“But they just want to sleep with me to get at my money, or to get to my dad, or whatever.” Been there, done that.
“Well, why don’t you invent a secret identity? Dress down and have a new name and then they wouldn’t know. You could just be a regular girl.”
I’d tried that too. In college for a little while I’d gone by my first and middle name, becoming Rory Abigail, but people had found out anyway. You can’t hide who you are, as much as you try. I’d need witness protection and a serious makeover.
“I don’t know. Maybe being alone will be good for me. I can . . . pick up some new hobbies. Maybe try hot yoga. Or knitting. I’ve always wanted to learn how to do that.”
Sloane rolled her eyes.
“Knitting is no substitute for some quick, dirty sex.” She was right and we both knew it, but thankfully she dropped the topic and shifted to talking (again) about Chloe’s recent (and volatile) breakup with her girlfriend. Let’s just say that Chloe listened to every Miranda Lambert breakup song and acted them all out, including tossing Harmony’s clothes out the window of their apartment. It was like watching a movie, only it was much more horrible when it was real.
I hadn’t been that dramatic when I broke up with Royce. I’d been more stoic, but there had been a lot of crying in the shower and moping, but I was over that. I was ready to move on.
4
“I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten really intimate with at least ten strangers already,” Sloane said on Friday night as we squeezed our way inside the bar. We were holding hands so we didn’t get shoved around too much. Sloane was in front because she was the tallest, with me bringing up the rear, because I was the shortest, though not by much. Like kids in school holding onto each other when they cross the street.
We squeezed through the crowd, which was a fantastic cross section of Bostonians. Men in pressed suits getting a cold one after a hard day of meetings and yelling at people, and construction workers doing the same in dirty white t-shirts. People who were down on their luck, nursing drinks they couldn’t afford, a bachelorette party that was in full swing, and all kinds of friend groups. It was very much come as you are.
We always went for casual, and I had my favorite jeans on, the dark wash ones that made me look a size smaller than I was, and a bright pink silk top that clung in the right places and was loose in others. My hair was down around my shoulders, but it would be up in the pony band I kept on my wrist in about an hour. I was so used to wearing my hair up, that wearing it down almost felt uncomfortable.
Sloane battered her way through the crowd, the rest of us in tow and somehow found a high top table in a dark corner and commandeered five tall chairs to go with it. The open mic night hadn’t started yet, but the noise was enough to drown out most conversation.
Marisol was scoping out some of the suits, and Chloe was still down in the dumps about her breakup. Our plan was to convince her to get onstage and sing. She had a killer voice and it always made her feel better, but she met Harmony after one of the mic nights here, so that might not be a good idea, considering.
Sometimes people mistook Marisol and I for sisters since we both had blonde hair and were short. But her face was rounder and sweeter than mine, and her personality was a lot sweeter too. Chloe was just a few inches shorter than Sloane and she was always changing her hair color and style. Right now she was rocking a red asymmetrical cut, but I’d seen it just about every color of the rainbow, and she was fond of extensions.
“Okay, I’m going to get drinks.” Sloane was always our drink girl because of her height and her inability to take no for an answer.
She took our orders and memorized them. I went with a gin and tonic, because it was quick for the bartender to make and almost always good. Sloane pushed her way to the bar, leaving a trail of people with newly forming bruises in her wake. I swore sometimes she had the reincarnated soul of an Amazon.
“Are you doing okay?” I leaned over to Chloe. She looked so sad that it broke my heart.
“Yeah, I guess.” She attempted a smile, but it fell from her face. I put my arm around her and gave her a little hug.
“We can cut out early if you want. No pressure.”
“No, no, I’ll be fine. Just call me Eeyore from now on.” I kissed her cheek as the first person took the stage. It was a girl who looked like she watched some videos of Woodstock and tried to emulate them, complete with a flower in her hair. Her hands shook as she settled her guitar in place. I always tried to judge how people were going to sound based on their appearance. It led to me being surprised more often than not.
I decided that this one was going to be tone deaf, and I was mostly right. She hit one note and sounded like a screeching cat, but unlike in other bars, she didn’t get booed offstage. Everyone just kind of gave her halfhearted encouragement and clapped politely when she left the stage.
Sloane came back with our drinks and we sipped and listened to the next few performers. There was a guy with a banjo who wasn’t half bad and then another girl with a guitar who sang an original song that actually had the lyrics, “you’re the sun in my sky, the apple of my eye,” and by the time I was on my second drink, it looked like open mic night was going to crash and burn.
“Excuse me,” one of the bartenders said, tapping my shoulder and holding out another gin and tonic. “The gentleman at the end of the bar wanted to send his regards.” I’d been bought drinks before, but usually not by anyone I’d want to be bought drinks by. All four of use craned our necks to see who it was.
Lucas. Fucking. Blaine.
It took me a second to realize it was him, because he was completely dressed down in a flannel shirt and jeans. When he caught me looking, he raised his glass and I swear he winked.
“Who the hell is that?” Sloane hissed in my ear as the bartender set the drink down. “If you don’t want him, I call dibs.”
The other girls leaned in as the bartender went back to his post.
“Lucas. Blaine.” I said slowly, because I could feel him watching us and waiting for my reaction.
“Shut up,” Sloane said as the other girls finally got it. Of course Sloane had told them all about it. Not that I hadn’t asked her to, but still. They were making a scene. Or maybe it just felt that way.
I bet he was getting a kick out of this. Bastard. If this was some weird way to get in my good graces so I’d hire him, he had another thing coming.
I pushed the drink aside, hoping he would see it.