabbed the table. “Where you want it?”
“Uh, clueless much? In the corner with all the pink balloons.” Her tone was as sharp as her pink stiletto-shaped nails that looked like they could tear into my skin as easily as her tone.
What’s her problem?
Four other women dressed in pink shirts and jeans made their way toward us with Hannah not far behind.
“I see you’ve met our vice president,” Hannah said when she reached me.
I nodded. “So breast cancer awareness? That’s cool.”
“Glad you approve of our philanthropic cause.” The VP added an eye roll, and I wanted to slap the stink off her face. What the fuck is her deal? The only vice president I’d hated simply on principle was Wyoming-proud Dick Cheney, but this chick was a very close second.
“So, is there anything else I can help with?” I directed my question toward Hannah, but it was the vice president who spoke. With that white-blonde hair, she kind of reminded me of Cheney’s oldest daughter, Liz, who was no picnic either. But hey, Liz prayed for us nonbelievers, so at least I had that going for me.
“Well….” The sorority girl heavily exhaled through her mouth. “There’re two boxes in the trunk of my car that we still need, if you think you can handle it. They’re pretty heavy.” She eyed my arms. I knew I hadn’t worked out in a while, but I didn’t think I had lost that much muscle mass. Or had I?
“I’ve got it,” I said with sinking confidence.
“You sure? Your arms look like buggy whips,” she said, which everyone laughed at, including me.
“Yes,” I said in a kinder voice than I felt like using. “Point me toward your car.”
“Well, Buggy Boy, it’s the only silver Range Rover with pink trim in the lot.”
Really? A nickname? I relaxed my hands lest they turn into fists. This woman. She acted with the arrogance and mean-spiritedness of Cheney, but with her black roots and bleached hair, she suddenly reminded me of Cruella de Vil. And I wasn’t a fan.
Still, when she tossed me her shimmery pink keys, I snatched them midair with a knowing grin. Yeah, who’s got buggy whips now?
She didn’t seem to care, too busy bossing her underlings around.
“Hannah, we’re going to need more balloons,” she said.
“No problem. After my shift ends, I’ll pick up another dozen.”
That’s my Hannah. I practically beamed beside her. She just made everything better.
“Oh.” The VP purposefully paused. “That’s right, you have to work.”
What the fuck? I knew Jefferson Heights had a class discrepancy between those who had and those who didn’t. I just didn’t realize the haves and have-nots extended to insulting my girl. You have to work? What the fuck is that? Yeah, most of us work.
The VP’s disinterest in anyone other than herself was really annoying. Her arrogance was disgusting. And the way Hannah seemed glued to her every word took my anger to an entirely new level. Why doesn’t she see through her?
“Buggy Arms, what are you waiting for, an invitation? We need those boxes.” The VP glanced at Hannah. “Are you sure about this one?”
And again, everyone laughed—including Hannah.