“Working,” he responds as he sets the beer in front of me. I hand him my card to open a tab—just in case I want just one more beer, of course—before he asks, “How are your parents?”
“Same old, same old,” I sigh, taking a sip of my beer.
“Your sister make it home for this one?” he questions, though I can tell by the sympathetic look in his eyes that he already knows the answer.
“I’ve told you too much information about my life over the years, haven’t I?”
He smirks. “It’s one of the many perks of being a bartender.” He leans across the counter, his grin sobering. “I take it she didn’t show?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I think she gave my parents some half-assed excuse, but I’m sure she’ll tell me later that she just wasn’t up forit.”
“Ah, I’m sorry, man,” he says. “You need a shot on the house to make you feel better?” The bright glint returns to his eyes, and it makes me smile in return.
“Nah,” I laugh. “I appreciate the offer, but drinking alone on Thanksgiving is already sad enough. I’ll just stick to beer.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugs with a wink.
I nod at him before making my way to one of the many open booths and plopping down, taking another swig of my beer. I kick my feet up on the seat across from me and massage the back of my neck, letting my eyes close as I listen to the faint music Dave has playing in the bar.
Just a few more weeks with Summer in my class before I’ll be free of her and all the temptation she seems to bring with her. Just a few more weeks of her sitting in my class with her distractingly short skirts. Just a few more weeks of being consistently blown away by her assignments and how smart she is, and passionate about pursuing her career.
Summer hasn’t responded to my text, and I have too much pride to send her a second message. Our night together clearly means something different to her than what it does to me.
Now I just have to respect that and not try to talk to her about it when I see her in class after the break. It’s already taken everything in me not to send her a second text; I can’t imagine how hard it’ll be to see her multiple times a week without being able to ask what went wrong.
And then the door opens, and it has me considering changing my favorite holiday to Thanksgiving as Summer waltzes into the bar in the sexiest dress I’ve ever seen.
And suddenly, all my resolve to respect her not wanting to speak to me goes out the window.
21
SUMMER
I don’t stopat my apartment to unpack my bags; instead, I go straight to The Pour House.
Sam is out of town until Monday morning; he’s planning on making it back just in time for his first class of the week, so until then, I’m on my own. It won’t be the first or last time I drink alone at my favorite bar.
And I always carry a book in my bag for times just like this.The Great Gatsbyfrom Asher feels like it burns a hole through my purse against my thigh. I’m not sure why I brought it with me to my mom’s. I’ve read it hundreds of times, and if I’d bought the copy for myself, I would’ve never risked shoving it in a bag for fear of damaging the special edition. But I wanted to carry it with me. Despite hating the message Asher left inside… I didn’t want to leave it behind when I was so far away from him.
I hurry across the street, pulling my jacket tighter around the red dress that I have yet to change out of. I nearly twist my anklein the matching red heels and immediately rethink not stopping at home before coming here.
I stop just outside the bar, shivering in the cold air. On second thought, maybe I should head home. I’ve already made plenty of mistakes without being pissed off. Drinking in a poor mood only ever leads to bad decisions. And I am totally aware that there is a small, chaotic part of me that wishes Asher would be there when I walk in that door, but the odds of anyone being here, at a dive bar on Thanksgiving, seem slim to none. I’m surprised they’re open, honestly.
My breath puffs out in a cloud before me. Okay, I can get a drink, sprawl out in my favorite booth, and read my book.
Having thoroughly convinced myself, I push open the door and make a beeline toward the bar.
Dave grins when he sees me. “I didn’t expect to see any students here today.”
I purse my lips in a sad smile. “I didn’t expect to spend my night in a bar.” I lean against the wooden counter. “What about you? Couldn’t give yourself a day off?”
“No family in town,” he says with a shrug. “Figured maybe I could make some money from some sad sacks like you.”
He shoots me a playful grin, but I gasp in mock outrage. “Is this how you speak to paying customers?”
“The usual?” he asks, ignoring me. I nod, eager to put this entire day behind me. Spending most of my day in the car, coming home for just a couple of hours, and then getting ambushed by a blind date and a judgmental mother is probably the worst way I could’ve spent my break from school.
Dave turns his back to me as he starts making my drink, and I feel a prickling sensation tickle the back of my neck, almost like someone is watching me.
