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  He gives me an amused look. “You can’t know that until you try it. Some things are better experienced for real. Like, the drink at the bar . . .”

  Before I can respond he turns on his heel and moves away. It wouldn’t have mattered. I’m breathless anyway.

  I’m about to say something to Lizzy when I feel cool liquid trickle down my leg. Lizzy wanted seats at the end, but they were already taken when we came in, so we’re sitting in the middle. I would have liked to sit at the end, because I could have curled up in the corner and pretended I was somewhere else, somewhere quiet and safe.

  I’m wearing black jeans with my black ballet flats. Lizzy told me I had nice legs and should show them off, but I didn’t dare to wear a dress. I don’t own any going-out clothes. There’s no point if I never go anywhere. I hope the outfit I have on tonight has just the right amount of going out coupled with the I’m-having-a-girls-night-go-away vibe.

  I stare down at my leg. The girl next to me, who’s wearing so much makeup I’m surprised she can blink, plus a tight red top that’s exposing too much cleavage, and sky high heels, has just spilled her wine on my leg. She’s staring at me with wide eyes.

  “Oh, I’m SO sorry,” she says. She blinks twice and I watch the thick black mascara move in chunks.

  She doesn’t look very sorry. Her lips are parted and she looks drunk. She’s exactly the kind of girl I’m terrified of: the girl who’s so confident in these situations, who’s fine talking to guys. Everything I’m not.

  “JJ? Can you get us some napkins?” she calls out to one of the bartenders, waving her free hand in the process. Her other hand still grips her wine glass. Her nails are a deep maroon.

  The bartender glances at her and then away; he seems to know her, and he’s used to her. He finishes making a drink, comes over, and braces one hand on the bar. His eyes are a clear warm gray, like the clouds that still cover the sky right after it stops raining.

  He has really dark hair, close-cropped to his neck. My throat constricts and I feel my hands gripping each other for dear life. He’s dressed casually in a black hoodie and jeans, but I get the idea that he’s ridiculously fit. The muscles in his wrist and lower arm disappear into his broad shoulders.

  The relief I feel at his presence is overwhelming again, and I’m almost comfortable enough to sit back and not worry about makeup girl. Almost.

  He glances at me, but I still have the deer in the headlights look on my face. Usually when I make eye contact with someone I shrink away, my eyes searching the ground for every crack and crevice, but this time I meet his eyes, and inside the torrent of my mind something stills.

  I wonder what he thinks I look like. Does he see fear? Does he see me at all? Then he raises his eyebrows at the girl and I realize it’s way too loud for him to try to talk. Or maybe he’s just the strong silent type.

  He definitely looks fit.

  I blush at the thought.

  “I spilled wine,” the girl slurs, pointing at me as she says it. The bartender, JJ, looks at me and leans over the bar. The music is so loud he has to yell to be heard. How did he know some of her drink spilled one me? My breath hitches, my chest tightens all at once, and my focus becomes pinpointed on his lips. I lean forward, determined to catch every word.

  “Mason,” he says, shaking his head. I see a twinkle in his eyes. She’s obviously a regular and he’s giving her a hard time. She laughs prettily, covering her mouth and pretending to feel bad.

  “Sorry about that,” he says to me, pointing to my leg.

  Before I can say anything he’s gone from right in front of me and I rock a little forward. I feel disoriented in the most delicious way, and I know the heat is rising in my cheeks. Lizzy doesn’t even notice. My head is feeling a little fuzzy, and I know it must be the alcohol. I’m so intolerant, I can get drunk from proximity. At least that’s a better justification for my embarrassing behavior than just being socially incompetent.

  “Careful,” his voice comes again. He’s come back to grab the broken wine shard. I stare down at him in confusion. “If you clutch that glass any tighter it will shatter. Then I’ll have two messes on my hands.”

  “Oh,” I gasp, and I release my rum and coke before I see him chuckle. Of course he was teasing me. I must still look like a deer in headlights. But now he’s gone again and I’m left red-faced.

