20
Josh
I was missing Brynn’s help until Sherry showed up. I didn’t even have to ask. She slipped under the bar and started serving without a single comment. Not that there’s all that much time to talk. I think everyone in town is here.
I stop serving long enough to appreciate all of my hard work, and my eyes land on a pale-pink cowboy hat weaving its way through the crowd. Although I can’t see the person’s face, I somehow know who it is even before she looks up.
“Howdy, partner.” Brynn attempts to tip the brim but tugs too hard, and it ends up on the floor.
“Where did you find that?”
She turns a slow 360, tipping over slightly as she gets stuck in her twist. “I think her name was Jennifer. Or maybe Deb. But there was definitely a Jennifer involved.”
She smiles, and I immediately see it. The sheen to her eyes. The sleepy smile.
“Brynn, are you drunk?”
She stumbles forward and places her elbows on the bar. “I’m not Brynn, remember? I’m Sloan.”
She splays her arms, and I catch sight of the bottle in her bag.
“What is that?” I point to her purse.
“That’s my purse wine.”
“Did you drink all of it?”
She pulls it out and slams it hard onto the bar top. “Yup. It tastes like summer. Luce made it. We’re friends now. Turns out I’m the jerk and not her. And I’m still thirsty. I could really go for a beer.”
I pull a glass from the stack, fill it, and give it to her. She takes a drink and winces. “Is this tequila?”
“It’s water.”
She hands it back to me. “Well, I ordered tequila.”
I leave it on the counter between us. “I think you may need a few more of these first.”
She sticks out her tongue. “Don’t kill my vibe, Fletch.”
I’m not Fletch.
“It’s Josh. And I’m trying to make sure you don’t do something you’ll regret in the morning.”
She smiles slowly, the glass pressed to her lips. “Like what?”
I might be imagining it, but I swear I see her eyes flick to the apartment upstairs.
My mouth dries. And before I can compose the kind of answer to that question that won’t leave both of us regretting something, there’s a sharp whistle from the other side of the bar. Sherry makes eye contact and then jerks her head to the line of people waiting to order beer. When I turn back to check on Brynn, all I see is the stupid hat on her head again, heading for the dance floor.
I lose track of time, caught in the rhythm of popping caps and pouring shots. I keep my eye out for Brynn. The hat, although ridiculous, makes it easy to spot her dancing in the crowd.
Someone orders a margarita. And in the distraction of cutting limes and shaking ice, I lose her until I hear whistling. And catcalling. And my stomach drops like a rock.
She’s on the stage. Arms in the air. Sundress riding up her thighs. Head thrown back as she shakes in time to the music.
She looks good. And sexy. And I know that half the bar would agree with me.
“Get it together, Fletch. You’re getting that everywhere.”
I tear my eyes from Brynn to look at Sherry, who is nodding at the crushed limes in my hand. Her eyes follow mine back to the stage, where Brynn is now joined by two dancing dudes and a bass-playing Dingo vying for her attention.
Sherry shakes her head. “Better go get your girl.”
I know she means it as a passing comment, but her words hit me hard.
My girl.
Brynn was just my roommate for so long. Then somehow, in the mess of being here, we became friends. Tonight, that word doesn’t feel quite right anymore. But is she my girl?
I’m up and over the bar before I let myself answer that question.
The crowd parts enough for me to reach the stage. I hold my hand out to her.
“Come on, Brynn. It’s time to go home.”
She shakes her head. “I’m Sloan, remember? And Sloan wants to party.”
I hold it out again. “I’m about to flip you over my shoulder and carry you out of here. Is that what you want?”
She smiles and keeps dancing. “Kind of.”
I reach for her hand, but she’s surprisingly fast. “Gotta move quicker than that to keep up with me, Fletcher Scott.”
She twirls. And as she does, her foot slips, and she pitches sideways.
There’s a terrifying moment when I realize she’s about to fall. But my arms move automatically. Reaching out, they catch her before she hits the cement floor. When she’s steady and safe again in my arms, I brush back the hair from her eyes. Gone is the easy smile. What remains is shock and fear.
“You okay?” I press my lips to her ear so she can hear me above the music.
She lays her head against my chest. “I think I just need some air.”
I start to walk toward the front door.
“No.” Her arms tighten around my neck. “Can we go to our spot?”
“How are you feeling?”
Brynn is sitting on top of the air vent, eyes closed, legs outstretched, leaning back on her elbows with her fourth glass of water clutched in her hands. She opens her eyes as I step off the fire escape and onto the roof.
“Everything is still spinny when I close my eyes, but otherwise, I’m good.”
Sherry declared last call when I was up here the first time, getting Brynn settled. I went down to help her, but she shooed me back upstairs, claiming that she and Barry had it under control.
Then she told me that I could repay her by getting an early start on the cleanup in the morning.
Brynn holds up her water glass as if cheersing me, then tips it back for a long sip. “You are a most excellent bartender, Joshua Emilio Estevez Bishop. Has anyone ever told you that?”
I take a seat beside her. “Just my mom. But she’s one of those kind and encouraging types. I never know if she’s lying or loving me unconditionally.”
Brynn snort-laughs, but then schools her face into a more serious expression. “Do you think she’s worried about you? I keep wondering what’s happening back home. Like…is life just carrying on without us? The fact that the dates are the same here as they are at home makes me think yes, and in that case, do you believe anyone even notices we’re missing?”
