Making our way past the crowd outside, we climb the stairs up into the bar. It’s a cute place, with a wood block that hangs high above the sand dunes and overlooks the setting sun that’s sinking into the deep blue ocean. The band is set up in the back of the bar, playing some version of current pop music, and there are a few waitresses circulating as a breeze pulls in from the open-air space.
If I’m honest with myself, places like this still give me a lot of anxiety. The smoke, the music, the loud people… it takes me right back to that table I waited at the night Max disappeared. But here, in the open air, I’m surprisingly comfortable, maybe even relaxed.Maybe.
“So, which guy do you like?” Lucy bumps my shoulder, scanning the area as we lean against the bar. She’s ordered two drinks from the tall, bearded bartender whose gaze hasn’t left my tits since I walked up to the bar. Men are all the same. I don’t get it. You’d think if you saw one set of tits, you’d seen them all, but I guess they’re going with the more is more approach. I roll my eyes and adjust my tank to cover them better, and glance back toward Lucy. I didn’t hear her order, but I’m sure she’s gotten me right, considering I’ll drink just about anything with an umbrella… and ones without.
“Come on,” she says, edging me on. “Which guy is hottest?”
I play into her game and search the room for sexy men. “What about that guy?” I nod toward a tall, broad man in the corner. He’s leaned up against the back wall with a beer in his hand, talking to a hipster dude with a man bun.
Lucy looks toward me, her brows narrowed in. “No. He’s too respectable. I can see it already. The loafers, the slicked back hair. The man probably can’t fuck if his socks are on. I need rougher. What about him?” She scans her gaze to the right where a man in a leather jacket sits. His hair is short, and he has a tattoo on his throat with big silver rings over top his thumb and index fingers.
“Yeah,” I say. “He looks like he’ll bend you over and call you a good little slut. I bet he’ll spank you too. If you’re lucky, he may even tie you up and never let you go.”
She picks up on my sarcasm and says, “Sorry that some of us are grown-ups.”
I laugh as the bartender slides our drinks toward us. Two mason jar margaritas. She knows me too well.
Lucy takes a long hard gulp until the jar is empty, then asks for a refill.
“What are you doing?”
She waves me away. “What? I’ve gotta have a little buzz going if I’m going to do crazy things.”
“So we agree then, silver ring guy is the one?”
She shakes her head. “Nah, I need someone who looks like they could fuck the slut out of me, but also help pay the mortgage.”
My eyes widen. “What happened to falling in love?”
I watch as the bottom of her mason jar lifts in front of her face, then away again. “You’re so funny. If love exists, then why aren’t you and Ryan together? God knows he’s put in enough time and energy to garner some affection.”
She enjoys jumping on the Ryan thing whenever she gets a chance. So does my therapist. Everyone seems to think we’re perfect together. I’m sure to outsiders, it looks that way. He’s tall, handsome, and endlessly doting on me. That, and we’ve been renting a place together since my freshman year, almost three years ago. He’s a few years ahead of me, but we hit it off right away. And at a time when I was still scared to live alone, he offered warmth and company. He still does. I’m lucky to have him, but we really are just friends. Besides, he’s been working for a tech company the last couple of years. I’m sure once I graduate in the spring, we’ll go our separate ways.
Lucy nods. “I just don’t get it. If you want love, you have it. If you want to get fucked… here we are. Pick one.”
I steer away from the obvious answer. The one where I tell her I want Max back. The one where I tell her I still dream about him at night and wear his unwashed t-shirts to bed. It’ll only freak her out. “Tonight, I’m watching how the dance is done, and taking notes.”
She rolls her eyes, then glances toward a guy wearing a wrinkled polo in the corner. “You really think I should?”
I nod, taking in the aloof demeanor of the man hunched over the bar, who doesnotlook like he wants to be bothered. “He’s practically begging you to. I’m going to run to the restroom quick.”
Pulling her tits into place, she slings back the rest of her drink and makes her way toward Mr. Serial Killer as I turn and head toward the bathroom.
It’s a new building, so everything is really well appointed with gold foil wallpaper, glamourous bowl sinks, marble counters, and light up mirrors. The stalls are even fitted with those head-to-toe doors that make it feel like an actual house versus a basic stall. Despite being packed, the bathroom is empty, which I’m thankful for. I could use a break from the crowd.
Leaning down into the sink, I splash cool water over top my skin, letting out a long hard sigh. I love Lucy, and I know she loves me, but she’s like an overbearing mother who hasn’t learned to stop pushing.
Truthfully, I don’t know what I’m ready for, or if I’ll ever be ready for any of it. It’s complicated, and everything happened so quickly. One night I was with the love of my life, planning a wedding. The next, I was alone at a table, calling the police. If it weren’t for Lucy and Ryan pushing me along, I’m not sure where I’d be right now. It was Ryan that convinced me to see a therapist, and it was Lucy that convinced me going back to stripping was a bad idea. She said the club was dragging up too many old memories, and she was right. It’s that conversation that prompted Lucy to help me pay for school. She had money from a large inheritance her grandma left her and she paid the tuition before I had a chance to back out. Old me would’ve fought her. New me needed a break so badly that I could only thank her for her kindness. I’ve worked hard every day since, and I can’t wait to pay her back someday, though she doesn’t seem too concerned about it one way or the other.
I look myself over in the mirror, a girl I no longer recognize with long blonde hair and a natural face looking back. I’ve never been one to be natural at anything. When I was stripping, I considered expensive makeup and eyelash extensions part of the uniform. Now, I consider it an accomplishment if my teeth get brushed.
I shake my head and turn toward the bathroom door, opening it quickly, my head down as I make my way out, though I’ve only made it a few steps before I hit a solid wall.
I stumble back and lose my balance, but a large hand reaches out and grabs me.
“Watch out.” The voice is dark and husky, rumbling low as I look up and find myself in the arms of a familiar man. He’s broad and dark, wearing an expensive gray suit. His biceps pop beneath the fabric. This close, it’s easy to see that he’s most definitely not Max, but their look is extremely similar.
A sick feeling washes over me, followed by an electric urge to barrel into him, wrap myself in his arms, and beg for his forgiveness. That must be the crazy talking. The thing where I’m trying to see Max in everyone as a way to cope with the guilt I feel for not calling the police sooner.Maybe if I randomly begged for this lookalike’s forgiveness, I would feel better?
