Bunches Page 4

  I glance at her, giving her an “it’s your turn now” look. She flushes and I can’t help but think how adorable it is.

  She leans forward, pressing her lips together and averting her eyes. I almost laugh. If it were any other girl I’d be giving her lots of shit. But not this one.

  She sticks out her hand. Her fingers are glued together like she’s trying to fit them through bars. I still wait, resting my hands on the bar.

  “I’m Nora,” she yells.

  “What?” I say, smiling slightly. I just want to hear her voice again.

  Her nose wrinkles and she closes her eyes briefly. “Nora,” she tries again.

  Grinning now, I reach my hand out. She stares at it and I raise my eyebrows. “Isn’t this what people do?”

  She gulps and reaches for my hand. She pulls away almost immediately and I feel the loss of her touch.

  “JJ,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”

  I have plenty to do, but as the night wears on I keep a close eye on them. Once I’m gone to the other end of the bar, Nora immediately relaxes. I can see it from halfway across the room. Her shoulders come down and she smiles more easily.

  She’s chatting with Lizzy and Aimee, totally ignoring everything happening around her. I see guys checking her out, a couple try to catch her eye, but she doesn’t even notice. I bristle protectively every time.

  She’s wrapped up in her friends’ conversation. I see pulls of sadness, but there are also happy sparks. She laughs completely unaffectedly, throwing her head back and opening her mouth.

  She reaches both hands out to the bar and holds on to keep her balance. Her eyes are bright, even in the dim lighting. She’s even turned halfway around in her chair to hear her friends better.

  Even when she’s relaxed, she holds herself like she’s bracing for pain. It’s the kind of hurt where the person knows how hard she’s fallen and doesn’t want to fall even more. It’s safe there in the known and the silence.

  I’m paying so much attention to Nora that I nearly collide with Lila.

  “Watch it, dude,” she says, laughing and giving me a playful shove.

  “Oh, girlfriend alert,” she says, looking past me.

  That means Jessie’s here, unannounced and unplanned. The two years I’ve been with Jessie have been great, but she usually doesn’t come to the bar. We met two years ago at a friend’s party, at a point when I hadn’t had a girlfriend in a long time and my friends were starting to think there was something wrong with me. She was interested and nice, so there it was. I didn’t feel any of the feelings I knew I was supposed to feel, but she was happy (I could give her that much) and my friends were relieved to see that I was capable of a real relationship. The fact that I was terrified of hurting her, of being my father all over again, was something I had to push to the side.

  I’m not my father. I won’t be my father, and if I keep my distance I will never hurt Jessie or any woman the way my mom was hurt by him.

  I turn around and see Jessie standing there by herself. She has long brown hair and bright blue eyes and she looks hot in the white shirt and short skirt she’s wearing. I give her a quick wave and deliver the two drinks I’ve just made, then go and greet her. Somehow, I’m not as happy to see her as I usually am.

  “Hey,” she says, standing up on her tiptoes and giving me a kiss. I kiss her back, more conscious than I want to be that Nora is sitting at the bar.

  She puts her hand on my chest and my heart rate doesn’t speed up.

  “How’s it going?” she says, smiling up at me. She’s petite and attractive in that girl next door sort of way. She turns her fair share of guys’ heads, too, but that’s not what got me. I didn’t even notice her. She had to make the first move. Now that I think about it, that might have been a bad sign.

  “Good,” I say, shrugging. “Long day.”

  She nods sympathetically. She works a regular nine to five, so we don’t see as much of each other as a lot of couples who have been together for two years, which is just fine with me. If we spent too much time together she’d be at risk with me, and that’s just not a chance I’m willing to take.

  “How was your day?” I ask her. I glance at Lila. I know I’m putting a strain on her when I’m standing here talking to Jessie for so long. But I figure Jessie wants something, or she wouldn’t be here.

  “Good,” Jessie says. “My dad called. He wants us to come for a weekend.”

