At the Stars(17)

You’ve gotta have access to my heart for that, and nobody does. Nobody will.

All at once she bites her lip and I see her going for the drinks, but I slap my hand over hers. “You shouldn’t be walking home late. It’s dangerous.”

She gives me a look like she’s being patient with me. “It was good enough to get here. I’ll have AJ with me. We’ll be fine.”

She gestures toward the patio door where her buddy is probably waiting for her to return with the drinks. Dante chooses that moment to come inside, and I don’t like how he’s looking at her. Too much like he had a good dinner, and she could be dessert.

The icing on the cake comes when AJ calls through the open door. “Hey birthday girl, you bringing us drinks or what?”

Stupid fucker.

Dante grins at Cassie, veering her way like a homing missile. “Birthday girl, eh?”

She smiles slightly, trying to take the drinks again. “What do I owe you?”

My hand tightens over hers. “On the house.” I lean close, so nobody else can hear me over the din of music and chatter in the bar. “If you let me give you and AJ a ride back tonight.”

I can’t even believe it when she starts to pull away. “I can pay for the drinks.”

I’m still gripping her hand and feeling a surprising unwillingness to let the subject drop. “You’re not walking home in the dark on a night when everybody’s out getting stupid, with nobody but your skinny sidekick for protection.”

She presses her lips together, giving me what I figure is supposed to be a death stare for a few seconds before she caves. “Fine. My feet hurt anyway,” she says with a slight smile.

Cassie turns to go back to her table with her friend, and I turn to deal with Dante. My chest is tight and my heart is skipping around. I don’t take time to wonder why getting what I wanted has me more weirded-out than I was before.





7. THE HISTORY OF SUCKAGE


Cassie

AJ and I have finished our nachos and made our way inside the bustling restaurant-area. I’m trying to get the hang of some sort of game that is, as far as I can tell, like a form of tabletop shuffleboard. I’m not really sure because I’ve never actually played shuffleboard. Also, because I’m about to finish my second margarita.

I think the goal is to slide this puck thingie down a long, wooden lane into a bunch of triangles that spell out different point values. The idea is to land on the triangles without sliding your puck doohickey so far it falls off the table.

I suck at this game worse than anything has sucked in the history of suckage. Either I slide the puck right onto AJ’s feet, or it glides to a stop in the dead center of the table. As in, nowhere near the end zone.

“Okay wait-wait-wait. Wait.” I put one hand up and poise the other one to shoot, certain I’ve got the hang of it this time. The last one I got a little closer, but not quite close enough. So I figure if I just finesse it a little...

I let the puck-thing fly.

“Holy shit, you are terrible at this game.” AJ laughs and slugs the last of his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. With an exaggerated look of pain, he leans down to pick up the puck from where it’s landed. On his foot. Again.

“I’m sorry. I guess I am. At least I’m really good at being bad at it.”

He laughs harder. “Honey, tell me you’re not shitfaced from only two drinks.”

“I’m not! I swear.” Really, I’m pretty okay. It’s only that I haven’t been buzzed in a long time, and it’s been even longer since I’ve laughed. Being silly feels great.

My buzz dials down a notch when I look up and see Jake talking to a waitress behind the bar. I’ve seen her around all night. The bar isn’t large. She and Jake seem to work the same way I do at the coffee shop downstairs: sometimes behind the bar, sometimes checking on people at their tables to clear drinks or get refills.

There’s nothing about her that seems wrong exactly. She’s petite and pretty, with blond hair and freckles. A dimpled smile that makes me think of our head cheerleader back in high school. Except the way she touches Jake each time she leans in to talk to him doesn’t make me cheerful at all. It makes the hair on my neck stand up.

I’ve never been the kind to get jealous. Hell, the second Keith looked like he might stray, I was stupidly relieved for the excuse to make a break for it. Being with him was stifling.

I shouldn’t even care what Jake does. He was in the right place at the right time the night I inadvertently landed in this town. He’s been a friend, sort of. Or at least a semi-friendly acquaintance. It doesn’t mean I care what he does or who he does it with. To. Whatever.