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“You look familiar.”
“I don’t think we’ve met before.” I turn on my grin and my charm, even though I don’t feel like being all that friendly or charming. “I’d remember that pretty smile.”
“I’ve got a pretty smile,” says the clumsy one. Then she points to my bottle. “Hey, you wanna buy me and my friend a drink?”
“Barbie!” the other girl chastises.
Of course her name is Barbie, although she doesn’t look like one in the traditional sense, with her brown hair and brown eyes. Her friend, the one who’s embarrassed now, is more Barbie-looking, with sandy blond hair and eyes that could be blue or green, depending on how the lighting in this corner of the bar messes with things.
“What? He’s got a whole bottle. He can share.”
“Sure. You got a glass?” These two seem like a decent enough distraction, and I need one. Besides, I probably shouldn’t drink the rest of this bottle on my own unless I want practice to be hell tomorrow.
“Over there.” Barbie thumbs over her shoulder. “You should come sit with us.”
My phone buzzes on the bar again. I flip it over. I’m up to twenty messages from Tash. Fuck her.
“Yeah. I can do that.”
Barbie helps me out by grabbing the bottle, and I follow them to their table. It’s conveniently located in the darkest corner of the bar.
Barbie sits beside me on the bench seat, and her friend sits perpendicular to her. She pours them both a generous shot of whiskey and fills my glass too.
She props her cheek on her fist, mashing her face into it. “You do look really familiar.”
“Oh my God! I know who you are!” The other girl slaps the table with a shriek. I cringe and survey the room. Thankfully it’s loud in here. Her voice is drowned out by the blaring country music.
She leans in closer. “Don’t you play hockey for Chicago?”
I put a finger to my lips and wink. “Shh. We don’t want everyone to know.”
“Oh my God!” She bounces in her seat and smacks Barbie’s arm. “I knew it! I told you! Wow. What are the chances you’d be here, of all places?”
“Just passing by. Lucky, aye?” I’m not the nicest version of myself right now, so it comes out with a bite of sarcasm. She doesn’t seem to catch it, though.
“Maybe it’ll turn out to be my lucky night.” Barbie gives me a coy look, like she’s trying to be sweet while she propositions me. “Can we get a picture with you?”
“Sure.”
The blonde comes around to my other side, and they squeeze together so we can all be in the photo. They’re both touching me. I hate the way it feels, but I try to smile anyway. I want these to end up on social media so Tash can see how little I fucking care.
My phone buzzes again, and I have to fight not to look at it. Barbie with the brown hair isn’t bad to look at. She’s not drunk, so fucking her isn’t off the table.
I’m in a bad enough headspace that if she makes another pass at me, I’ll probably go ahead and make it her lucky night. And if her friend is interested, I’ll fuck her too. I’ll even get them to fuck each other first. Just to get back at Tash, because she’s the one who calls me a whore, and she’s the one who made me that way. Then I’ll have a real distraction from this fucking empty feeling in my chest.
I tap the side of the bottle. If I finish what’s left, I’ll pass out. These girls are another way to deal with all the goddamn blackness eating at me. Neither is a smart option, but my choices feel limited.
In a way, this makes me exactly like Tash. I’ll use these girls for an hour or two so I can get out of my head and hurt Tash the way she does me. Not that it will work, because I’m not sure if anything she feels is real at all.
“What’re you doing when you’re done with your drink?” Barbie looks around the bar, then back at me.
I finger the ends of her hair. It’s dry and brittle, not like Tash’s. Hers is always soft, and it smells like my shampoo because she likes to make me think she wants me like I want—wanted—her.
I smile anyway. “You, baby.”
Her echoing smile is both excited and nervous, colored with a hint of fear, like maybe she thinks she’s making a mistake.
She is.
“What about your friend?” I nod to the blonde, whose name I still don’t know.
“What?” She looks over her shoulder, like she’s forgotten her friend is even there.
“What’s she gonna do while I’m doing you?”
“You mean Mindy? Um…I…” She touches her hair, flustered by the question. “I don’t—”
I rest my arm across the back of her seat and adjust the strap on Mindy’s top. “You two are good friends, aye?”
