sakura
“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m here?” I asked, staring at the neon-white Escape sign plastered against the rich brick wall. We stood outside a building down by the Redwood Beach on Saturday night. “Isn’t this a bar?”
Ichika wrapped her hand around mine and pulled me to the entrance. “It’s a bar, but they have food for you too.” She opened the door and ushered me into the busy atmosphere with dim lights and a luxurious bar.
“Yeah, but I’m not twenty-one.”
“Well, we’ll sit at one of the high-top tables then. You’re my designated driver tonight, right?” she asked with a wink, pulling me toward an empty high-top table near the round marble countertop bar.
I arched a brow. “Only tonight.”
“Wait, really?” she asked, eyes wide. “Because there is this really cute waiter who works here, who I’m definitely going to flirt with to get free drinks.”
“So, that’s why we’re here on a Saturday night when I can’t even drink. You know, I would’ve much preferred some milkshake or pasta or even pizza. Not bar food and drinks that I cannot even consume!”
“God, you’re so dramatic,” Ichika said, sliding onto her seat.
Standing on my tiptoes, I hopped up onto the seat and set my purse down on the table near the wall. I scanned the QR code for the menu, set out between us, and hummed to myself.
“Welcome to Escape,” a handsome twenty-something man said. Button-up shirt rolled up his muscular, veiny forearms, he placed his large hands on the small high-top table, towering over us. “You girls need more time with the menu? How about we start with drinks?”
“Do you have anything salty?” Ichika asked. “Sour?”
I looked toward the wall and held back a snicker behind my hand—because, come on, a salty drink?! I wondered what she really wanted.
“What’re you in the mood for?” he asked, smirking down at her with his eyes. “I can have them make something custom for you in the back.”
I scrunched my nose and bit my tongue because this was way too awkward. Ichika was years older than me, but, damn … I hoped I flirted with Callan a bit better than this. This was just … yikes.
“Surprise me,” she said. Ichika looked over at me, giggled, and then gently tapped his arm—and, God, I swore she almost fainted.
And she called me dramatic. This girl was about to pass out in the middle of a bar, leaving her underage and helpless cousin here.
From my peripheral, I spotted him peering in my direction. But I couldn’t look over at him without laughing out loud, so I stared down at the menu on my phone. “I’ll do water with lemon, please and thank you.”
And please get out of here now before I burst into a giggle fit.
“I’ll be right back with that drink,” the waiter said, knocking his knuckles on the table.
When he left, I turned back to Ichika and let myself go absolutely nuts. “Please, God, do not tell me that he is the waiter you came here for,” I said, giggling. “Oh my God. You … him … I …” I said between giggles. “I cannot.”
“All right, it wasn’t that bad,” Ichika said.
“Oh, yes, it was.” I snorted.
She playfully rolled her eyes. “Well, I don’t see you flirting with anyone. Ever.”
“Yeah, because all the boys just flock to me,” I said, tossing my hair over my shoulder and completely joking around. “I don’t need to flirt. They just come for my pussy. I don’t know what to tell you, Ichika.”
“Like that teacher?” she shot back.
My eyes widened, and I leaned forward, slapping my hand over her mouth. “Not out loud! Someone might hear!” I whisper-yelled at her, glancing around at the high-tops and bar beside us to make sure nobody had heard.
But when my gaze landed on the far corner of the bar, I froze.
Callan sat with a man I only recognized from pictures. His wife’s father.
Jett Harleen.
My stomach twisted into knots, and I dropped my smile. What is he doing here with him? Yesterday, he had told me that he’d protect me from anyone. And the other night, he’d admitted his wife didn’t make him happy, that only I did that.
For some stupid reason, I’d assumed that he meant he didn’t want to be with anyone else. That he didn’t want to be with his wife. That he’d leave her. But … he was now laughing over drinks with her father.
Has he been lying to me?
Ichika seized my wrist from across the table. “You okay?” She followed my gaze and furrowed her brow. “Is that Mr. Avery from Literature? I haven’t seen him since high school. You know, it’s always weird, seeing teachers out of their classrooms.”
“Yeah,” I whispered, trying to peel my gaze away from him.
Though … I couldn’t.
“Is it something that—” Ichika started, but then she widened her eyes. “Is that him?”
I wanted to answer her, but I couldn’t. My stomach twisted into knots, and I stared down at the table, eyes becoming warm.
Why did I assume that he’d leave his wife for me? What the hell is wrong with me?
“I … I don’t believe it,” she said. “Mr. Avery was always so nice.”
“He is nice,” I whispered, hand clutched into a fist underneath the table.
“I mean, like … he didn’t seem creepy.”
“He’s not creepy,” I said, still defending him even though I was hurt.
These feelings piling up inside me … were all my fault. Yet I couldn’t help but feel like it was all a lie, like I had believed the fabricated reality he spun for me. The detention. Sitting in the car with him. Lunch on Thursday.
Almost as if he could feel my gaze on him, Callan looked over at me. He clenched his jaw, eyes hardening at me like we hadn’t spent the other night together, just relaxing, like he hadn’t told me that being with me made him feel good.
When he turned back to Jett, I glared back at the table. It had been a lie.
A big, fat lie.
All of it.