  Yes, she does.

  I avoid seeing her parents, mostly because they’re good people, too good. I don’t have the same sort of parents. Her parents are well respected and well connected pillars of the community. Jessie understands that as much as she ever will, but it’s still hard for me to be around her mom and dad, who clearly love each other so well.

  “I don’t know if I can leave the bar for the whole weekend,” I say. It’s my most common excuse. Her defenses are instantly raised; I can almost see her hackles rising. She’s sick of my excuses.

  “Come on,” she complains. She sticks her lower lip out. “It’s the start of summer and we never go away together.”

  “Because I run a bar,” I tell her. It’s the same argument over and over again. I know it’s how couples break up and I don’t want to break up with Jessie, because my friends would be left to wonder again.

  “You need to get your head out of your ass and your priorities straight,” she says. Then she turns around and stalks out.

  I watch her leave, noticing the swish of her lips and her hair. I shake my head. I’m just not a good guy.

  I go back to Nora and ask how her and her friends’ drinks are.

  She nods, but she doesn’t say anything.

  “You don’t know how your drink is? Have you not tried it again?” I’m teasing her and I see her eyes spark a little with amusement.

  “It’s good,” she says. “I tried it this time.”

  “Good,” I say. “My feelings would be hurt otherwise.”

  “You have feelings?” she asks.

  I raise my eyebrows. So she does tease back.

  “Deep down,” I say, tapping my chest, “but really I’m very vain. I want you to like me.”

  “I like you bunches,” she says, then her face goes beet red. I manage to turn around just in time so that she doesn’t see me laughing, as warmth spreads throughout my body.

  I want to talk to her all night, to see what else she’d give me shit about behind that shy exterior, but I have to work. Reluctantly I walk away, but I look over my shoulder as I go.

  Chapter Seven - Nora

  Heat, like a million tiny pinpricks, slams through my body. JJ just got kissed by a beautiful girl. She must be his girlfriend. She put her hand on his chest possessively, as if she owns him, then she talked to him and fluttered her eyes as if she wanted him to do something. She’s petite, with luscious hair and a huge chest. Much more attractive than I’d ever be. Of course a bartender has a hot girlfriend. I feel my whole world constricting.

  I will never admit it to Lizzy, but I have been entertaining thoughts of the bartender since last weekend. They’ve been very chaste thoughts, and I’ve always ruined them by thinking about what I did to Michael and how he would be alive if I weren’t a horrible girlfriend and person. But for a few brief moments, when I’ve been thinking about JJ, all those notions have fallen away. For the first time in five years I let myself think that maybe I’ve punished myself enough, and I deserve a little happiness after all, just like other people, especially a happiness I didn’t think I’d ever feel again. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that the sight of another man would set me on fire in all the right places and for all the right reasons.

  I don’t want JJ to think I don’t want him around. Seeing him is a wonderful relief that I can’t begin to describe. But it also makes me nervous. What my body does when it sees him terrifies me, and the way my heart speeds up terrifies me even more.

  “What did you say?” I repeat stupidly. Lizzy is gabbing away, oblivi
ous to what just happened.

  “I said,” she repeats, her words only a little slurred, “I like that girl’s dress.” She’s talking about a girl behind me, one I never even saw.

  Aimee jumps in to agree. “It’s a hot dress,” she says.

  I can’t care less about the dress, but I turn around and look at it anyhow, even though my chest is tight with other concerns.

  There’s a girl wearing a red sequin dress that barely covers her ass. “Yeah,” I say. “You would look good in that.”

  “Thank you, lovely,” says Lizzy, smiling brightly at me.

  “Why do you look like you just got punched in the stomach?” Aimee asks, leaning forward and eyeing me closely.

  I shrug. “Nothing, it’s no big deal.”

  “Is it because JJ has a girlfriend?” she asks.

  So she did see. Damn.

  Lizzy’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead. Her back is to JJ, so she didn’t see what happened. I shake my head.

