“How do you know—”
“The manager called me. We’re friends. I pick up shifts every once in a while. But, quit worrying about me and go get her.”
“I’m on my way.”
ShoreThingisnearlyempty when I push through the door. A couple students are scattered along the bar. Two guys are throwing darts in the back. But there’s not a lot going on here in the middle of the day.
And then I see her. Cora is standing by the jukebox.
She’s swaying slightly, one hand holding a drink while the other points dramatically at the machine like she’s conducting something. Her hair is loose and messy around her shoulders, cheeks flushed pink, and there’s a small circle of students sitting around her like they’re watching a show.
One of them lifts their phone. Another laughs. A guy steps closer to her, trying to match the ridiculous little spin she’s doing.
I stop walking. Because Cora doesn’t drink like this. Not that she doesn’t drink, but definitely not in the middle of the day by herself.
She laughs and it fills the emptiness of the bar. When she turns too fast, she has to catch herself against the jukebox to stay upright. The guy beside her takes that as an invitation and reaches for her waist.
No fucking way.
I cross the bar in a few long strides and step between them.
“Hey,” I say.
The guy looks at me. “Relax, man. We’re just dancing.”
I ignore him. My attention is on Cora.
Up close, the signs are obvious. Her eyes are glassy. Her smile is loose and tilted in a way that means she’s way past buzzed.
Her gaze drifts to me slowly. It takes her a second to focus. Then she squints.
“Lane?”
“Yeah.”
She studies my face for a second before a crooked grin spreads across hers. “I always forget how tall you are.” Cora giggles, chewing on the straw from her drink.
Someone behind her snorts. I turn so fast to look at the culprit that the laugh turns into a cough and they do everything besides look at me.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “It’s time to go.”
She tips her head like she’s thinking very hard about that. “I just got here,” she whines, sucking down the rest of her drink and slurping when nothing is left.
“It feels like you’ve been here a minute.” I try to keep it light. I don’t want to embarrass her or anything but I need her to leave with me.
“No.” She spins away from me.
“Cora.”
“I never get to dance,” she complains, gesturing vaguely at the jukebox. “And it makes things better. So, dance with me.”
I glance around at the little audience she’s gathered. Two phones are still out.
My jaw tightens. “Show’s over,” I snap. “Quit with the fucking phones. Can’t you see something’s wrong?”
The guy mutters something under his breath but puts his phone down, turning back to the friends he’s with.
The music changes to a slower song, something depressing and a definite mood killer if there were more than ten people in this place.
