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I looked around the restaurant as Amber furiously filled out her first of many art school applications. I quirked an eyebrow as I studied it, taking in the dark walls and the mismatched furniture. Her choice of restaurant was definitely not what I was used to. The walls were painted over with this blackboard type of thing, and there were people writing on it with chalk, doodling designs and writing crass statements, jotting down song lyrics while they munched on their gluten- and dairy-free meals.
I knew this place had a reputation among her hipster crowd as the new place to be. But it was a little much.
Men with massive beards and glasses without lenses walked around. A few of them wore trucker hats, and a few others put mustache glue in their handlebar mustaches. The men were in tight-legged jeans and band-name shirts with tattoos that poked out from beyond the cuff, just enough to tease the eye and make women come up and ask them what the artwork was all about.
The ladies were decked out in retro attire, with polka-dotted dresses, thick-framed cat-eye glasses, and ruby-red lips, their curled hair piled high. Some were in wedge heels, and some wore leggings underneath their dresses. Some women walked in with rainbow-colored hair, and others walked in wearing sweatshirts so big the fabric fell off their petite shoulders.
And every once in a while, people came over and talked to Amber.
“Hey there, how are those applications coming?”
“Finally getting around to it! Good for you. Where are you applying?”
“Is this the new beau? Nice job. He supports your art, right? You have to support her art, New Beau.”
Apparently, that was my name now. New Beau.
“Do I earn my own name eventually?” I asked.
Amber giggled. “They’re just protective. That’s all. Are you hungry? If you are, I recommend the kale salad with the cranberry and spruce reduction sauce. It’s to die for. I have a hard time trying other things on the menu because they’ve got that blaring at me every time I open it up.”
“I’ll follow your lead on this one.”
She finally finished filling out one of the applications, then ordered for us. Two of those salads, along with some sort of smoothie that had a million things in it I would have never put together in anything. I also made sure to order a glass of water—plain water, not fruit infused, but just water to wash all this shit down if I absolutely hated it.
I wanted a nice, juicy steak the second that salad sat down in front of me.
“So, there’s this band playing here in a few minutes. They are so. Good. They’re called Dr. Pork, and I know that sounds kind of weird and all, but trust me. They’re really good. You’re gonna love them,” Amber said.
I chewed on my salad and tried not to grimace as I watched the band set up in the corner. It was a basic setup, with a guitarist, a bassist, drums, and a lead singer on another guitar. Their jeans were practically painted on, and their hair was so long it rivaled Amber’s locks.
I was trying to enjoy myself on our fake date, but it was hard.
“Two shots over here, please!” Amber called out.
“Shots?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. This place turns into a bar once the bands start playing. The salad will help get you through the drink specials all night.”
“All night?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. We’re gonna have so much fun. And I think I’ve got time to fill out one more application I was able to start in the bathroom this morning.”
The shots touched down, and Amber threw hers back. I dumped mine into the smoothie, trying to make the liquid cement a little more palatable. I chugged it back, trying not to grimace too hard at the taste. But very soon into the date, I found my “date” drinking a lot more than me.
“You should slow down on those shots. The band hasn’t even star—”
A song struck up so loud it almost blew my ears off my head.
“Loosen up, Raymond! Come on! Take another one!” Amber exclaimed.
She was four shots into my two, and I wasn’t having a bit of fun. The music was too loud. The lyrics were indecipherable. And I couldn’t honestly say I was a fan of the off-beat rhythm of the drummer. Our dinner was thankfully over and she placed her applications back into her purse, then got up and tugged at my hand.
“Let’s dance! Come on!”
“I don’t really feel like it,” I said.
“What?” she exclaimed.
“I said I don’t—”
She tugged on me harder, and I felt people staring at me. We were on a date, after all. Which meant I had to act like her damn date. I drew in a deep breath as I slid out of the booth, and then she dragged me to the “dance floor.” Which was really just a small open space in between all the rickety, mismatched tables that sat in the place.