  “No,” I lie, but of course my friends know.

  Aimee shakes her head.

  “You have to talk to him,” she says. “You just do. So what if he has a girlfriend. He looks at you like you’re his happy place. His palace among the stars.”

  “No,” I say. “And what? Seriously? He has a girlfriend. A really hot girlfriend who is probably nice and saves kittens for a living or something horrible like that.”

  “No one is nicer to cats than you are,” says Lizzy. “It’s my biggest fear in the world.”

  “You have to talk to him,” says Aimee again. “You aren’t going to get anywhere if you don’t.”

  “He doesn’t talk to me,” I protest, before I realize it’s not what I should say. It means I might possibly, conceivably, be interested in a male, and that isn’t possible or conceivable. I’m too screwed up. I’ve had too many problems in my life, and the bottom line is that I just don’t deserve to find love, especially with a gorgeous bartender who has every girl in the place following him with her eyes.

  Now, besides everything else, I know he has a girlfriend too.

  “I’m not talking to a guy with a girlfriend,” I say stubbornly, sitting back on the bar chair and crossing my arms over my chest. Lizzy rolls her eyes. “Why would I want him to get out of a relationship that is probably perfectly healthy to take up with someone as messed up as I am?”

  I wrap my fingers around my rum and coke. Lizzy stares at me.

  “The next time he comes over, you have to say something,” she explains to me as if I’m slow. “And stop saying that guys deserve better than you. There’s no such thing.”

  “Nope,” I say. “I told you. I can’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Yes you CAN,” Lizzy nearly shouts, so that the people sitting to her right give her strange looks.

  “Even if it isn’t the bartender,” says Aimee. “You have to get out there. It’s been five years. I mean, I know I just met you, but I would kill to have what you had, even for a minute, and you had it for four years.”

  My heart aches at the thought.

  “Okay, we barely know each other,” Aimee continues, “but sometimes those are the best people to give you advice, and mine is: go get the bartender.”

  As if by magic, JJ appears, right on cue. Apparently his girlfriend has left.

  “Can I get you another?” he asks, looking at Lizzy, whose beer is almost gone.

  “Yes,” she says, sliding her glass toward him. “Keep ‘em coming. We aren’t going anywhere.” She grins at him.

  He smiles back and nods, takes the glass, and walks away.

  “See?” I say, taking that as confirmation. “It’s too loud in here to talk. He doesn’t want to talk to me. He wants to talk to his girlfriend.”

  “Say girlfriend one more time. . . ” says Lizzy with as much threat as she can muster in her booze-addled state. But she can’t even complete the thought, so she just grins at me.

  “He gave you free drinks,” Aimee says. “He definitely wants to talk to you.”

  I take another big sip of rum and coke. “No, he doesn’t.” A secret little bit of me had thought he might, but that was before I knew he had a girlfriend. Now that I’ve caught a glimpse of her, and also seen that I would never live up to what she looks like - that perfect body, those pert lips - there’s just no point.

  He doesn’t want a mess like me. No one does. I accepted that years ago, and my friends are just being mean by trying to get me to think otherwise.

  I take a deep breath, and then another, but they’re coming harder now.

  I put my hand to my chest. My heart is rocking in my ribcage and shoving out everything else.

  Thud, thud, thud. I can do this. It’s almost better that he has a girlfriend, because I don’t want anything with him anyway. Talking is the first step for me. By the time I get to the dating step I’ll probably be on the fourth guy.

  A little voice inside my heart tells me that’s wrong, because he’s the only guy I’ve seen in months that I’ve felt a spark with, but I ignore my voice of reason. The next time JJ comes around I’m ready, but he beats me to it.

  “How’s that drink?” he says. “Do you actually plan to drink it?” His eyes are bright and there’s a little smile playing across his lips. I can tell he’s being sarcastic.

  If I weren’t so painfully nervous, I might laugh.

