I know they trust me. Trust that I’ll make good decisions. Adulting like adults do. But I wish they wouldn’t just assume I’m okay and put in the effort to ensure I am. There’s a big difference; sometimes, all we need to know is that someone out there thinks about our well-being. That someone misses us completely because life would be different if we weren’t a part of theirs.
I want someone to adore me like that. I want a relationship with people who genuinely can’t breathe without me around, and they are a mess if the words between us go unspoken.
Peering at myself in the mirror, I notice the whites of my eyes are bloodshot, the hair near my forehead sprouting out in every direction like unruly, overgrown weeds.
Turning the knob, water pours out of the faucet, and I wet my hands, running them over my face, below my eyes, and up through my hair to slick the bun back to look a little more put together than I feel.
The cool water temperature takes down my body heat a notch and feels refreshing. My tank top has slipped up a little, higher than usual, to expose more of my tan stomach. Thank you, Arizona sun. I’m glad I could soak it up while I had the chance. I still need a ride home, and looking sexy might help. Not that asking strangers for a ride is the best idea, but I need to get home somehow unless I want to sleep in the back seat of my truck, which wouldn’t be the first time.
A remix of “All Around the World” by R3HAB grows louder as I go back to the bar and situate myself on the stool. Ten or so sweaty bodies move and grind on the dance floor, my eyesfollowing their movements. Watching them from the stool raises my temperature as if their body heat radiates from them in heavy waves and soaks into my clammy skin.
Most of them appear to be around my age or a little younger, while everyone on the perimeter chatting and drinking is of various ages. Since there wasn’t a bouncer to get in, I’m guessing Crocks is a go-to and unmonitored place for younger folks wanting to let loose and throw a couple of drinks back.
My ruby red margarita awaits me when I rotate my stool to face the bar. My mouth waters, the tumbler with a cinnamon sugar rim and apple slice, validating my decision to have one more drink.
The bartender nods to someone behind me nonchalantly. Sneaking a peek over my shoulder, I see dancing individuals, their bodies illuminated in the dark by the green and pink flashing lights. Everything beyond that is black and blurred.
Someone must have waved at him for another round.
My attention finds the bartender again, and I smile. “This looks so good. Thanks for the drink.”
He grins and leans over the bar, holding my eyes. “You don’t have to be so polite here. Most tourists just slap a tip down and get on their way.”
“I’m afraid going on my merry way isn’t an option since I’m here for good.” For a while, anyway.
He raises a brow, and I lift the straw to my mouth, taking a long sip of the apple margarita.
Oh my gosh, that’s so good.
The tartness from the lime and sweetness from the apple perfectly combine to create an explosion on my taste buds. I suck some more down and drift my finger over the rim. Lifting it to my mouth, I lick off some cinnamon sugar. He grips the edge of the counter in his fists while he tracks my movements.
“And I also need to make some friends since I’m not getting on my way and out of Cedar Creek anytime soon.” I give him a single wave. “So, I’m Taryn.”
He stares at me, I think. His attention seems to be barely slipping past me to something else. “Xavier.”
I pick up the glass and tip it toward him. “Thanks for the drink, Xavier.”
He bites back his grin. His lips hold my attention as my brain gets a little fuzzier, like one of those old televisions when it starts to lose connection. Or like radio static clashing with a really good song.
“With a name and face like that, you’re bound to get into some trouble around here.” Registering his words takes a second longer, and I set my glass down.
Propping my elbow on the counter, I hold my weighted head up. When I give him my attention again, it feels like several minutes have passed. Great, I’m reaching that drunk state where I’m blacking in and out.
“Thanks for the compliment.” Or at least, I think it was one. I honestly can’t remember what he said.
I straighten back up, hoping the shift in my posture will feed a little energy and control back into my body. Xavier’s voice is saying something, but it sounds like an unintelligible noise drifting to my ears underwater. My breathing starts to slow, but my heart beats faster, the flashing lights spurring my dizzy state.
I think I’m going to be sick.
Peeling my sticky thighs off the seat from the sheen of sweat coating my skin, I move to stand, but I wobble. Stumbling, I force myself to regain my balance.
Air. Yeah, I need some fresh air.
I hurry toward the door leading to the hallway of stairs that goes back up to the main level of Crocks. The music blares in my ears. The bar to my left and the dance floor to my right begintilting the moment I burst through the door to the stairwell. I place my foot on the first step, pausing because I don’t even think I have the energy and capability to crawl up all of them right now.
Alarm bells are banging around in my head.
Something is wrong. Think, Taryn. Think.