I tried to relax and enjoy myself. I spun Amber around a few times and even dipped her. She plucked another shot off a passing tray, and I quickly tried to stick money onto the damn thing. She was chugging back more alcohol than I’d ever seen a woman her size take. She whipped around with her hands in the air and her blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders.
“Woo!” she exclaimed.
I nodded and smiled, trying to keep her within arm’s length so she wouldn’t tip over and regret her decisions.
The dancing was fine. I felt like I was putting on a good show. But the drunker Amber got, the closer she got to me. And that made me uncomfortable. She ground her hips into me and placed my hands on her hips. She held on to the collar of my suit jacket and pulled me so close I could smell the alcohol on her breath.
“You’re a good dancer,” she said, winking.
I tried to brush it off as the music died down. Because when it did, Amber led me back to the booth. I was relieved to have some space between us, but I couldn’t deny the way she was looking at me. When the waitress came by, I quickly ordered water for both of us. I cut Amber off when it came to her alcohol and quickly settled the tab.
I wanted to get the hell out of that place.
“Oh! That was so much fun. I never get there without Daddy Dearest hovering over me, trying to make sure I don’t go to that place,” Amber said.
“Well, I’m glad you had a good time,” I said.
“You didn’t?”
“It’s not really my taste. But I do get to plan the next date. So, you’ll get a taste of how I prefer things.”
“Fine, fine. Just don’t take me to one of those restaurants that has eleven-course meals and soft music playing in the background. I hate those places.”
That was actually exactly where I wanted to take her.
“I’ll figure it out,” I said as I opened the town car door for her.
“Hey, wanna come over to my place and hang?” she asked.
I slipped into the car with her and nodded at my driver to start moving.
The quicker, the better.
“I think I’m going to turn in early,” I said.
She elbowed me in my ribs. “You old stick in the mud. You’re no fun.”
“I’m a busy man with a busy schedule. I have an early morning.”
“Well, poo. Maybe next time. I’ll have shots set up for just the two of us so you can’t turn me down for some more fun.”
I had a feeling I’d have no issues turning her down, though. I’d left my frat party days back in college, and I had no qualms with keeping them there.
I dropped Amber off and walked her up to the doorstep. She kept shoving gum into her mouth, like that would somehow overwrite the alcohol on her breath. She chewed it up and swallowed down the sugary mixture of her saliva, then spit the wad of gum out off the porch.
She really was a piece of work.
“Should I walk you inside?” I asked.
“Nope. Here is fine. Thanks for a good night,” she said coyly.
Then, she walked inside and surprisingly sobered up.
Which told me she was used to doing that.
I went home and got some sleep, tossing and turning like usual. I got up early the next morning and went on a run with James, which gave me time to fill him in on the whirlwind of a turn my life had taken. I told him about the date and about the art school applications. I told him about the shots Amber had swallowed back and the way she’d danced with me. I even told him, between breaths, about how she invited me back to her place—with her parents home—so we could hang out more.
“I don’t know how I feel about all that, now,” he said.
“Good. Nice to know I’m not the only one,” I said.
“That seems a little weird, especially when she invited you to go home with her. I mean, if this is just a public appearance thing, why do you two have to continue the charade not in public?”
“We’re just friends. I know that’s all this is. But it did strike me as odd. I’m glad I’m not the only person who feels that way about it.”
“And you two were clear on the fact that this is only for appearances?” he asked.
“We toasted to that exact fact.”
“And she wasn’t drunk when you did this?”
I chuckled. “No, she wasn’t.”
“Just keep your eyes open, okay? This Amber girl might have more of a reason to ‘help’ you than you think,” he said.
“I promise, I’ve got this under control. Okay? And besides, she’s really not my type. Exactly the opposite of everything I look for in a woman. It would be nothing for me to walk away from this, no matter what.”
“You’re sure of this?”
I shot James a look, and he chuckled.
“Just looking out for you,” he said.
“And I’ll always appreciate it. You know this,” I said.
