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Ryan is a prep student if ever I’ve seen one, always dressed like he’s just come from the courtroom where he had to litigate a case for Giorgio Armani. He isn’t a lawyer—he graduated a few years ago, but when I asked Rhea what he does, she told me it was too boring to remember. Apparently, he's known Rhea for years because his father had done business with hers, though before this summer, they hadn't seen each other since they were children. Rhea made it clear that her memories of him weren't as fond as his are, but she doesn’t seem to entirely hate seeing him, even in spite of the fact that she groans every time he spots her, which is often. Rhea jokes that he must have a tracker on her because he seems to be magnetized to her. I told her he’s more of a heat-seeking missile.
He reaches out with open arms, moonlight glinting off his gold watch. Rhea sidles under his shoulder, which is a funny feat considering he’s a full foot shorter than her, and that isn't accounting for the strappy heels on her feet. Working in a second-skin dress under your uniform is one thing but serving up drinks in four-inch stilettos is another type of pain altogether. I'd opted for flats with thick cushions hidden inside and my feet still ache after a day of waitressing. "You're late, babe.” His lower lip juts out in a pout that probably got him anything and everything he ever wanted as a child. As a grown man, it’s hardly endearing. “Mama wouldn't let you out to play?"
I bite my lip before I can say anything rude, but Rhea backs down from no one. And bringing Mama up in anything less than worship is a black mark in her mind. "I wasn't sure I was going to show, actually. I've been a little bored lately." She shrugs, stepping away from him with either a practiced apathy or genuine disinterest.
Ryan swallows, trying hard not to look bothered despite being clearly offended. "Ah, Claire!” He says as though he’s just realized I’m here too. In his defense, he probably did. “I brought a friend." He turns around, looking for whoever it is that he's brought along to distract me.
I stifle my laughter and give Rhea the side-eye, while she chuckles openly. It’s no secret that Ryan sees me as nothing more than the cock-blocking best friend keeping him from getting with his summer conquest. If only he could get me to take one of the bones he’s been throwing at me, he’s sure he can whisk Rhea away and get the thing he's been seeking from her all summer. We'd actually been talking about it in the kitchen during a rare lull in customers earlier today.
"Maybe on the last day of summer before we go back to Darrington." Rhea had mused. "I don't want to give him any more reason to be obsessed with me in the meantime. What about you? Are you ever going to sleep with someone who you don't plan to marry?"
I’m not waiting until marriage. And I’m not a virgin. But I’m also not anywhere near as casual about sex as she is. That is probably the starkest difference between the two of us.
Each of the three friends Ryan introduced me to this summer has been charming, funny, and would have been more than happy to take me home for the night. But none of them have made me want to go home with them. Worse, none of them made me feel safe enough to go home with them if I had wanted to.
When you only get a couple hours with someone, I guess that’s a big ask. I’m not opposed to going home with a friend of a friend or having a meaningless but cathartic one-night stand; I just need assurance that I will not end up mounted above their mantle or something. I need to know that I'll be respected and that things only go as far as I want them to go. Unfortunately, all of Ryan’s friends are objectively creepy.
"Ah, Wes!" Ryan calls, waving over the crowd gathered at the door to a man with jet-black hair that falls in waves and green eyes that pierce through the night, landing right on me.
Shit, he’s gorgeous.
As he breaks into a magnanimous smile, Rhea leans into my shoulder. "I'll switch you." She quips, fanning herself gently.
Wes doesn't take his eyes off me as he joins us, and I can't take mine off of him either. He’s pretty in a way that men usually aren't... definitely prettier than me. He’s a tall drink of water, and I’m suddenly parched.
And then he smiles at me like I’m suddenly the only person in the world. "Claire, I presume?"
Chapter three
Claire
"I like the dress." Wes grins, leaning into me so that the dim lighting overhead illuminates the playful look in his emerald eyes.
"Yeah…" I laugh, brushing a loose thread off the yellow dress uniform I'd forgotten I was still wearing. "I need to change." Cheeks heating with the faintest embarrassment, I stand and turn to my friend, who’s sitting next to Ryan on the white leather couch he led us to when we got here. Rhea looks bored as he leans into her, whispering something in her ear that he undoubtedly hopes will capture her attention.
"Do you want me to come?" She offers, looking hopeful.
I know it’s for her benefit and not mine that she asked. Despite all my insecurities, I am perfectly capable of going to the bathroom alone. I also know that I’m not going to be her scapegoat at the moment. She's been pulling Ryan's strings all summer. For all her talk earlier of potentially sleeping with him, it’s never going to happen if she runs from him all night. Besides, if I want to explore anything with Wes—and I do—she will need to be occupied anyway.
"I'll be fine on my own, mom." I tease.
Leaning back with her arms crossed under her chest, Rhea pouts. I guess she’s still annoyed with Ryan for his comment about Mama.
"What's your drink?" Wes asks, smoothing the buttons on his shirt as he stands up to head to the bar.
"Um..." My little buzz from dinner is fading exponentially. Still, if I mix wine with liquor, it means I’m sure to get drunk fast. Whether or not that is the goal depends on whether Rhea wants to bail early. For my part, I’m certainly more inclined to stay a while than I would be if Wes weren’t here.
"Tequila." Rhea bats her eyes, letting me know that the goal is to let go tonight. "Tequila sunrise."
Wes watches me a minute, waiting for my confirmation nod, before turning to retrieve the drinks. I turn away too, laughing.
Apparently, it’s going to be a long night.
Despite having the alcohol tolerance of a collegiate linebacker, tequila is Rhea's kryptonite, and she knows it. When she wants to have a little extra fun, she orders me all sorts of tequila concoctions and steals a few sips here and there so that she can take herself higher without getting as obliterated as she would if she ordered it herself.
I don't mind. Though not as impressive as Rhea, I can handle my liquor. I built a tolerance because it numbed the pain well. I don’t use alcohol for that anymore—I don’t need to. It’s fun to see people’s shock when they realize my tolerance is pretty impressive for a girl my size.
I’ve built up an impressive tolerance for a lot of things, honestly. Dealing with drunk people is no exception.
