I stand on the picnic table bench and look down at her. “Ready to split?”
She looks up. “Sure, we can go.”
It’s going to take some time to hike back down the bluffs, an hour to get home—maybe stop and grab another coffee—and I may like a nap if we’re going to Nomads for a drink.
Georgia leads the way down.
I watch her braid swing back and forth, back and forth against her back as she navigates the stones and rocks and occasional branch on the hiking trail.
Jaunty.
Cute.
Do my best not to focus on that hair, swinging there, daring me to feel it to see if it’s as soft as it looked when it was down around her shoulders.
Fuck.
Focus, Ash.
Focus.
Words I know I’ll be repeating to myself for the remainder of the year, already regretting the decision to ask her to live with me.
I never did learn the easy way…
Fourteen
Georgia
I wasn’t planning on doing both my hair and makeup to go to a divey little college bar, but here I am anyway, looking cute and feeling rather fine…doing a twirl for Ashley when I entered the kitchen earlier.
He got us an Uber so we could drink, though it’s the end of the weekend and we both not only have class tomorrow, but also training.
I have to be up at five in the morning to run laps at the track, and I’m already dreading it. Already counting the hours of sleep I’ll get based on the time I hop into bed later.
If we’re back by 10, I’ll get six hours once I take my makeup off and rinse in the shower.
If we’re back by 11, I’ll get five hours.
If we’re back by…
And so on.
The smell of my perfume filled the entire car ride on the way to Nomads—and not in a terrible What did you do, bathe in it? kind of way. I caught Ashley sniffing the air in my general direction after we buckled ourselves in, noting with satisfaction that he didn’t comment.
We’re downtown relatively early—most students start heading out around ten, but we want to be home by then—so there are plenty of spots to sit when we arrive at Nomads.
Sidling up to the bar, we choose two stools at the far end, the perfect place for people watching as co-eds begin to slowly trickle in.
Ashley’s knee bumps into mine as we settle in, the contact searing my skin through my jeans.
His elbow jostles my ribcage.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, larger than life and not nearly as compact as I am, constantly bumping into me each and every time he moves.
It’s not his fault he’s huge, but it’s unnerving when he touches me.
I’m not supposed to get butterflies when he bumps me.
I’m just. Not.
Ashley is hungry and orders some food—loaded nachos and mozzarella sticks—and my stomach growls thinking about greasy bar appetizers, also wondering at the same time how clean the kitchen could possibly be.
I’ve watched one too many bars-gone-bad reality TV shows for my own damn good.
“I’m gonna go to the bathroom—can you order me whatever you’re having?”
Ash nods, patiently waiting for the bartender to acknowledge us even though it’s not crowded in here at all. Just a few dudes playing pool in the adjoining room and one or two other people at the counter does not a busy bartender make.
I find the bathroom easily, the women’s slathered in a vomit-inducing shade of pink paint I can’t imagine looks any better the more intoxicated a person becomes.
As I’m pulling my jeans down past my hips so I can use the toilet, my eyes lock onto the bright, colorful artwork on the back of the pink stall door.
Sitting, I pee and scan the flyer at the same time, scanning the words with excitement.
NEW & exclusive Heart Hotel and Casino
All expenses paid
$1000 spending cash
Are my eyes playing tricks on me or am I staring at a sign to win a trip to Vegas on the back of the bathroom stall?
WHAT ARE THE ODDS?!
I was just talking about wanting to go to Vegas!
There’s a small, white square with a code for scanning on the bottom and I fish the cell out of my back pocket, all the while trying not to drop it in the toilet beneath my butt. Open the camera and take a photo to access the contest link.
I read it over, read it again, already memorizing the rules, terms, and date they choose the winner.
The poster has been up for some time, the contest ending next week.
I never win anything, but I enter anyway, filling out the form from my phone while on the toilet, Ashley waiting at the bar for me to hit the loo.
I climb back up on my barstool, excited.
“Guess what I just did.”
Ashley stares at me, waiting, large hand wrapped around a pilsner glass of beer.
I wait for him to say What? or at least take a guess, but he doesn’t.