  Lizzy nudges me hard in the ribs and gives me a glare. “He’s trying to make you laugh,” she grits out. “Help the guy out and move a couple of face muscles. I promise smiling doesn’t hurt.”

  I looked around and try to see where he is. To my horror, I see him coming around the bar, clean rag in hand.

  A blush creeps up my neck and cheeks as he wipes the spilled wine off the seat of the chair and the chair leg.

  “There really isn’t much,” I try to explain. My heart is thumping in time to the music.

  He glances up, his face unreadable, then he taps his ear. He didn’t hear me.

  I lean over and try again, “There’s really not much,” I yell in his ear. He smells faintly of aftershave, but not so much that it’s overpowering. I inhale deeply, then stop. What if he can tell I’m smelling him?

  Oh. My. God.

  Finding the bartender attractive is the last thing I expected to happen tonight. I expected to need to help Lizzy home after she drank too much, then crawl into bed, obsessively reliving everything I did wrong and everything that was embarrassing all night, even if no one else remembers it.

  Mason reaches over, bending at the waist without getting out of her seat, and taps JJ on the shoulder. He turns, still in a crouch. I don’t know what she says to him, but she sticks out her lower lip to do it and he nods. His face is still unreadable.

  “You should go to the bathroom if you want to clean that up more,” he says, referring to my leg.

  Visions rush through my mind of his slowly wiping his rag up and down my leg to get the wine off, and I can easily feel his fingers through the cloth.

  I grip the back of my chair, nod, and slide off the edge of the seat. I’m uncomfortable, but I don’t know why. Lizzy follows me and we leave our jackets to reserve our seats.

  The bathroom is quieter, and I’m finally able to steal a breath. There are four stalls, and the walls are covered in a dark blue tile. I try to check casually under the stalls to make sure no one else is in there. I can’t imagine how embarrassing it would be to be overheard.

  “Star-struck much?” Lizzy teases me as soon as we’re inside.

  I glare at her. So she did notice!

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I insist.

  Lizzy giggles happily. “I never see you look at guys the way you were looking at him. You couldn’t even talk! Awesome.”

  My blushing starts all over again.

  “That’s not true,” I argue. It’s such a scary feeling that I want to explain it away with mere words, as if somehow that will tame the wildness rushing around inside me. “I was just surprised that someone spilled wine on me. And, you know, that I’m at a bar.”

  “There’s barely any wine,” says Lizzy, examining me closely. “At least it didn’t get on your sweater. He could have just cleaned it up.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it’s totally okay for the bartender, whose JOB it is to be here, to just randomly run his hands up and down girls’ legs,” I throw back.

  “Oh please,” says Lizzy. “Running his hands up and down your legs would be the highlight of his night.”

  I scoff and start to wash the red wine off the leg of my jeans. The activity relaxes me, and I concentrate on using enough water to get the stickiness off without using so much that it drips onto my flats.

  Who knew that finding a guy in a bar could be considered a contact sport?

  “I do not think the bartender is cute,” I tell Lizzy, as if I’m revealing a massive secret.

  She rolls her eyes. “No, you think he’s hot and sexy and want to rip his clothes off. That’s just fine. Even better, a
ctually.” She grins at me and heads for the door. “It happens to girls at bars all the time, mostly because bartenders are such good listeners. You can tell them your problems.”

  “I bet I can’t tell him mine,” I say softly.

  Lizzy comes over to me and puts her hand on my shoulder. Her eyes soften as she says, “Maybe telling someone would take the weight off of you a bit. You always say how you feel buried by it. Maybe telling someone would help you start to uncover your heart again.”

  “I don’t want my heart uncovered,” I say, nearly crying. “It’s safer buried in the ground.”

  Lizzy just shakes her head and looks sad. She removes her hand from my shoulder and I feel the loss of heat instantly.

  “Come on,” I say. “We should get back.”

  Lizzy sets her jaw in a stubborn line. I recognize the face. “You hardly ever find guys you think are really attractive, and when you do, you run. Well no more. Come on. Let’s see what we can do.” With that she winks at me and disappears.