  I stare at my rum and coke. I’ve only taken a couple of sips.

  “I’m biding my time,” I say after a pause.

  He grins. “Sure, well, if you need another one, just flag me down.”

  I nod, and he disappears. Lizzy grabs my arm and squeezes in glee. “See, that was good. See how he is with the other girls? He totally ignores them, but you appear, and” - Lizzy snaps her fingers - “he comes right over.”

  I exhale. “That was a sentence,” I say, feeling discouraged. “I’m such a baby. And don’t be ridiculous. He isn’t treating me any differently.”

  But secretly I hope that Lizzy is right.

  Nowhere in the history of flirting does it say that one simple sentence, answering a question, gets any sort of point across to a guy. But, you know, since I can barely manage to speak properly to attractive men, my standards are low.

  Aimee pats my other arm comfortingly. “You did good. It’s not like you have a big scar across your face that tells people that you’re having a hard time. They don’t know. It’s hard to talk to gorgeous at the best of times.”

  “Because the worst scars you can’t see with the naked eye,” says Lizzy sagely.

  “I don’t want him to see my scars,” I protest. “And he doesn’t want to see them either. He has a girlfriend!”

  Lizzy smacks my shoulder. In response to my glare she says, “Well, I told you that if you said ‘girlfriend’ one more time, . . .”

  I mean, I’m not that kind of girl. Obviously. I don’t go after guys at all, let alone guys with girlfriends.

  “Dude, you’re just talking to him,” says Aimee. “He works at a bar. He talks to girls all the time.”

  “I mean, I have a boyfriend and I talk to guys all the time,” says Lizzy, giving me her typical wicked grin.

  I roll my eyes.

  “Yeah, they loll after you like pathetic puppies wondering why you won’t go home with them,” says Aimee, giggling. “Little do they know.”

  Lizzy picks her chin up. “I’m just saying, Nora, you can talk to guys and you can talk to guys with girlfriends. Being happy and making friends, that’s what people do. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

  What people do. I don’t do what people do, because I’m too hurt and too afraid of hurting more, if that’s possible, but I promised Lizzy I’d work on the bucket list (I must have been more drunk at the time than I thought), and that’s never going to happen if I don’t at least talk to someone.

  I know she’s right, and I know I’m being silly, but I can’t help it. Not that it matters, because in another second I’ll have to talk to some guys, because t
hree of them are walking right up to Lizzy and Aimee.

  “Hey,” says the big and burly one. Well, there are a couple of big and burly ones, but this is the one with the close-cropped hair. He looks like a football player, which would make sense. There are several colleges around here that probably have a lot of local guys playing for them.

  “Wow,” says Lizzy, batting her eyelashes. “How do you get muscles like that?”

  The guy grins, obviously pleased by the compliment. He takes her friendliness as an invitation to keep being friendly himself.

  His two friends are both just as big and burly. I shift. I feel nothing for any of them.

  “We have a bet going,” he explains. “How many of you girls want to dance?”

  “Oh, me!” says Aimee, smiling. She loves to dance and is a big fan of clubs. I’ve never been to a club, but thankfully Lizzy didn’t think to put that on the list. All the touching and dancing and expectation would probably slay me.

  The guy that grabs Aimee and spins her over to the tiny place open for dancing has dark hair and shoulders broader than a house. He must also be a football player. She appears delighted. Lizzy waves off the first guy.

  “I’m too tired to dance,” she says, giving him a mock shrug.

  He takes Aimee’s seat while the third guy tries to flag down JJ for another round of drinks.

  JJ comes over in a way that I think might be a little reluctant, but maybe it’s just my imagination. He gives the guy a long look.

  “Another round,” says the guy. He isn’t rude about it, but he’s not really paying attention to JJ either. JJ glances at Lizzy and me. I shrug. “Mine’s full.” I don’t know if this is done or not, but I put my hand over the top of the glass and feel my palm sink down a little. I hold my hand steady and meet his eyes.