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Two Years Earlier
DAVI
“How many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in one day are too many, you think?” Jarren asks, thumping his chest with his fist as he nods at the bouncer while we walk past him. Louis, I think is his name. I should know, Jarren drags me here often enough.
“I don’t know.” I make a face watching him distort in obvious discomfort. “How many did you have?”
“Seven, I think.” He thumps his chest one more time, then belches loudly. “Oh, yeah.” He sighs, smiling. “That’s better.”
“Women really go for that, huh?” I shake my head, taking in the sight of him, trying to see what they see but coming up short.
I’m sure it’s somehow related to his once-upon-a-time jock status. Jarren played football all through high school and college. According to him, he could have gone pro. According to his job at his father’s car dealership, that’s not exactly accurate. Still, I guess if I was seeing him for the first time, that charming but cocky jock thing would still be making an impression given his tall, broad build and the fact he still walks around like he’s cradling an imaginary football in his right hand. It certainly made an impression on every girl we went to school with over the years.
Jarren and I grew up living next door to each other, so I’ve known the guy since I was a toddler in diapers, and I guess you could say he’s my oldest friend. But, our friendship is based on close proximity and little else. And the older we get, the less we have in common. The more we also have that ties us together. You can’t go through all your most awkward years with someone and not form a bond of some sort.
“Listen, bro. If you’re going to be my wingman, you really need to look a little happier to be here,” he says, nudging my side to get me to veer right toward the high top in the corner. It’s his usual spot. Gives him the best view in the house, or so I’m told.
“I would probably look happier if I wasn’t here,” I remind him. “Since I don’t actually want to be here.”
He frowns. “Are you seriously still whining about how early you have to get up in the morning?”
“I have a flight to catch at five-thirty a.m., so yeah, I’m going to whine about it.” Not the flight. The flight I’m thrilled about. The being out, playing wingman so he can hook up with some random woman on a Thursday night he has no intention of ever seeing again, that part, I’m whining about. “I still don’t understand why Sofie couldn’t be here. She’s your wingman of choice anyway.” His twin sister. And the true secret behind all Jarren’s womanizer skills.
“I told you,” he starts, but pauses to waive over the nearest cocktail server, “she had other plans already.”
“Plans that couldn’t be combined with yours?” I scan the room. The bar is completely packed and it’s nearly midnight. Don’t any of these people have jobs? “Tell me she’s not doing exactly what we’re doing right now. Sitting in some bar. Having a drink. Waiting for the DJ to play her current favorite song so she can hit the dance floor. Only difference is, here she’d come back to the table with at least three other women in tow.”
“Yeah,” he bugs his eyes out toward me like I just made my own argument. “And wherever she is tonight, she’s probably coming back to the table with three dudes in tow instead. Not of interest to me.”
Oh. I just got it. Tonight she’s no one’s wingman. She’s out cruising on her own behalf.
“Hey, handsome,” the waitress greets Jarren, draping her arm over his shoulder and damn near having a seat in his lap, all while perfectly balancing a tray full of empty glasses in her other hand. “The usual tonight?”
“Gina, babe,” he flirts right back with her, “you know me so well.”
“And what can I get for you, sugar?” she asks without even looking at me. If she had, she might have recognized me and remembered that I also drink the same damn thing every time I’m here. With Jarren.
“Heineken, please. No glass.”
“Coming right up.” She smiles. At Jarren. I’m apparently still invisible.
Not that I’m surprised. It’s why he brings me. Jarren’s not interested in sharing the attention, he just needs another body at the table to keep from looking like the player on the prowl he is.
“How long do you think this is going to take?” I ask, glancing at my watch.
“Would you lighten up, man?” Jarren groans. “If you gave this half a chance, you might actually have some fun for a change, Davi.”
“I have fun all the time,” I inform him. “Just because my fun and your fun don’t look the same, doesn’t mean I’m not having any.”
“Yeah, well, your fun doesn’t include getting laid, so I’m pretty sure my fun is more fun than your fun, even if you are having it.”
I don’t know which I find more annoying, the fact I was able to follow that or the part where he was right.
“Some of us are looking for more than just sex, Jarren,” I mutter, dropping my voice low as soon as I see Gina making her way back to our table. She doesn’t need to suddenly take notice of me now by hearing about my lacking sex life.
“Yeah, well some of us don’t seem to be looking at all,” he hisses back. “Man, when’s the last time you even went out on a date?”
I have to think about it to answer the question, which apparently is all the answer he needs because he makes a face at me before he thanks Gina for the drinks and sends her off with a smack on her ass.
Which in turn, makes me reach across the table and smack the back of his head. “Don’t do that shit.”
He rubs the back of his skull, scowling. “What? They like it.”
“No.” I shake my head. “They don’t. But they’re working for tips, so they don’t tell you.”
His nostrils flare, a sure sign he’s annoyed, but he sips his drink in silence. Then, a moment later, we move on as if nothing happened. Or, more specifically, we move backwards, back to before Gina suffered his uninvited ass smacking.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he says, placing his glass back on the table. “You can leave here anytime you want.”
“Done.” I grab my wallet and keys from the table and start to get up.
“Just as soon as you get a woman’s phone number. And not just any woman’s. Has to be one you actually want to call. To ask out on a date.” He says date like it’s a fake word I made up.
“This is dumb,” I grumble, but I drop back into my seat. “I don’t need to make deals with you to come and go. I’m a grown ass man with zero obligations to you. I can leave whenever the hell I want.”
“No, you can’t,” he says grinning. “You owe me. You have to stay.” He dips his head sideways, eyes cast toward the dancefloor. “Unless you get a phone number, that is.”