  I sigh. If only she understood that some things just can’t be unburied.

  Chapter Two - JJ

  The first time I see her, I’m not having a good night. I’m hiding it pretty well, but all I want to do is crawl into bed and get away from the noise. One of the other bartenders called out sick, so we’re short-staffed. To make matters worse, it’s a long weekend and pouring rain, so we’re insanely busy. I’m glad for the business, but I know I’ll be exhausted by the end of the night.

  The Remember is my life, but it wasn’t a choice. I used to do the whole work hard, play hard thing. I had enough fun for a lifetime and I won’t lie, sometimes when I see the girls walking in here looking really good, I think about going back. Then they get drunk and slur their words and I remember why I don’t want that.

  I roll my shoulders and look at the two other bartenders I’m working with. Both are taking customers’ orders. I like working at the bar, because it means I don’t have to think. I watch the customers and mix the drinks. I like to chat and make jokes. If people have a good night they come back. It’s pretty simple.

  I’m just about to ask Lila if she’s got the guy at the end of the bar when I’m distracted by a lightning bolt.

  I normally don’t notice who comes through the front door when I’m behind the bar. We’ve got a busy restaurant section too, and work gets hectic.

  But when she walks in, every guy’s attention, including mine, shifts to the door.

  I swallow and stare like I haven’t stared at a girl in years.

  She’s different. She’s wearing black jeans and a black sweater over a red blouse, bringing the outfit together with a black and red scarf. She looks incredible. Her dark hair, almost down to her back, is loose and tossed casually over one shoulder. She has no idea that every guy in the place is checking her out.

  I couldn’t care less what she’s wearing on her feet.

  Something tightens deep in my gut. Her hair is down and it swishes around her arms as she looks around furtively. I give her friend a quick assessment, just to make sure it’s not a guy. It’s not. The tightening in my chest eases infinitesimally.

  The bar is already packed, it’s about eleven and our busiest time. I overfill the beer I’m pouring because I’m staring at her. I only know because I feel the liquid dribbling over my fingers. I look down and swear under my breath. She doesn’t notice. She’s busy navigating her way to the bar. She smiles at the girl she’s with, whom I barely notice because I can’t take my eyes off her.

  Please sit at the bar, I think desperately.

  I don’t even know what I’ll do if she does. I can flirt at the bar no problem, but like I said, she’s different. She probably gets hit on all the time. And I’m working. I’m not going to hit on her while I’m working and she’s trying to have a girls’ night out.

  Sit at the bar. Please.

  She and her friend hesitate for a second, surveying the scene.

  “Hey JJ,” Lila calls. “Can you come over here?”

  I turn my attention to the girl I’m bartending with. Lila’s in college and new to bartending, but she’s pretty and she giggles and she gets good tips. I turn away from the girl with the amazing body and the sad eyes, with legs that I can just picture wrapped around my waist. I go help Lila, but I keep my eyes on the girl.

  Sit at the bar.

  Chapter Three - Nora

  The bar’s getting busy. Lizzy gets up to head to the bathroom twice, needing to fix her makeup. I enjoy watching JJ move behind the bar. You would think the TV or something on my phone would be more interesting, and I’ll be honest, normally I use my phone like it’s a shield against evil invaders - meaning anyone who wants to make friends.

  My phone helps me look busy (I mean, of course, I really am busy. Obviously), but now I just watch him take money from a customer here, talk to one of the other bartenders there, or pour a drink. He looks relaxed and confident. I would feel overwhelmed in the extreme if I were trying to bartend. All that noise and all these people . . . I shudder just thinking about it.

  Whenever Lizzy’s gone JJ comes to check on me. He doesn’t ask me how I’m doing. He doesn’t ask me anything at all. When I tell him we’re fine he nods.

  “Just flag me down if you need anything,” he yells in my ear. I nod again. He disappears and I feel the pull again. Moon and tide and a little bit of heat mixed with longing.

