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“I’m here celebrating a friend’s birthday.”
“And Chase?” he asked. “From what I saw, you both seemed close.”
“We’re no longer together.”
His eyes warmed as he lingered. “I’d love to buy you a drink.”
I glanced over at my drunken friends—a snapshot of me during my younger, crazier times. Whether I’d matured, I couldn’t say, but my heart just wasn’t into that kind of brash, tomorrow-I’ll-regret-everything partying.
“Sure, why not,” I said. “Just give me a minute. They’re all getting a bit rowdy. And I’m not into singalongs. Unless it’s late at night at a karaoke bar after one shot too many.” I giggled.
He scrunched his face. “That sounds excruciating.”
I thought about Chase, again, and how we’d enjoyed our occasional karaoke. Chase would do Bon Jovi and even hit the high notes in tune. He would have the audience eating out of his hand, but only when he’d been drinking. In his words, he would crawl back into his shell when sober—just like the singing frog in Merry Melodies. After he noticed my puzzled grin, he’d sent me the cartoon, and we’d watched it together, doubling over with laughter.
“What can I get you to drink?” Jack asked.
“A martini.” I decided to make a night of it, anything to avoid going home and thinking of Chase.
I studied Jack as he strode off. Wearing black jeans and a blazer, he was less muscular than Chase.
I puffed out a frustrated breath and slapped myself. Stop comparing.
Amy leaned in and asked, “Who was that hottie?”
“I don’t know him that well. But he invited me for a drink.” I smiled apologetically. “You don’t mind?”
“Hell no. I’d be there in a flash with my buttons half undone.” She giggled. “He’s gorgeous.”
I hugged her. “Thanks.”
“We’re all heading to Rouge,” she said.
That was another hot spot Chase and I had frequented. The town was full of memories. His scent was everywhere. His DNA, too, no doubt. Not in a creepy CSI way, but in a tomcat kind of way.
“I might meet you there,” I said. “Are you going now?”
“We thought we might go and bust a few moves.” She giggled.
Rouge was like a karaoke bar for burlesque wannabes. It was fun, and we always had a great time shimmying like mad to some classic show tune.
Chase couldn’t get enough of Rouge. Like me, he loved the showbiz atmosphere. I’d even accused him of being there to ogle women.
“It’s you I want to ogle,” he’d answered with a teasing smirk. He certainly knew how to make me feel good about myself.
I sighed with a heavy heart, yet again.
After my second martini, I learned that Jack was well read, and we jumped onto the topic of Edgar Allan Poe.
“He had a Byron, followed by a Shelley, and then a Coleridge period,” he said.
“I only did a semester of the English poets,” I said.
“One could spend a lifetime studying them,” he said. “I messed around too much in college. I kind of regret it. Blame it on the Chase Elliot factor. That guy could party.”
“But it takes two.”
“I guess.” He shrugged. “He did me a favor when we fell out. I was able to get back to focusing on my lessons.”