Much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I do owe him. If it weren’t for Jarren hooking me up with one of the dealership cars last month, on a moment’s notice no less, when my own car’s transmission went out, I would have been stranded on the side of the road with no way of getting to one of the biggest gigs I’ve booked all year. In short, I would have been screwed by astronomical proportions.
“Fine,” I mumble, grabbing my beer and chugging a third of it. “I’ll get a damn number. And then I’m getting the hell out.”
“Fine.” Jarrod picks up his own glass again, smirking. “Who’s your target?”
“No one. I’m not shooting arrows over here.” I make a face at him. For a man who grew up bound to a female, he’s shockingly sexist. Still, I understood the question and take a look around the room. Then I spot her. A stunning blonde with a smile that lights up even this dim and dreary place. “Her,” I say, casually pointing the long end of my bottle in her direction.
She’s seated at a table across the room with another woman. She’s got her back toward us but judging from her body language, she’s about as thrilled to be here as I am.
“Perfect,” Jarren says, grinning. “I’ll take the other one. We can tag team it. Kill two birds with one stone.”
“You really do think we’re out here hunting, don’t you,” I say dryly.
“It’s not hunting,” he says, his grin turning into a leer. “More of a catch and release.”
“You’re disgusting.” I go to have another chug of my beer in hopes the alcohol will numb me to whatever humiliation is about to occur when someone bumps me from behind and I end up wearing more of my Heineken than tasting it. “Shit.” I grab a stack of cocktail napkins from the table and try to dry up the beer before it soaks into my shirt but it’s no use. “I better run to the restroom and clean up before we do this. Do me a favor, stay here until I get back. I don’t want you ruining my chances to end this night early by opening with your peanut butter and jelly heartburn.”
He laughs, but gestures for me to go ahead and I take that as a gesture of compliance. A mistake, I realize. But not until much later into the night.
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ALEXIS
“LEXI DON’T LOOK NOW, but I think we’re about to get some free drinks,” Naomi hisses, leaning far over the table to be close enough for me to hear.
“Where are am I not looking?” I ask, eyes already wide and scanning the place in a way that isn’t even remotely subtle. But then subtlety’s never really been my thing.
“Hot dude across the room. Built like a linebacker. Pretty face, great complexion, and hella good taste in accessories. I can see his Rolex from all the way over here.”
I couldn’t care less what kind of watch the man is wearing, but I know two seconds into the description what hottie she’s talking about. Saw him when he walked in. Haven’t been able to keep my eyes to myself since. Had to turn my back to him just to keep from staring. There’s just something in the way he carries himself, a confidence, that completely draws me in.
“You really think he’s sending us drinks?” I ask, chewing on the straw of my apple martini. I don’t actually drink them, but I like the way they look and smell, so I order them. “Vic will be so jealous if we pick up hot guys and free drinks in record time the one night he’s not with us.” I laugh. I can just see his expression now. Serves him right, making me go bar hopping with Naomi in the first place. As lame as it sounds, I’d so much rather be sitting on my couch eating ice cream right now.
“Hey, that’s what he gets for ditching us to hang with his new yoga instructor. On second thought, he’s out with a hot yoga instructor, so he might not care.” She smirks. “And definite yes on the drinks. Just saw hot dude wave Gina over and then noticed some definite pointing in our direction while he was talking to her.” She watches a second longer than slyly adds, “Oh, he’s definitely sending us drinks.” She points for me to turn my head and see for myself. “Look, Gina’s putting an apple martini on her tray as we speak.” She winks at me. “Babe, this one is all you.”
“We don’t actually know that,” I point out. “She’s putting a second drink on the tray right now. He could be interested in either of us. Plus,” I remind her, “he’s not alone. He came in with that other guy.”
“Well, you and both men can duke it out. Or better yet, let them duke it out and fight over you,” Naomi teases. “I’m on a boy cleanse, remember?”
A boy cleanse. I do remember. She claims to do these after every breakup. I’ve yet to understand what they really entail. The girl is habitually in relationships. I’ve never known her to be single for more than a couple of weeks at a time. Still, if she’s claiming she’s off men for a minute, I’ll take it. “I mean, I’m never on a boy cleanse, so I guess I can accept two boys at once. Especially the hot one.” I risk another glance in his direction. “Fingers crossed that doesn’t change after I talk to him.”
Naomi rolls her eyes. “You place way too much value on conversation. You don’t chat with a man who looks like that.” She winks again. And when she keeps talking, I become increasingly aware she’s not nearly as committed to her cleanse as she’s saying. “The guy he came with, the troubled artist, that’s the one you talk to until the sun comes up. Then you bang him.” She grins wickedly.
I open my mouth, fully prepared to remind her I like a little substance to my relationships, however fleeting they turn out to be, when I feel a lurch at the pit of my stomach and quickly shut it again. Then, I cover it with my hand for extra measure.
Naomi frowns, leaning away from me. “You look kinda funny. Are you feeling okay?”
“Sushi,” I mumble from behind my palm, already getting out of my chair. I thought that the last salmon roll smelled a little funny. I think I’m about to find out why.
“Lexi, you’re looking all pale and sweaty,” she says, less with concern and more with disgust. “Maybe you should go freshen up a bit before the hot guy and his drinks show up.”
I don’t have time to tell her how freshening up is the least of my problems at the moment. Instead, I bolt for the bathroom before I projectile sushi all over the bar. I just barely make it, briefly hung up by hot guy’s less hot companion who gets body slammed by me as he comes wandering out of the men’s room, innocent and unsuspecting.
I’d yell sorry, except I’m too afraid to open my mouth at this point, so I do my best to express my apologies via my stress-tearing eyes and keep running.