“No!” She balled up the wrapper of her straw and threw it at me. “I get to take you thrifting.”
I couldn’t help the grin that stretched across my own face. Her excitement was contagious.
“I’d like that.”
Her happiness spilled over like a bubbly soda that had been poured too fast. I drank her in as she detailed all of the stores we would visit and some of the best finds she’d discovered at each one.
We continued to talk long after the bill had been paid and our plates had been cleared. The bar had become packed, and karaoke had been replaced with a live band singing covers of songs from the late 90s and early 2000s.
“They’re pretty good,” McKenzie said, nodding toward the small stage.
“Yeah, they are,” I replied. The group was made up of four guys who barely looked old enough to drink. The lead guitarist was pale and lanky and reminded me a little of myself way back when. Talented enough to be sure of himself, but too overcome with insecurity to allow room for such confidence. He hid it behind an aloof exterior, but when he thought no one was looking, he scanned the faces of the crowd for their approval.
Everyone erupted into cheers as the band finished their version of a classic Aerosmith tune. Seconds later, they played the opening notes of a My Chemical Romance song I’d have recognized anywhere.
McKenzie gasped and grabbed my hand.
“Come on,” she said, jumping to her feet. “We’re dancing. And hey, I’m not even drinking, so the chances that I’ll end up puking are slim to none.”
“Oh, I—” I began, trying to find a reason not to, but she stopped me in my tracks.
“They’re playing our song.”
She tossed a flirtatious smile at me, and I allowed her to pull me from the booth, unable to resist the siren call of her hips as they began to sway. She dragged me a few feet from our table toward the back of the room and laced her fingers through mine. I spun her around, and she threw her head back with laughter as I matched her energy, bounce for bounce.
How had she bloomed so beautifully in the weeds life had sown around her? I longed to pick that wildflower and keep her all to myself, but what if I did and my own shortcomings caused her to wilt?
What if she never grew back?
The song transitioned into something with a slower beat, and she slid her hands up my chest, resting them behind my neck while my own curled around her waist. God, I wanted to kiss her, but what if that scared her away? On her own, she was strong and resilient. But what I felt between us was delicate—formed from a connection of shadows and a mutual understanding of what lurked there.
She leaned in closer. “Luca, I—”
But before she could finish that sentence, a tall hipster-looking guy loomed over us, wearing jeans so tight I was surprised he could breathe.
“Shit,” he said, knocking into my shoulder, pushing me apart from McKenzie. “You’re Luca fucking Sterling.”
I nodded at him in a greeting. “Good to see you.” I hoped it would be enough to satisfy him, so I could return my focus to McKenzie, who was shooting eye daggers at the guy.
“I’m such a big fan, dude,” he continued. “What are you doing here? This place is a shithole.”
I tightened a protective arm around McKenzie. “Just hanging out.”
Surely, that would give him the hint.
“I’m buying you shots,” he said, his voice rising. McKenzie’s eyes darted around, clearly worried about the same thing I was: if he got any louder, he’d draw attention to me, and any hope for a peaceful evening would fly out the window.
“I’m good, actually,” I said. “But I appreciate it.”
“Aw, come on,” he pressed. “Have a drink with me.”
He started to wave over a couple of his buddies who were carbon copies of him. One of them already had their phone out.
“No, thank you,” I said a bit more firmly this time.
But he would not be deterred. Instead, he plucked his phone out of his pocket.
“I want to take a picture with you,” he slurred, and McKenzie flashed me a worried glance. “My girlfriend’s never gonna believe I met you.”
