Junkie(48)

A bartender appeared in front of me. “Hey, man. What can I get ya?”

“Draft beer. Whatever’s good here,” I replied.

He moved off the get it, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was gay.

What a stupid thing to wonder, I told myself. I didn’t care if he was. I didn’t care if he wasn’t. The way I saw it (and always had), it didn’t matter. All that mattered was he wasn’t an asshole.

But I guess questioning myself made me want to question others.

“Five bucks,” he said when he came back and set the amber liquid in front of me in a frosty glass.

I slid the money across the glossy bar top, along with a tip. He winked at me. “Thanks, hot stuff.”

I felt myself blush.

Guess that answered that question.

He moved off down the bar and started slinging drinks like he could do it in his sleep. Hanging nearby on the wall was a large flat-screen turned on to the sports channel. I watched that and sipped my beer.

A few minutes later, the bartender appeared again. He leaned his elbows on the top in front of me. “First time in a place like this?” he asked.

I pulled the beer away from my lips and grimaced. “That obvious?”

He laughed. “No, but I usually recognize all the faces. Yours I don’t.”

“I’m not from around here,” I answered.

“Fresh meat,” he mused.

“What?”

“Did you come alone?”

I nodded.

He straightened off the bar and smiled. “Well, you won’t be alone long.”

I didn’t really get the chance to think about that because someone sat down beside me. He was wearing a red flannel shirt and jeans. His hair was light brown, long, and pulled back. He was nothing like Drew.

I smiled at him. “Hey.”

“Hey. What’re you drinking?”

“Whatever the bartender handed me.”

He laughed, genuine.

The bartender stopped in front of him and winked at me as if to say, Told ya.

“Bud Light,” the guy said.

Seconds later, the dark longneck appeared on the bar.

“What’s your name?” he asked, turning back to me.

“Trent.”

He nodded. “Max.”

Max had some scruff on his jaw, a little lighter than the hair on his head. It reminded me of Drew. I’d often wondered what it would be like to kiss someone with facial hair. I wondered if it would feel rough or silky.

Stop thinking about Drew.

“You like sports?” Max asked.

I smiled a little. “Yeah.”

“You look like a guy who plays sports.”

“How about you?” I asked, relaxing a little. It was just like having a conversation with anyone else, but maybe slightly different. In the sense it was okay to really look at him when I looked at him. I didn’t have to pretend I wasn’t taking in his features.

“I watch them on TV?” He laughed.

“Close enough.”

He was telling the truth, because we started talking about some teams and he knew enough to hold a conversation.

When he started flirting, I flirted back. I liked it.

But I didn’t love it.

Apparently, that emotion was reserved for someone else.





Drew

Four cars were lined up at the starting line when I turned onto the otherwise empty street.

I felt rather than saw heads and eyes turn in the direction of my headlights.

“There’s a lot of people,” Joey said.

I grinned. “Welcome to the dark side.”

There was a spot just big enough at the end of the row of cars for the Fastback to pull up. I stopped, making sure my front end was in line with everyone else’s.

Some of the people standing around cheered. Some of them didn’t.

It was all good. Haters made things interesting.

The car beside me was the black Camaro I’d raced at the Speedway. I couldn’t see if it was Arrow or Lorhaven behind the wheel, though.

I slid my window down and looked through the passenger side. Several seconds later, the window on the car slid down.

“Oh my God, it’s Justin Bieber!” Joey gasped.

The kid scowled, and I howled with laughter.

“Arrow,” I said around my laughter. “Good luck!”

He rolled up his window without a word.

I glanced at Joey. She gave me a sidelong look. “I take it he isn’t a fan?”

I chuckled again. “Trent and I said the same thing.”

“Trent and you, huh?”

“What is it with women?” I growled. “If you got something to say, just say it already. Quit beating around the bush with talk only other women would understand.”

“Prickly,” Joey sang.

I sat there and tried to decide if it would be wrong to give a girl the finger.

There was a knock on the window. I rolled it back down, and someone I’d seen around before but never met lowered his face so he could look inside the car.