Mandy thought that second blue drink had probably been a bad idea, but she’d had a moment of weakness. Her friend Chelsea’s recounting of all the gossip she’d missed in the past couple of years had somehow affected her judgment. It was as if listening to all the inane chatter had transmogrified her brain into a gelatinous state. All she could do was sip and nod. Chelsea was still running her mouth, and Mandy tried to focus, but her eyes crossed from the potent combination of Curaçao and rum. Eventually, she just tuned her out.
“So, that about catches you up on all the Edenton drama.” Chelsea twirled the end of her blonde braid around her finger and popped her nicotine gum. Mandy had tried explaining she wasn’t supposed to chew it, much less try to blow bubbles with it, but Chelsea’s only reaction had been a blank stare. At least she was trying to quit. Again.
“What’s going on with you, lady?” Chelsea wrapped one arm around Mandy’s waist and gave her a squeeze from her bar stool. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
Mandy scoffed into her blue drink. “I love catching up, Chels, and I missed you, too, but I plan on being on the first thing smoking out of here.”
Her conversation with Tina had been energizing and left her feeling hopeful for a change. Then again, she’d been in an excellent mood since Aaron Owen had damn near impaled her out at the old farm. The last time she had felt so flattered was in fourth grade when Mrs. Edmund plucked her out of all the swaying daisies in the corps de ballet and promoted her above all the other girls to the role of bumblebee. She loved being the bumblebee. It was a role she thought was made for her. Her grandmother would agree.
Chelsea leaned her head onto Mandy’s shoulder, her inebriated body swaying precariously on her perch. “Aww, I lub you.” Chelsea sniffed. “I hate you for getting fired from Ermine’s. Where am I going to get my discounted Sweet Louisa shit?”
“You’ll have to order it online like the rest of the proletariat, babe.” Mandy pulled her little leather Sweet Louisa clutch a bit further away from Chelsea’s sticky reaching hand. If necessary, she would maim to protect that bag. It was from the fall sneak peek and the last thing she’d bought before getting the boot.
“Is that pretty Mandy out without her chaperone?”
She looked up into the bar mirror to find Dillon Slade idling near the tavern’s front door, wearing a smile so big it could rival the moon for a moth’s attention.
“Ew.” She turned her shoulder too quickly without regard to Chelsea, causing the poor pickled lush to slip off her stool.
“Damn it,” Chelsea mumbled listlessly and popped her gum again.
Mandy extended a hand to help her up.
Chelsea swatted it away. “Lemme sit here for juuuuuust a second.” Her eyelids were heavy as she swayed and studied the laces of her pink Top-siders.
By the time Mandy straightened up, Dillon had spanned the distance between them and had his arms opened.
“Come on, Mirandy, you fox. Give us a hug.”
She raised a brow. “Have you finally fallen off your rocker, Dillon? When did you start referring to yourself as plural?”
He enveloped her in a bear hug so forceful her feet cleared the floor by a foot. While he rocked her side by side, he said, “Aw, you’re so funny. I forgot how funny you were.”
She rolled her eyes. That was odd. He hadn’t thought she was all that funny when he dumped her at eighteen right before she was due to leave for college. In fact, when he’d called her to end things his excuse had been that he didn’t think there were enough sparks between the two of them. She had wondered what he could possibly know about sparks at eighteen, but in the end just shrugged it off. It probably wouldn’t have lasted with her being in Chapel Hill and him down in Wilmington, anyway.
When he put her down, he held her in front of him as if she was a pay phone and he was trying to figure out where the quarter went.
She raised her other brow and stifled a scoff. “Like what you see?” she asked, assessing his polo shirt and khaki shorts, then scanning up to his spare chin, thin lips, and eyes that were too small for his round head.
Maybe “us” is appropriate since he’s twice the man he used to be.
Once upon a time, he’d been attractive, but like so many other boys from her class, Dillon hadn’t aged well. She’d dodged a bullet with that one. Compared to Aaron Owen, Dillon looked a lot like the catch that got thrown back. She felt her cheeks burn even thinking about Aaron and how he’d raised her body temperature to boiling in a matter of seconds.
Goddamn, that man’s tongue. She pulled her collar away from her neck with the mere thought of his forthright advances. Guy didn’t play around.
“Heck yeah!” Dillon chafed her arms with his hands and did a none-too-discreet scan of the tavern. “So, uh, where’s Mike tonight?”
