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I love being wanted.
But college looms. I’ll need to make decisions soon.
Noah looks at me. “You won’t leave us, will you?”
I laugh, unsure how to answer that.
Instead, I just tip my chin at my uncle. “May I have a non-virgin beer for my birthday?”
He knows full well I’m taking advantage of the allowance in this state that anyone under twenty-one can drink on private property, as long as they’re under parental supervision.
So let’s go home to private property, so I can do that.
But Jake has different plans.
“Let’s go into the bar,” he says.
My eyes widen. And I’m out of my chair before any of them.
Noah, Kaleb, and I head out of the restaurant while Jake pays the bill, and Noah takes my hand as we trail down a long hallway, entering the noise-ridden saloon that’s connected to the restaurant. Country music plays on the juke-box, and I crunch peanut shells under my shoes as we walk under the dim lights and past the pool tables and bar stools.
Eyes immediately turn in our direction as people huddle in small groups and the music blares. I suddenly feel overdressed like Jake suggested.
A few interested pairs of eyes floated up and down my attire as we sat down in the restaurant earlier, because I haven’t met many people in town, and they probably wondered who I was, but now… my skin warms under their gazes, and I clutch Noah’s hand, a little uncomfortable. The place is filled with T-shirts, jeans, and beards, and who’s the moron coming in here dressed for a cocktail party in Malibu?
I meet several pairs of eyes as we pass tables of people drinking and smoking.
Kaleb tosses some money on the bar and gestures to all of us at the bartender, but the guy cocks his head, eyeing me with suspicion.
“It’s okay, Mike,” I hear my uncle suddenly say behind me.
I turn around, seeing him give the guy a smile, and that seems to do it, because the bartender nods and reaches down to pull four Buds out of the cooler, popping the tops for all of us.
“Let’s go.” Noah nudges my arm.
I follow them all—except for Kaleb, because he disappeared once he got his beer—over to the foosball table, and Noah and I pair up against Jake. I ignore the eyes I feel on my back and take a sip of my beer before setting it down on the table with Noah’s and Jake’s.
“They played this on The Karate Kid, right?”
Jake’s eyes light up. “Very good.”
I almost laugh at his delighted expression. Seems there’s still hope for me yet.
We play a few games, Jake winning every time despite being by himself, and I have to pull my hair over my shoulder to get it off my back by the time we finish the third game, because I’m starting to sweat.
The music in here isn’t my style usually, but the crowd feeds off it, loud and happy, and I barely even notice the cold gusts of wind that rush through the front door every time someone arrives or leaves. Some old-timer walks through, dusting snow off his hat, but nothing disturbs the good time.
“I’m gonna grab another one,” Jake tells us after the last game, gesturing to his beer.
/> I pick up mine still sitting on the table, untouched, and look around the room as he walks off.
Some racers sit off to the back, and I recognize a few of the guys and girls from the group at my uncle’s house a couple times, and I spot a woman in a cheap little veil surrounded by others at the bar, all of them throwing back shots. Her tight, black T-shirt reads “Marissa’s Last Stand” in blingy jewels that sparkle in the dim light.
The song on the jukebox ends, and a few couples nestled on a small patch of floor who are dancing let go of each other and make their way back to their tables.
“Wanna play some pool?” Noah shouts over the noise.
I stare at the jukebox, bringing the bottle to my lips. “I want to play some music,” I tell him and flash him an apologetic smile as I hold out my hand for money. “Please?”
