We walked for about a half hour, then made our way back to the hotel, where we agreed to meet in the hotel bar. Ginger wanted to run up to the room, freshen up, and giver her mother a call, but I was ready to make a beeline straight for the bar.
I sat at one of the stools and ordered a Long Island, then looked around while I waited. It wasn’t bad, as far as hotel bars go. Not too fancy, but not a dive either. There were stools around the bar, booths against the wall, and high tables in between. It was nine o’clock at night, and only about ten customers. There was a jukebox in the corner, which currently had Foreigner blasting out.
“Thanks,” I said when I saw the drink slide in front of me, out of the corner of my eye.
“You’re welcome,” was the deep, rumbly reply, and I looked up to see the handsome bartender smiling down at me.
I gave a quick smile in return, not wanting to be rude, but not wanting to encourage any flirtation either. All I wanted was to down this drink before Ginger arrived, then order another as if it were my first. I felt a twinge of guilt at the deception, but I didn’t want to give her a reason to be alarmed.
“Can I have another, please?”
Unlike in Vegas, a look of surprise crossed the bartender’s face, before he nodded and left me alone with my drink.
I sucked it down quickly, then pushed it away from me, toward the working end of the bar. The bartender came back and scooped it up, then placed the fresh drink in front of me.
“Thanks,” I said again. This time, he didn’t reply, but rather walked quickly down to the other end of the bar.
Whatever … stupid, judgy, handsome bartender, I thought sourly as the potency of the first drink began to hit.
“Hey,” Ginger’s twinkly voice startled me from behind. “You want to sit in a booth so we can order those appetizers?”
“Sure,” I replied, eager to get new server.
I turned and slid off the stool, then grabbed my drink and followed her to the table.
“I didn’t know what you wanted, or I would have ordered you a drink.”
“No problem, I’ll just order one when we order the food,” she replied sunnily, and I suddenly wondered what it would feel like to be that cheerful and carefree. It seemed like I hadn’t been carefree in ages.
I bit back a groan when the bartender rounded the bar and approached our table.
“What can I get for you?” he asked Ginger, his tone friendly.
“How about a mojito,” Ginger replied with a pretty smile for the bartender, then she looked at me and asked, “and an appetizer combo?”
I nodded in agreement, not wanting to give the surly bartender any further attention.
Ginger looked at me curiously, then asked, “Do you want another?”
I nodded again, which caused her pretty smile to turn into an even prettier frown.
She quickly turned her frown upside down and added sunnily, “And another one of what she’s having. Thanks, honey.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, then took a healthy drink. “Did you get ahold of your mother?”
“I sure did,” she replied, and I knew she was going to let my strange behavior slide. I was really grateful to her for that.
I smiled at her, happy that she was in my life, and on this trip with me. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed human companionship, until I’d found it again.
Chapter 8
We were back on the road, this time headed toward Dallas, and I could tell Ginger was partially excited and partially nervous to be arriving back home in a few hours. She was jiggling her legs a lot, and every once in a while I’d catch her looking out the window, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.
“Is everything okay?” I asked her finally, when it became obvious that whatever was on her mind was really troubling her.
“Hmmmm?” she asked, dragging her eyes away from the passing scenery to focus on me. “Oh, yeah, I’ll be okay. I just get nervous whenever I get close to home. It’s not my momma, I love spending time with her, and I miss seeing her every day, it’s just that Bo still lives in the neighborhood. We grew up together, and since his daddy got sick, he’s been living back home and taking care of him. I’m just worried I’ll run in to him…”
“Do you guys not get along?” I asked gently, not wanting to pry but wanting to be there for her, if she wanted to talk about it.
“No, not anymore,” Ginger admitted, her expression turning sad. “We never really talked much in school,” she explained, leaning her seat back and settling in. “We ran in different crowds … I was a cheerleader, and he hung with the shop kids. But after graduation, I was walking Momma’s dog, and he was outside working on his car. When he saw me, he called me over. Made up some silly excuse about wanting to pet the dog or something,” Ginger’s face turned wistful as the memories overtook her. “He was so handsome, wearing an old tank top and ripped-up jeans with grease on them, I wondered why I’d never noticed him before. He asked me out and we started seeing each other pretty heavily.”