“You. This.” Her index finger darts all over the length of my body. “It’s Friday night and you look like you’ve got a pint of ice cream as your date tonight. This is unacceptable.”
I bite my tongue, because there’s totally a pint of ice cream sitting in my freezer, along with booze in the fridge, and Doritos. Ya know? The essentials.
Okay, maybe I am pathetic.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“Get dressed. You haven’t been gone nearly five years to reappear and not be my wing girl. Put on something hot, please. And by please, I mean now.” She turns around to face the living room and stares at my open suitcase. “Still haven’t made it upstairs?”
I shake my head, grumbling as I walk over to it. It’s an industrial-sized suitcase I bought when I spent a month in Europe last year. I didn’t know how long I’d be staying, so I packed as much of my life into it as it would allow, resulting in a hefty overweight luggage fee.
“Where are we going?”
“O’Sullivan’s. So, be hot, but not fancy.”
I roll my eyes. “Do I have to go?”
It’s a locals’bar. I’ve never been there, seeing as I wasn’t old enough to get in the last time I was here, but I know it. Anyone who’s anyone in this town (and under forty) frequents O’Sullivan’s. The older folks do the biker bar thing up the road. O’Sullivan’s is as hip as this town gets, which will be a sight to see, I guess.
“You need a drink as much as I need a drink, just looking at you.”
“Is that supposed to convince me?” Unfortunately, it does. I dig through my suitcase. Drinks were on my agenda anyway, right?
I pull out a jean skirt that I might have packed for this exact potential occasion.
I remember my mother always making fun of me for being overly prepared for everything in life. I sigh, ripping the price tag off the skirt, then grab for a white crocheted top that hangs over my shoulder, and my combat boots. I never said I was conventional, and you’d have to bribe me to ever consider cowboy boots.
I’m dressed in record time and emerge from the bathroom. CeeCee releases a low whistle.
“I knew you could follow directions.”
“So, I look okay?”
She giggles. “I hate to say this, but LA has done you good. Not bad, Hails.”
“We need to work on how you compliment people.”
“Whatever. Let’s go. Everyone’s waiting.”
I’m barely out my front door before I’m back to a stuttering mess. “W-who’s waiting?”
CeeCee grabs for my hand, tugging me along. “Ask what you mean.” When I don’t respond, she continues. “Apparently, Caiden isn’t going to be there, no matter how much Brandon tries to convince him.”
Ouch.
She turns to me. “Oh, Hailey...”
Damn my stupid face. “It’s nothing; it doesn’t matter,” I squeak as I slip into her beat-up Jeep Wrangler.
“The hell, it doesn’t.” She sighs, shifting her car into gear and pulling out onto the road. “Just know it’s not because he doesn’t care. It’s the exact opposite.”
I know this. I’ve overrun my brain with the whys and the what-ifs that involve this elusive person. However, whether I like it or not, what I said before is still true: it doesn’t matter.
“I think you owe me a drink,” I reply.
She gifts me a tight smile and a nod. “Deal.”
When I stroll through the double doors and hear the beats of a popular rock band over the hum of the crowd, I’m already nodding my head in approval. It gives me hope. And when I see my friends hanging around a pool table, I want to find a home among them.
Brandon catches my stare from across the room. He lifts his arm and crooks his finger toward himself, signaling me over.
CeeCee pushes me forward as she says, “It’s good to have you here,” and I want to believe her.
“Baby Bird,” Brandon says as I approach. He taps his chin. “What are you doing wearing such a short skirt?”
“Since when do you care?” I quip despite his brotherly tone.
He grabs for his beer, sipping it before answering. “Uh, since I’m trying not to stare and keep this bro code in line.”
My fist flies out and jabs him in the arm. “Don’t be such a guy—and what bro code?”
“Thou must not covet thy bro’s ex-girlfriend, bro code.”
I laugh and then tense again. The fact that there are conversations involving Caiden and my name is unnerving, and infuriating.
“Where’s my drink?” I ask.
CeeCee reappears with glasses clinking. “On it! I’m the best wing girl ever. Don’t listen to a word Brandon says.”
“Cee, have more faith in me than that,” he replies with a wolfish grin.
She rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smile. “I have no faith in you, but that’s beside the point. When am I beating you at pool?”
“Whatever,” he huffs while a new arm comes around Brandon’s shoulders, connected to a dopey-eyed Cameron.
“Ladies,” Cameron hums, apparently a few drinks in.
I laugh and sip the drink. The booze hits me hard and strong. “What is this?”
“Gin and tonic,” she chirps, sipping her own.
“Where’s the tonic?” I ask, but still take a large slurp, thinking I could use the liquid courage.
She giggles proudly. “Mission: Get Hailey Wasted is a go!”
Without missing a beat, Cameron walks between us. “On it. I’ll get the shots.”
“No, no, it’s totally okay, guys!”
It’s too late. Cameron is gone, and I might have reached the bottom of my drink already. I need to keep some sort of pace here to save my waning dignity.
By the time I’m back to paying attention, I’m catching the tail end of CeeCee berating Brandon, who’s taking the verbal lashing well, both of his hands resting securely on CeeCee’s hips. Interesting.
“You had one job, Brandon. One. And you totally failed.”
He releases her with only one hand, grabbing the glass. “I tried. I told you. He was being a little bitch about it. He’s all pouty and broody, and I can only take so much of that shit.”
She huffs, pushing her empty glass against his chest. “I want another drink. Two limes… please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” And he’s off.
The interaction is baffling and kind of inspiring. I wish I’d brought a pen, but then again, writing in bars would just make me even more lame.
She turns around. “I’m sure he’ll get us both one.” She gives me a double eyebrow raise, but I’m too busy scanning the bar. “Looking for someone?”
“Nope… just scoping the scene. You forget that this is technically my first time here. You may like to think of me as a local, but I’ve been gone a long ti—”
“Shots!” Cameron shouts, placing a full tray on the table next to us.
I release a long sigh, finding the grungy darkness welcoming and the atmosphere far from stressful even though the bar is packed. I almost feel like I could hide among the crowd. As faces shoot glances my way, it occurs to me that I must have gone to school with some of the people here. They’re all around my age.