“He’s at home icing and heating his knee, probably.”
Dillon’s smile widened a tick before he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Oh yeah? Sucks he got himself busted up so bad. Terrible pity. You, uh, want to have a drink?”
For once, she was thankful for Chelsea’s sloppy drunkenness. She wasn’t in the mood for Dillon’s poorly targeted kisses, or for hearing the way he grunted when he was trying to get his face in just the right position. She shuddered at the thought. Any excuse to beg off would have been a good one. She offered him a consoling pat on the shoulder.
“Sorry, I won’t be able to drive home if I have anything else.”
His mouth twitched. He’d never been good at thinking on his feet. “Oh, that’s okay. I’ll drive you home.”
“Uh … ”
In high school, Dillon’s vehicle had been a twenty-year-old pick-up truck. They’d spent numerous evenings under the stars in the open back “cuddling.” She cringed to think back on all that awkward petting she thought was so hot at the time. Maybe she was just hot and didn’t know the difference. Dillon would have just been a means to an end, but fortunately for her quarter-life self-esteem, things never progressed that far.
Yuck.
The pocket of her light jacket buzzed, and she held up one hand to the aged quarterback. “Just one moment.” She plugged one finger into her ear and held the phone up to the other while making a beeline for the ladies’ room.
“Whoever you are, I love you.”
“I love you, too, Miranda,” said a chuckling man with a deep baritone voice.
She stood in the corner by the settee patrons used to freshen their lipstick and fix their bra stuffing and squinted down at the phone display. It was an unknown number.
“Who’s this?”
“It’s Aaron. Aaron Owen. Your number was on your business card. I hope it’s not too late to call. Am I interrupting anything?”
She sucked in a bit of air. The things that man’s voice did to her should have been declared illegal on all continents. It reminded her of the hum of an engine: low with just a bit of purr at all the right times. It made her want to pin him down and squeeze his head between her thighs while he …
She yanked a length of paper towel from the dispenser, blasted cold water on it, and dabbed her brow.
Lord have mercy.
“Are you there?”
She tossed the paper and paced in front of the settee once more. “Yes, sorry. I’m here. No, you’re not interrupting. I’m just with a friend.”
“I won’t hold you up, then. I just wanted to see if you got in touch with Tina. She’s a bit of a moving target and I wanted to know if you had any questions or comments before tomorrow.”
“Oh!” She straightened her blouse as if he could see it, then thunked herself on the forehead with the heel of her palm when she realized what she was doing. “Yes, we spoke earlier.”
“Good. I’ll let you sleep on it all. I guess I’ll see you at the lot tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“’Night, then.”
“Right. Goodnight.”
She stuffed her phone back into her pocket and paced some more. Then she giggled. “Shit, I am screwed. He’s gonna use me up for sure.”
When she pulled the bathroom door open, still mumbling to herself, she found Dillon stood on the threshold. He took a step back to let her out.
“Dillon, you really didn’t have to wait for me here.”
Weirdo. Ew. Was that really the best I could do in twelfth grade?
“Oh, I know. I just didn’t want you to miss seeing me. Here I am!”
She chuckled and it came out sounding forced, even to her ears. “Yeah. There you are, guy.”
Chelsea had managed to get upright once more and held her arm out, snapping her fingers to get the bartender’s attention. Mandy decided the fates were on her side for once. Who was she to piss off the fates? Best she listen.
“Shit, Dill. You know what? I need to get Chelsea home before she drinks herself sick. She didn’t drive.”
“Hell, she doesn’t live that far. She could probably walk.”
She shook her head and put her hands on her hips. “I wouldn’t send her out in the condition she’s in. She’d probably trip over a crack in one of those old sidewalks and smash that cute little elfin nose of hers all to smithereens. Hey — ”
She patted his chest right in the middle and gave him a bland smile.
“Nice seeing you.”
“I’ll call you?”
She nodded. “Sure. You do that.” She gave a little finger-wave before turning on the heel of her ballet flat and walking with purpose to the bar.
Chelsea was still snapping her fingers at the bartender when Mandy got there. Mandy grabbed her by the arm.
“Hey, Chels? There’s a smokin’ hot guy on a motorcycle outside asking about you.”
Chelsea’s unfocused brown eyes went wide. “Really? Asking for me?” She slid off the barstool and let Mandy lead her out.
“Mm hmm. You, babe.”