I handed the waitress my empty plate and ordered another whiskey sour. I kept checking my phone as though Flynn would magically develop less of an aversion to texting and message me. But there was nothing but radio silence.
I tried not to obsess about Flynn and how he was feeling. The whole point of this trip was I needed distance. I needed to sort through this gnawing doubt that refused to go away. Doubt that seemed compounded the longer I lived in Wellston.
But why was it that now I was here, in freaking New York City, I couldn’t think of anything but what I had left behind?
“I never get to eat like this. My friends from work all seem to be dieting or consume nothing but salad,” Nadine laughed, rolling her eyes.
“Salads are for pussies,” I muttered, finishing my whiskey sour.
“And rabbits,” Nadine agreed. “You want to hang out longer or head back—oh hello,”
The guys who had been making it their mission to watch us all evening had finally grown some balls and decided now was their time to approach. Nadine’s eyes went gooey as she took in the classic good looks of the guy who stood behind her.
“Care if we join you?” the guy asked, sitting down without an invitation. His friend, who was just as good looking joined him, sitting a little too close to me for my tastes. I had certain requirements when it came to personal space. Not being able to smell his beer breath being one of them.
“I’m Jim,” one of the guys said to Nadine who was putting on her flirt face.
“I’m Nadine and this is my friend Ellie. She’s up for the weekend visiting,” she said, batting her eyelashes in a way I thought was reserved for really bad chick movies.
The guy with no respect for my body bubble leaned in close. “Hi Ellie, I’m Quinn.”
“Quinn? Who the hell names their kid Quinn?” I asked, forgetting to censor myself.
The guy laughed, clearly not insulted in the slightest. “It’s a family name, I didn’t choose it.”
He was flirting with me. He was looking at me like I was a thick, juicy steak and he hadn’t eaten in a year.
I turned back to my whiskey sour, feeling very awkward.
“You girls want to play some pool?” Jim asked, his eyes never leaving Nadine, who obviously returned his blatant lusting.
“Sure,” she said, letting him help her to her feet like she was some sort of seventeenth century damsel.
“You down for some pool?” Quinn asked, his words laced with insinuation. It wasn’t just pool he was asking whether I was down for.
I gave him a less than sweet smile. “Sure,” I said, knowing that he thought he had a chance of getting in my pants. He didn’t realize he was about to get hustled.
Nadine and Jim headed towards the pool tables at the back of the bar. I followed with Quinn’s eyes zeroed in on my tits.
“So you’re not from New York?” Quinn asked.
“Nope,” I answered, grabbing a cue stick from the wall and chalking the tip.
“Where are you from?” he asked, sliding in close to me. This guy was relentless.
I looked over at Nadine engaged in a frantic sort of mating ritual with good ol’ Jim. They were flirting and making banal chitchat that only served to get them laid at the end of the night.
Quinn was trying to be smooth; making it known he was attracted to me. His visible appreciation of my body more than noticeable.
This is what people do. They flirt. They talk about meaningless shit. They fuck. Then nine times out of ten they don’t bother to see each other ever again.
I had had my fair share of random hook ups. This song and dance was familiar.
And I hated it.
Why in the hell had I settled for this for so damn long?
I had a man over three hundred miles away that never flirted. He never attempted ridiculous small talk to fill the silence. He didn’t pepper me with compliments hoping to score.
