While I got my refill, I scanned the packed cocktail lounge. It was bougie without the snob and hip enough to bring in the college kids. The seating was slim, with only a handful of booths and tables against the banister of a set of basement stairs, where servers jogged up and down to snag supplies.
I’d been here an hour and almost everyone was either drunk or damn near to it. God, I hated Old City. No fancy-ass restaurant with a “cool” DJ and overpriced drinks could clear away what goes on in the alley nearby or the dark corners of the parking lot a block away.
All I had to do was say hi to Chance, Duncan, and Destiny, and then I could get the fuck outta here.
As if he could read my mind, Duncan squeezed between a new set of customers for the bartender to flirt with and said, “Hey, I’ve been looking for you.”
“I told you where I was at, and I ain’t moved,” I said, tapping my foot along to the song playing and keeping my eye on the crowd for Destiny. With Duncan here, Chance wasn’t far away. Destiny, on the other hand, would be a scavenger hunt.
I had half a mind to just leave without saying anything to her, but I knew she’d come for my ass the next time she saw me.
“So, what do you think?” Duncan asked, bringing my attention back to him.
That I could be at home in bed right now instead of my ears bleeding.
“About the party or your fit?”
Duncan rested an elbow against the counter and gave a lazy shrug. “Either.”
I eyed Duncan’s dress shirt and jeans. I’d known Duncan for years and had never seen him come anywhere close to dressing up.
“Well, it’s certainly not boring.” I pinched the fabric of Duncan’s shirt. “I can’t believe Chance made you wear this.”
Duncan barked a laugh. “You’re giving him way too much credit. Destiny would kick my ass if I showed up with my usual look. Consider yourself lucky that you’ll get away with what you got on.”
“I thought I looked good.”
I glanced at my new white T-shirt, jeans, and Converses. I’d gone to the mall yesterday in a panic, worried that I would show up to this thing looking like some kind of trash goblin.
Duncan pointed at my head and said, “You do, but more casual than she lets me be. Actually, she’ll be in shock that you went back to your natural blond.”
I ran my fingers through my newly cut hair, the strands still soft from all the ridiculous product the hair stylist put in it. “Yeah, the days of me doin’ my own dye jobs are over, my guy. After my panic attack at how much I spent at the mall on all of this”—I stretched my arms out to the sides, waving a hand over my front—“I figured, fuck it, go big or go home.”
Duncan’s teasing smile fell a little. Internally I kicked myself in the ass at the joke and quickly changed the subject. “But really, Destiny loves me, and she loves making your life hell even more by making you dress up.”
It didn’t go unnoticed, but Duncan thankfully let it slide. I scratched at the scars of my once-abused veins in the ditch of my elbow—a tic I’d picked up when in my early days of recovery. I’d developed a list of them over the years, but this one refused to leave.
“Duncan!” Destiny said, her voice magically booming over the DJ. I didn’t know how that woman could do it, but it was badass, even if my ears weren’t very happy about it.
“Well, speak of the devil,” Duncan said under his breath.
I snorted a laugh, accepting a hug from Destiny.
“Ah, I’m glad you came,” she said, pulling back, and giving me a once-over. “Damn, boy, you clean up nice.”
Against Destiny, with her long dark hair, perfect makeup, and black cocktail dress, I looked busted. But her smile was sincere, and it made my face heat a little. “Thanks.”
Destiny turned to Duncan and pointed over his shoulder to the group she’d skipped away from. “I came to grab you because your husband needs his emotional support human.” She glanced at me over her shoulder and tilted her head to the other side of the room. “C’mon.”
Sensing that I was about to go into the worst social hellscape, I lifted the cup and said, “I’ma finish this and I’ll find you.”
Destiny looked like she was about to push, but Duncan nudged her in the side and gave a small shake of his head. She pointed at me and said something I couldn’t hear over the music as they disappeared into the crowd, and I turned toward the bar and found the line was a mess of bodies. People were giving toasts to shots, passing back drinks to their friends, laughing, and dancing.
And here I was, standing on the other side of it all, with my sad Diet Coke, sweating my ass off from all the body heat and desperately trying to figure out an exit plan.
From the moment I woke up to the time I went to bed every day, I tried to come up with a plan to separate myself from my recovery. I still couldn’t figure out a way to do it. I’d been clean for half a decade, but I still felt like I didn’t fit in anywhere.
Being here was a prime example.
I set my cup down on the bar and pushed my way through the crowd, my shoulders clumsily bumping other people, elbows pushing into backs. My lungs hurt for air, and my scalp was on fire.
Stepping through the curtain to the restaurant instantly cut the party’s volume in half. The restaurant had several people in it, but the conversation was softer, trading the rumble of pop music for something melodic. A bored bartender stood against the counter, bobbing her head to the DJ’s music.
After I yanked out a bar chair and sat down, the bartender quickly put her phone away and rushed to me, grabbing a bottle of water and the drinks menu, her nose wrinkled in apology.
“You’re the first person I’ve had tonight,” she said, opening the drinks menu to me and filling a fancy glass with water.
I gulped down the water, the chill of it shocking the tension out of my shoulders. “Trust me, you got the good side. I don’t know what all’s in those drinks, but it’s making people goofy as hell over there.”
The woman laughed, wiping her hands over her apron. “Thanks for the heads up. Is there anything on the menu that you’d like to know more about?”
I lifted the glass. “This is perfect.”
The woman did the usual line about giving her name and to call her over if I needed her, but it wouldn’t happen. I pulled out my phone and checked the time, trying to figure out when would be a good time to leave. I didn’t want to pull an Irish goodbye on Duncan, but I also didn’t want to try to find him in the mosh pit.
When the DJ shifted his set to a party song, the crowd erupted into a wild-ass yell. I looked at the bartender and shook my head. “See what I mean? Goofy.”
In silent agreement, the bartender nodded and returned to her phone. I began typing out a text to Duncan with a bland excuse of exhaustion sending me home, where I’d heat up one of the weekly meals he made me, then sit and watch some boring YouTube videos until I needed to go to bed.
I was on my third draft of a text when I heard a deep voice ask, “Hey, is this side open?”
I exhaled a long sigh. Great, now a bunch of fools were gonna come over here and make a whole other drunk scene. Fuck it, Duncan would get a text when I got home.
“Yup, it’s open,” the bartender said in a tone that was far too sweet to be strictly professional.
Confused, I looked over my shoulder and saw a man heading to the bar. His choppy, chin-length raven hair was flipped to one side, revealing a newly done undercut. He was dressed entirely in black—a tight tank top that showed off a full sleeve of tattoos, skintight black jeans, and combat boots.
He certainly didn’t fit in with the rest of the crowd’s cocktail dresses and button-downs, but a guy like this was far more up my alley than any of the other bros on the other side.
Ice-blue eyes lined with black liner found me, and the man pointed at the chair next to me. “Is this taken?”
My foot skid off the footrest. Well, damn, he was even hotter up close.
I shook my head. “All yours, man.”
The guy slid into the chair, resting his ankle on top of his other leg, rubbing his calf while the bartender poured him water and gave him a menu. He looked it over, his finger resting on the nonalcoholic area and asked, “I can’t pronounce it, but could I get this?”
As the bartender made his drink, I studied the guy’s profile, from the silver hoop in his right nostril all the way to his bottom lip caught between his teeth while he groaned.
