I wasn’t sure what I wanted to wear out. Like a typical woman, I tried on ten different dresses and skirt combinations. I don’t wear pants or shorts often. I stick with dresses and skirts, they appear more professional, and let’s face it, they’re sexier. God knows, I love to feel sexy.
Twirling one more time, I smile and smooth my hair in my wide bathroom mirror that’s above my single bowl vanity. I feel beyond beautiful tonight. This Allen Swartz jade green lace overlay, stretch knit designer dress is to die for! It has a nude lining that matches my skin color exactly. I’m on the taller side for a woman so it hits me a few inches above the knee. I’ve paired it with a pair of shiny nude colored four-inch stilettos. My bag for the night is a golden clutch that I will end up leaving at the table when I dance. It’s Heartfair; nobody is going to steal my money.
Walking up the sidewalk to the Devil’s Den, I never thought the place would be this packed on a Friday night, not that I have much to go on. I haven’t been to a bar to party, in God knows how long. The music is so loud I can hear it from out here. The front of the bar isn’t much to look at. There’s a sign above the brown metal door that says the bars name and that’s it. The building is old, three stories and brick, just like most of the other buildings in this town.
Dodging a stumbling drunk man slurring his way out the door, his cell phone glued to his ear. I walk through the front door of the bar and stop right inside, glancing between and over a hoard of people. Praying I can find Roni in here. I texted her five minutes ago to tell her I’d just parked. Which, by the way, was two blocks away. There were no other parking spaces available.
The music is thumping something about a window to a wall. I don’t listen to rap, so I couldn’t tell ya a damn thing about it. I can dance to it though. I can dance to just about anything.
Standing here, there is no way I can see her or Bob, and she couldn’t hear a text or call over all of this noise.
Righting myself by smoothing down the sides of my dress, I take in a deep breath and press forward into the crowd, my purse securely clutched in my hand. I duck under a man’s flailing arm. He must be in some serious drunken argument with his girlfriend. Shimmying past a group of frat boys, I inch closer and closer to the dance floor.
The Devil’s Den is devoid of anything resembling fancy or refined. It’s as basic as it comes. Wooden bar, high tables, metal stools with black rotating tops, two plasma TVs hung on the wall, a dance floor, DJ on the weekends, and copious amounts of alcohol. The walls are exposed brick and plastered with beer posters and neon signs. In the back, there are two pool tables and a dartboard. It’s not much and tonight it seriously reeks of testosterone and horny women. Or maybe that’s my imagination.
Vigilantly bobbing and weaving in and out of the throng of bar goers, I finally spot Roni. She’s sitting at a high table on the edge of the dance floor, wearing the tank I found in her messy apartment, with jeans and surprisingly her auburn hair is presentable. She looks hot! I love seeing Roni like this.
“Hey.” I yell, claiming a stool across from her.
“Hey!” She smiles wide, taking a long pull from her Bud Light bottle.
“How was dinner? Where’s Bob?”
Talking this loudly, guarantees that I’ll be hoarse by the end of the night and possibly deaf, too. It’s wild in here. Women and a few men are bumping and grinding on the dance floor. We’re down to standing room. There isn’t an open seat and barely an open place to stand. I didn’t even know we had this many people in Heartfair.
“Dinner was great! Bob’s there.” She points over to the bar where Bob is standing. He is wearing a pair of ratty old jeans, Hanes tee and his work boots. His hair’s buzz cut so short, he’s almost bald. Chatting with him is Auto; his boss, Tank; who is another man he works with at Auto’s Auto Body. Then there’s two men I recognize but don’t know their names, and they’re chatting with Corey. I had no idea he’d be here and…the biggest pain in my tuckus is fraternizing alongside them. Gage Masterson, I swear he and Corey are attached at the damn hip. Why is he even here?
Just as he notices I’m looking at him, Gage lifts a glass of something dark red in greeting, flashing me his sexy smoldering smile. It looks like Merlot in his glass. But I could be wrong. It’s funny; I pegged him as a beer drinker or maybe whiskey. Definitely not wine.
Dropping my purse on the table, I flip it open and pull out a twenty.
It’s time to get some liquor in me, and I don’t do beer.
“Be right back. You need anything?” I yell to Roni and she shakes her head, mouthing ‘okay’ to me.