I nod and swallow hard as he backs out of the driveway and heads toward town. “How did you remember that?”
He strums his fingers on the steering wheel and chuckles. “How could I forget your obsessive need for lip gloss? Pretty sure my jeans in high school had a permanent imprint from carrying it around for you every day for years.”
I welcome the silence, unsure how to respond after that confession. Does he become the boy I used to know when he’s back in town limits? Will the magic wear off when he leaves? I lean my head back, contemplating what this might mean. Reminding myself that trying to predict Jake’s behavior is the definition of insanity.
When he pulls into the parking lot of the local dive bar, I’m surprised by his location choice. This isn’t a place where we’vebeen together, and he seemed focused on reliving memories with me.
I try to avoid this place at all costs when I’m in town. The low lights, pool tables, sticky counters from one too many spilled drinks, and the musty beer smell that permeates your clothes after a few minutes just isn’t my scene. I’m more of a wine bar girlie.
When we walk inside, it doesn’t take long to see that not much has changed since the last time I was here. People I’ve seen around town are laughing and throwing back drinks at almost all of the four-top tables. There’s a faint clacking of pool balls coming from the back of the room, while the TVs play highlights from last football season. Heads glance in our direction, followed by a series of whispers I can’t quite make out. Jake nods at the bartender and gives the room a brief wave before heading back to lay claim to an empty pool table and bar top.
Within minutes, two beers appear out of nowhere. Is there some secret guy language where a simple nod conveys a drink order?
“Take a deep breath, Kate. I know this place isn’t your vibe, but that’s why we’re here. You need to loosen up. Stale pretzels, cheap beer, and a few games of pool should do that,” he says, leaning against the high top with a beer in hand as he glances across the room. “We’re going to have fun. Trust me. Have I let you down yet?”
Without thinking, my face instantly reacts to his words; my eyes widen, and my eyebrows arch. It comes as quickly as it goes, but he doesn’t miss it. His smile turns into a slight frown, with sadness behind his eyes as he looks away from me. He finishes off his beer in one gulp, stands, and starts racking the pool balls.
Fuck. Why can’t I control my damn face?
I should’ve said something to ease the tension. Acknowledge that he hurt me in the past and how he’s been different the past few weeks. Tell him how much I appreciate what he’s doing. How nice it feels to have him in my life again. Share how much I want our friendship back for good. But I’m a chickenshit and say nothing, letting the sounds of the crowded bar diffuse the awkwardness between us.
Jake breaks and knocks two balls into the pockets. My pool skills rank slightly above my atrocious putt-putt skills, meaning this game is about to be entertaining as hell for him and anyone else watching. We spend the next twenty minutes playing pool before I notice numerous women gawking at Jake.
I lean down to take another shot. “Don’t look now, but you have a bevy of admirers. Just like high school and college all over again,” I whisper with a smile, watching the ball finally go into the pocket. He’s been winning. Time for a little redemption. “What’s the game plan?”
He tips back his beer, holding his cue in one hand with a perplexed look in his eyes as I knock the cue ball into the pocket and scratch. “Huh? What game plan? I plan on kicking your ass all night.” Without waiting for my response, he leans across the table and knocks in another ball.
“You haven’t noticed? Every single woman is eye fucking you. Present company excluded.” I stare at him. He’s behaving like he hasn’t seen the multiple women checking him out. I’m pretty sure a couple of them were trying to discreetly take photos of his ass earlier.
“Hadn’t noticed,” he replies smoothly, hitting another ball into the corner pocket.
He’s screwing with me. There’s no way he hasn’t noticed. It used to be this way in high school. He’d pretend he didn’t know that every girl was fawning over him. Or how they’d follow him around the building, going out of their way to watch him walkto class with me. Nothing has changed. Holy shit. Some of the married women in town are checking him out. Do they have no shame?
“Bullshit. You know exactly how many eyes are on you. Like I said… What’s the game plan? Do you want me to quietly disappear out the back? Or should I play wing-woman? I’m a bit rusty at that one, but I’m sure it’s like riding a bike. Dealer’s choice.”
“Not interested.”
“What do you mean you’re not interested? Are you feeling sick?” I must be in the Twilight Zone because I’ve never seen Jake turn down a chance to flirt. And Judy’s stories about his dating life gave me the impression that not much has changed. He continues to love them and leave them.
“No, I’m not sick. Why would you think that? We’re hanging out. I’m not interested in picking up some random girl.” He looks at me with one hand on his hip and the other holding his pool cue. His stare burns through me, almost like I’ve offended him. “They can gawk all they want. I’m spending time with my best friend and going home alone.”
Controlling my facial expressions is out of the question now. Deep creases are forming in my forehead, and my brows are scrunched up so high they’re probably hitting my hairline. His answer is not what I expected. It’s an actual adult response. Did he grow up in the past few weeks? Or is he hiding something?
That’s probably it. It’s the only explanation. My mind replays every conversation we’ve had since he’s been home, looking for clues about what’s going on with him.
“Can you stop dissecting everything I’ve said to you in the last few weeks? This isn’t a mystery for you to solve. I’m not interested in casually fucking anyone. It’s that simple.” He shakes his head and wanders over to the other side of the tableto check the angle of his next shot. “Let’s get back to me kicking your ass at pool.”
twenty
The incessant dingingof my alarm clock jolts me out of bed, bright and early at 7 a.m. What was I thinking when I set it that early last night? Functioning on five hours of sleep does not work for me. After rubbing my temples, I wince at the pain shooting through my head, clamping the sides of my skull in a vise, refusing to let go. This is what I get for staying out so late and drinking too much.
Thirty-four is too old to be hungover. I need seven-to-eight hours of sleep, an eye mask, a weighted blanket, and the room temperature set at sixty-eight degrees to achieve my best REM sleep. Absolutely none of those happened last night.
I drape my arm over my eyes, blocking out the sunlight poking through the sheer curtains, seriously regretting last night’s choices. Jake is probably feeling fine this morning, considering he switched to water early in the evening and encouraged me to let loose.
Definitely shouldn’t have listened to him. Responsible Kate would have limited herself to one beer. Been in bed before midnight. That version of myself might be boring, but at least she doesn’t wake up feeling horrific.
Need to get out of bed. Drink some water. Take medicine. Wash the smell of stale beer off me.