  I take another sip of my rum and coke. If I’m not careful I’ll finish it.

  “What did I miss?” Lizzy yells in my ear as she hops back into her seat.

  “Nothing,” I yell back. I tell her what the bartender said and she shrugs. “Nice of him.”

  I’m well into my second drink and definitely tipsy when Lizzy decides she’s had enough. She taps me on the shoulder and points to her phone, indicating the time. She wants to go home. I look around, feeling a little light-headed.

  The bar is dark now, and there’s a crush of people behind me. I see two girls angling for our bar seats. I glance at Lizzy and look for the bartender. I don’t feel comfortable calling him JJ, even though I know his name.

  There’s no sign of JJ, so I just wait. He frequently disappears around the bar.

  When he reappears I make eye contact. I flush instantly. I hate asking for anything, but he comes over. He doesn’t say anything, the music is too loud. I ask for the bill. He shakes his head. Frowning, I lean forward and ask again. The music is thumping around me and there’s a ring of voices. I can’t hear a thing.

  He shakes his head again and I shrug, trying to tell him I don’t understand. He leans forward and I sit forward. Right in my ear he says, “They’re on the house.”

  Then he’s gone.

  Lizzy comes back from the bathroom and slides into her seat. She looks around in confusion.

  “I tried to pay,” I yell to her over the din.

  She frowns. “Good. I ask you to do one simple thing. You should be able to accomplish it.”

  “He wouldn’t let me,” I say.

  “He thinks someone’s cute,” she says, winking.

  “Yeah,” I say dryly. “You.”

  She giggles and shakes her head.

  “Nope, he only came over to talk to you, not me, and he was really nice about the spilled wine.”

  “He wouldn’t let me pay,” I say again, totally at a loss for what to do. Damn rum making my head fuzzy.

  “Let’s go,” she says, grabbing my arm. “Hot bartender doesn’t care about me at all. He doesn’t care about any girl in here tonight but you. I’m jealous.” She fans herself for emphasis. “He’s so hot he’s making me hot.”

  There’s a crush of girls behind us, so it takes us a long time to make our way out of the Remember.

  I hear one whisper something about our sexy bartender. Lizzy would obviously agree. I realize that he’s the reason all the females are down at this end.

  I follow Lizzy as closely as possible, as if I couldn’t find my way by myself. I keep my he
ad down and try to get my bearings.

  “Come on,” says Lizzy once we’re outside. “Let’s go home.”

  Lizzy lives with a girl named Aimee, while I live with a girl named Nancy. I haven’t even met her yet, because she works a lot and then disappears. Aimee seems really nice. She’s a friend of Lizzy’s from college, so they know each other pretty well, but Aimee works a lot. Lizzy and I talked about living together, but then we decided that we’d meet more people if we each lived with strangers. So far it’s working out better for Lizzy than it is for me, just like everything else.

  “Did you think he was cute?” Lizzy demands, turning to me. “You did, didn’t you? I saw you staring at him, and vice versa, of course.”

  “Lizzy,” I say with exasperation, “he just gave me free drinks because we were cute girls at the bar or something. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Lizzy rolls her eyes. “Of course he meant something by it. He thought you were adorable. Aww.”

  She hooks her right arm through my left. I’m glad for the contact, because despite the early summer weather we’ve been having, the late evening is a little chilly.

  “At least we can walk home,” says Lizzy cheerfully. “No need for a cab.”

  Just as she says it I stumble, my foot catching on the uneven red brick pavement. Lizzy steadies me.

  “Hey,” she says, her voice softening. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I shrug, trying to pretend I’m fine. It’s an act I’ve been putting on for five years, and I know Lizzy can see through it.

  “His sister’s getting married this summer,” I say quietly. “Amelia’s getting married.”

  “I know,” she says soothingly. Lizzy has vowed not to go home this summer; she’s determined to immerse herself in Portland instead. But she’ll probably be going to that wedding with her boyfriend Steven, whose older brother is a friend of Amelia.