They’re the same questions I’ve been asking myself all week. “My boss will have noticed for sure. But people quit and ghost on their shifts at the bar all the time, so I doubt he’s done anything about it aside from leaving me some angry voicemails. As for my mom…she actually called the night Sheldon showed up at our place, but it was late, so I never called her back. I’m kind of worried she thinks I’m avoiding her.”
Brynn’s nose crinkles. “Why would you be avoiding her?”
It’s hard to explain. “Her message was about my dad’s bar. It’s up for auction again. She wants me to buy it. Thinks it’s important for it to stay in our family.”
Brynn cocks her head to the side. “What do you think?”
I pause for a second, collecting my thoughts. “I agree it’s important…I just don’t know if I’m the right guy to…” I can’t even finish the sentence.
Brynn’s hand covers mine. Her fingers are warm and soft as she squeezes. “You are really good at what you do, Josh. I have had way too much wine to try and lie to you right now.” She hiccups as if backing up her point. “You have this way with people. You create a space that people want to be in. And I was watching you earlier tonight and you look like you love being behind the bar.”
I can’t deny that. “I do. And as much as it pains me to say it out loud, it’s been fun to pretend to be Fletch and work on the Bronze. It’s helped me figure a few things out, but…” I shake my head, clearing away any ideas that may have been forming. “It doesn’t matter. Even if I wanted to do it, I don’t know how we’ll make it back home in time. The auction is Friday, June twenty-first.”
Brynn frowns as she works the date out in her head. “That’s the night of the pageant.”
“Yeah. Bit of a rough coincidence.”
Brynn gets quiet. And to be honest, I need a moment too as the reality fully sinks in.
We sit for a while, staring at the stars. The roar of the waves hitting the shore lulls us both into a serene state.
“I like it up here,” Brynn finally says, leaning forward to look down at the street below. “It’s so pretty. From this distance, it’s still the Carson’s Cove of my television screen.”
It’s an interesting comment.
“Are you implying the one down there isn’t?”
She touches her finger to her nose. “You’re very perceptive, Joshua Alan Jackson Bishop. Has anyone ever told you that?”
She hiccups, and I leave it as a rhetorical question.
“It’s not that it’s different,” she continues. “It’s just that being here, I’m seeing things that I never noticed before. Things still work out exactly as they’re supposed to…but it’s really just for a select few. Everyone else suffers the consequences.”
She drops her head so it’s resting on my shoulder. I hate how good it feels. How much I want it there. Brynn has been nothing but clear from day one: Her goal is Spencer, and I’m probably the furthest thing you can get from the guy. And yet. Fuck. I didn’t want this to happen, but I ache to pull her into my lap. To kiss her. To fix every fucking thing that’s making her feel anything less than.
“Hey, Josh.” She lifts her head to look at me. “You hurt my feelings.”
My stomach bottoms out. “What? When?”
She drops her head, her voice low. “You didn’t like my hair?”
It takes me a second to figure out what she’s talking about. Yesterday.
“I didn’t say…I didn’t mean…I like your hair. You look good. I just thought you looked good before, that’s all.”
“Oh.” Her mouth forms a perfect circle, and I have to tear my eyes away.
“I guess I should take a lesson from Spencer, huh? He always seems to know what to say.”
She shrugs. “He always has. Spencer is perfect.”
The words hit hard.
Her gaze drops to her hands. “But I don’t know if I want perfect anymore.”
I turn her words over and over in my head, not wanting to ask what she means. I like that for this moment, I can live in a world where she wants a guy like me over one like him.
Before I know what is happening, she’s kissing me. Her hands are in my hair, and she’s sliding into my lap. Her tongue is in my mouth, and I’m thinking about how good it all feels and how I want to do this more.
Until reality clicks in.
She’s drunk.
“Hey.” I lift her off and set her down beside me. “This is not a good idea. I think it’s probably best if I take you home.”
“Oh…okay.”
She’s hurt. This time I don’t need her to point it out. But before I can explain that it’s not that I don’t want this, and that I’m not entirely sure if she really wants this, she’s on her feet.
“No worries, Josh. It’s totally fine. I get it. No hard feelings.”
She heads toward the fire escape, teetering a bit as she walks. I get up to go after her, because stairs and Brynn are probably not a good combo right now, but before I can reach her, she stops, stands rigidly still, and then makes an eerily slow 180-degree turn to face me. She opens her mouth as if she’s about to speak. But before anything comes out, she whips back around and bends at the waist.
What does come out is all of the wine she ingested earlier, bringing with it what looks like the bowtie pasta she ate for dinner.
There are two more encores. And a complete reprisal of the third act when I finally get her down to the apartment.
Eventually, she passes out next to my toilet.
I rub her back, attempt a ponytail in her hair, and then carry her to my bed, tucking her in with water and a trash can.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles as I rearrange the covers around her. “I am regretting all of my life choices tonight.”
Her eyes drop briefly to my lips, and I wonder if our kiss makes that list of regrets.
“Hey.” I wipe a very sweaty strand of her bangs from her forehead. “The only regret you should have tonight is maybe the purse wine.”
She moans what sounds like an “Mmm hmmm” and then tucks herself into a tiny ball. She’s a clammy shade of white. Definitely sweating. Her hair is wild, and she smells a little like barf.
And fuck, I think I really like her.