Page 55 of Wrecked

I’ve got the crowd singing at the top of their lungs. The place is going wild when the front door opens, and in walks someone I wasn’t expecting to see—at least not in pedestrian clothes.

Adam’s presence makes me stop singing temporarily, but no one seems to notice.

They’re all filling the void as they chime in with the chorus.

With my wits regained, I go back to chanting the words and pretend like I don’t see him.

He’s standing against the wall by the front door, looking around the room. He’s done this before, but there’s something about the way he’s leaning on one leg with his hands deep in his pockets that lets me know he’s not here for work. His eyes are missing that scowl. In fact, he looks a bit lost.

The tables are all full, and every stool at the bar is taken. I stay where I am and continue working. After this, Paulie will pick another song, and we’ll host a competition on the mechanical bull. The prize is a free happy hour.

Thirteen people enter, and by the time I’m done hosting the competition and the bar goes back to normal, I am sweaty, and my throat is dry. I walk back to the bar and fill a glass with water, looking back toward the front entrance. While my breath relaxes, my heart drops a little. I raise the glass to my lips and take a drink.

I’m taking said drink and nearly choke in surprise at the sight of Adam at the far end of the bar. He’s talking to my friend Jessica. Yes, talking. Not interrogating. Not condoning. He’s actually sitting on a stool, drinking a beer, like a normal person.

I quickly spin around and check myself out in the mirror behind the liquor shelf. Christ on crutches, I look like a madam in a whore den. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I look good. Legs for days in the Daisy Dukes and a tummy I work crazy hard on to keep nice and tight. Even the tatas are nice and high, glistening a little. Let’s be honest; I rock this outfit. But, still, it is a little much.

I lean over and grab my makeup bag that I keep stashed behind the bar. I need some fresh lip gloss on this pout. I squat down on the floor, open my bag, and take a peek in my compact mirror. I run my fingers under my eyes, add a little powder, and spray some Bath & Body Works over myself. I pop up from the floor and glance over to where Adam is. Or I should say, where he’s not. He’s no longer at the bar, and he’s not standing by the wall.

My shoulders fall.

“Do you see the craziness that is happening on the dance floor?”

My head shoots up at Suzanne’s words.

“Hey,” I say, snapping out of my inner thoughts, “when did you get here?”

Suzanne is leaning over the bar, the excitement in her eyes making them wide and shiny. “Jessica is grinding it up with Adam. Like, they’re dancing. As in, Adam actually moves.”

If I were holding a glass in my hand, I’m sure it would fall to the ground right now. He’s dancing? With a girl? With one of my friends?

My head turns so damn fast toward the dance floor, and sure as shit, there’s Adam and Jessica. Her long brown hair is swaying from side to side with the movement of her body. They’re not touching, but they’re close. Too close for my liking. Her double Ds are one jiggle away from colliding with his chest.

I can feel my jaw hanging down from my face.

Jessica is a nice girl. She’s part of my crew. But she’s so not Adam’s type. She likes to ski, eats sushi, and runs half marathons for charities. She’s a teacher and fosters rescue dogs for fun. She’s really pretty and funny and—goddamn it, she’s actually perfect for him.

“That is the craziest thing I’ve ever seen. I didn’t even know she liked him,” Suzanne shouts from her side of the bar.

I walk over to her and raise my right shoulder up to my ear. “I think it’s a terrible match. She can do so much better.”

Someone is waving their money, trying to get my attention to make them a drink. I look over at the guy and take the order.

I’m shaking up a Kamikaze, a little too vigorously perhaps, as Suzanne says, “You have to admit it; they kinda make sense.”

I cast a casual glance over to the dance floor and feign indifference. Indifference? Ha! In that casual glance, I see Jessica’s hand running from the top of Adam’s neck, down his back and over his ass.

“Eh. I give it to the end of the song, and then they’ll never speak to each other again.” I pour the drink, pop open two beers, and take the guy’s cash.

When I turn back to Suzanne, her eyes are squinty, and her mouth is curled in this very odd way. She looks like she’s having a stroke.

“You like him.”

I lean back and blow air out of my mouth. “Who? Adam? Never.”

Suzanne is slowly nodding her head, still doing that awkward mouth thing. “You. Like. Adam,” she says loudly.

I lean over the bar and cover her mouth with my hand. “Will you shut up? There are a million people here tonight. And, no, I don’t like him. He’s uptight and boring and—”