1
KIEREN
The music lulls before the next song from the jukebox kicks in, and over the noise of slurred voices and glasses clinking, I hear the click-clack of high heels behind me.
My heartbeat picks up a notch, and I set my drink down on the bar with trembling hands. My brain tells me that it’s not her. Jodie wore flat sandals. They were fiery orange with crsiss-cross straps that matched her summer dress. But my body hasn’t caught up.
I turn around slowly, just in case. Because maybe the flat sandals and simple style weren’t her usual attire. In the eighteen months since I met Jodie, maybe—just maybe—she’s taken to wearing killer heels and frequenting bars until closing time.
The owner of the heels wears a tight-fitting sparkly dress that ends well above the thigh. It shimmers as she walks toward me on diamante-encrusted high heels. The overall impression is of a disco ball, which makes me smile to myself.
Big mistake.
The woman thinks I’m smiling at her, and in my beer-hazy head, I don’t look away fast enough.
She gives me a slow smile and lowers her mascara-coated lashes. Her makeup is smeared in dark smudges around her eyes, and her lipstick is half worn off.
“Hey there,” she says.
At that moment, the music kicks in, and she leans forward as if we’re in the middle of an intimate discussion and not strangers at a bar.
“What’s that?”
Her breath smells of strong alcohol and the garlic mayo they serve with chicken wings at the bar.
“I didn’t say anything,” I mumble.
“My name’s Lisa,” she continues despite me turning back to the bar and taking a long gulp of beer.
When I don’t offer my name, Lisa sidles onto the stool next to mine as if my silence is an invitation, as if she likes a challenge and I’m her chosen target for tonight.
“I saw you earlier, sitting here alone all night.”
I pull at the label on my beer bottle, wondering how to get rid of Lisa without hurting her feelings.
“I’m looking for someone.”
I realize too late that’s the wrong thing to say because Lisa shuffles forward on her stool and leans on the bar with her left elbow so that her boobs are practically in my face. I pointedly ignore them.
“You just found her.”
Lisa is definitely not the woman I’m looking for. Jodie was sweet and natural with a lopsided smile and dancing eyes.
Lisa rests her hand on my arm and gives it a small squeeze while giving me what I guess is supposed to be a coy smile but, from a woman who’s clearly had too much to drink, comes out like a maniacal grin.
How easy it would be to go home with Lisa. To lose myself in a stranger for an hour or two. To forget Jodie and her haunting smile and the way her lips brushed mine and how good it felt to lie with her body next to mine.
The thought of Jodie makes my heart hurt and turns any encounter with another woman into a non-starter. How could I be with anyone else when I know Jodie is out there somewhere?
“I’m sorry.” I take Lisa’s hand off mine and place it on the bar. “I’m not interested.”
Jodie’s eyes flash dangerously, and her mouth closes in a thin line.
“You’d be lucky to get a chance with someone like me.”
I’ve offended her, and she’s not going to take it easily. I should get up and leave, walk out of the bar and go home. But I’ve had way too many beers to do anything so sensible, and I feel a little annoyed.
Who does this woman think she is? Just because a guy’s drinking alone, she thinks he’s looking for a hookup? Just because she offers herself to a man, she thinks he should take her up on it?