‘So.’ She grins hopefully. ‘Can we?’
Two hours later, Jordan wears a CJ Bradley New Haven Woodchucks jersey over her tight white tank top, shades of blue brighter than her faded Kimes jeans. She stands on a chair on the stage at the back of the bar, swathes of adoring patrons all crowded around, her Vans just hanging onto the corner of the wood seat, and absolutely belts her way through a highly off-key rendition of George Strait’s ‘Here for a Good Time’.
‘Oh my God,’ says Benny from beside me.
It’s appropriate. On the bar counter are exactly two emptied margarita glasses and a couple of depleted shot glasses to boot.
We swept the trivia, for what it’s worth. The questions were surface-level knowledge. It was never a contest. Then a certain member of our group decided that the buy-one get-one shots we were also awarded with for the rest of the night were worth capitalizing on. Even with the BOGO bit, neither of us could have predicted this occurrence.
‘Rock paper scissors,’ I propose. ‘Loser has to pull her off that stage.’
‘Buddy.’ The tone in Benny’s voice has changed decisively. I’m not sure I like it. I especially want to curl up into a ball andhide under a rock when he shoots me a knowing smile. ‘You’re looking at her like you want to lose this rock paper scissors duel.’
Great. Cover’s blown. I immediately move to salvage the situation, my pulse pounding in my ears. ‘Shut up. I’ll peek a second early if it means I get to make sure you lose.’
Some extremely protective instinct is totally not threatening to take over right now when I watch other drunk men cheering as Jordan reaches the chorus. I’m totally not going green-eyed as I realize she’s wearing Colt’s jersey, Colt’s name, and not mine.
What the hell?
‘Will you?’ asks Benny dubiously. He’s probably just tickled pink by my poor poker face. His no-good smile tells me my prediction is correct.
It takes a couple of moments of thought. A few unpleasant images of this Jordan Trainwreck leading to dead-in-an-alley-type shit. The usual hyperactive imagination.
‘Fuck it,’ I mumble through gritted teeth.
As the song comes to an end, and Jordan, wide-eyed, gapes at the ground beneath her, I shove my way through the crowd, which is humid and pungent, thick with the scent of warm beer, and march up the stairs to the stage. The bottoms of my sneakers practically stick to the nasty surface.
Her terrified face breaks into a woozy grin. ‘Oh, hiiii, Roddy!’
‘Hey, J-Dog.’ I hold out my hands. ‘Let’s get you down from here.’
She takes them, but leans a little too far forward on her way down from the chair. If I hadn’t been a weirdly strong-legged lacrosse player, things might have gone differently, because once both her feet are on the ground, she slumps against my bodywith a very drunk giggle, and I hold her up with a grunt. With a great deal of effort, we get down the stairs, Jordan’s arms wrapped around me and her eyes, I shit you not, literally have stars floating around in them. Her black hair is mussed, frizzy bits more wavy than usual sticking out the sides, and her mascara has smudged to an impressive degree.
‘You’re so nice,’ she hums, tucking her chin in the crook of my neck.
I lock eyes with Benny, who just beams at me like,I told you so!‘Time to go home,’ he says definitively.
‘Do you wanna go home?’ I gently ask Jordan, reaching across to the bar to grab the cold glass of water Marley’s already made me. I give him a relieved smile of thanks. ‘How about we go home, huh?’
‘That sounds good.’ She presses her hands to my cheeks before looking me dead in the eyes with her unfocused ones. I try to ignore the shock that the touch sends through my entire body. ‘Did you … did you like my song?’
‘I thought it wasstunning,’ I reply right away, and she lights up instantly. I hold the water to her lips. She takes a big sip, buoyed by our approval of her highly unexpected performance. Me to her left, Benny to her right, we make our way out into the parking lot, beneath a totally dark sky dotted with the kind of glowing stars you can only see in the country. A truck rumbles in the distance, and the bass from the bar thuds in the asphalt beneath our feet. Benny cocks his head towards his car with a mouthed ‘good night’ that I return.
As he heads for his sedan, I guide Jordan to my minivan in the dull green light of the neon Little Pint sign that buzzes just slightly in the quiet. I know from one unfortunate night ofexperience that Marley won’t mind if we leave Jordan’s car in the lot for the night, so we can come pick her Civic up, parked beside me, tomorrow.
I open the passenger door and help her inside, all laughter and hands and kicking feet, which I eventually get the seat belt across. I take the driver’s seat and start the car.
‘I haven’t played that game inyears,’ she chortles, turning the knob for the volume up on my car so that Gregory Alan Isakov’s voice sings just a little bit louder. I’m pretty astonished she’s able to find it, considering her vision must be swimming at the moment.
‘Which one? The trivia or the karaoke?’
‘Either.’ She tilts her head to look my way. My eyes are still on the road, but I see her out of my peripheral. It might just be the alcohol, but she’s smiling so giddily, the kind of smile I’ve never seen her wear. The kind of smile that I find myself walking around with when I’ve been unconsciously thinking about the way she extorts ice pops from parents or drives a bargain to get me to climb off a horse. ‘Tonight was fun.’
I could make some witty quip about how tomorrow morning definitely won’t be. That’s not where my head’s at in the moment. It’s with her. With all these different sides to her, which get more and more complex the more time we spend together.
‘It was,’ I reply. And maybe I let that same dopey smile slide. She probably won’t remember it. It doesn’t really even fall from my face as we make the rest of the drive with nothing but the radio between us, bobbing our heads in unison.
‘You give me hope, Romeo.’
