Donn’s isn’t necessarily intimidating. It’s more of a local’s spot than a tourist location, and though it’s two stories with a large bar, dance floor, and loud live music, the people who frequent it are generally on the calmer side. Not that I know from experience—this is just what I hear. But it doesn’t make sense why she’d want to go there. Lia is anythingbutcalm.
“Yes, girl. For the bartenders,” she explains. “Didn’t you notice they only hire hot-as-fuck guys?”Of course I hadn’t.“I have a theory that you have to have a big dick to work there, and that’s why they named it The Big D. They probably measure it against a vodka bottle or something to make sure you’re up to par.”
I laugh as she gestures with her hands. “But you know it’s not namedThe Big D,” I clarify. “It’s just called Donn’s, and there’s an uppercase ‘D’ on the logo.”
Lia rolls her eyes. “It’s clearly a metaphor, Alana. Jeez,” she deadpans, and I laugh again. “Anyway, I plan on getting to the bottom of this theory of mine, even if it takes me all senior year. And it’s already October, which means I’ve lost a month!”
“Got it. We’re on a voyage.”
“An odyssey!” She agrees with her fist to the sky, and we laugh our way into the bar thirty seconds later.
We split at the entrance. I go to find a table, and she grabs us drinks.
The space is much more crowded than I expect. I figured with multiple levels, there’d be more than enough room to move around, but it takes me several minutes to find an available seat through the sea of people. When I finally land on a red leathered stool at a fold-up wall table, I can’t see the bar at all.
Luckily, I happen to be in view of the band and sing along to Sam Hunt’s “Downtown’s Dead”before Lia spots me with our drinks.
“Lemon drops to say goodbye to summer, and vodka sodas because they hurt less. Plus—less calories.”
“Oh, shut up. You’re perfect,” I yell over the band. If there’s anyone who can ignore calorie count, it’s Lia.
“We’reperfect, lady, and let us never forget it!”
We pound back the shots and suck down our drinks, singing and laughing as the buzz flows over us.
We dance to a few songs, arms swaying in the air as our bodies move to the beat. Eventually, we move bar side, and Lia sinks her hooks into a bartender named Craig, who is honestly model-level gorgeous. I mean, he’s at least six-two with floppy blond hair that dangles over his sapphire blue eyes. His smolder alone has Lia’s tan cheeks flushing.
Her bracelets dangle together, clanging like a tambourine every time she reaches up to press against his chest. I admire her boldness. Even if I could set out on such a plan, I’d never be able to go through with it. Lia is the type that sees what she wants and takes it. I’m the type to never get what I want, no matter how bad I want it. Usually because it doesn’t want me back, and if it does, it’s for the wrong reasons.
Not that I have time for such things, anyway.
Boys. Bars. Fun.
You shouldn’t even be here, Alana.
My shoulders sag, and suddenly, a dark cloud creeps over me. I let out a deep breath and try to shake it off. My eyes scan the room of the laughing faces without a care in the world and nausea rolls in my belly.
I need a break.
I grab my free beer—thanks to Hot Bartender Craig—and hop off my barstool.
“Bathroom,” I mouth to Lia who gives me a quick nod before her eyes are back on the sapphire seas above her.
I follow the illuminated signs that indicate the direction of the restroom, making my way through the crowd and to the back of the bar.
Just as I’m about to lean into the wooden door labeledMam’s, I spot an exit door that looks like it leads to a back alley. The thought of fresh air and silence becomes an undeniable need, and I push out into the night.
The steel door slams shut behind me, silencing the chaos. I close my eyes and take in a big alleviating breath, filling my lungs with the moon and the stars. I exhale slowly as I remind myself that this is my moment. This is my freedom. Nothing else matters, except for today.
“You know, you’re not supposed to be out here,” a deep voice warns from behind me. My heart stills in my chest, and the hairs on my neck stand.
I spin toward the voice, startled, only to be oddly calmed once I see it’s Jake.
He’s sitting on the edge of a milk crate, leaning forward just enough for his long dark hair to fall out of its slick back. His dark jeans are worn at the knees, covering just enough of his scuffedblack boots. His white shirt is stretched thin over his broad chest and wide arms. With one hand perched on his knee, he almost looks like a cowboy, minus the hat and straw in his mouth. A sexy cowboy. One that’s seemingly glorified in the dim yellow light of the alley.
I shrug. “Well, you’re out here.”
“Yeah, but this is where I work.” His voice is flat, but his lips tilt upward at one corner.
