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Eight
Adrienne
It was a night at a bar with co-workers. So why was I going through my closet, my pulse hammering in my ears, as I looked for the perfect outfit like I was getting ready for a hot date?
Because my co-workers were sizzling. I knew exactly who it was when Dustin called, I just didn’t know why he was calling me. When he texted me on the first day of beta testing, I’d saved his number. Re-read the silly note several times. And I’d been fixated on any praise from Phillip the same way. Every piece of encouragement he’d given me this week about my art was etched in my mind.
It was possible I had fantasies of doing anything he asked, as long as it was followed by good girl.
I needed to rein those thoughts in now. The two had been understanding about the random, weird things I tended to blurt out, but my word vomit would get a lot worse if I was daydreaming about fucking them while I was with them at the club.
Tonight was a night out with friends, and I wasn’t going to look like I was trying too hard. I’d pushed away a lot of my friends during my marriage to Sean, and I missed both them and just hanging out.
I moved aside little black dresses, a leather skirt, and a lace top that would be completely see-through without something underneath, to grab a faded Foo Fighters concert Tee to go with my favorite pair of jeans.
Heavy eyeliner and bright red lipstick finished the look. I stared at myself in the mirror for several seconds. Too much? Not enough?
If I was with friends, I’d do this. It was perfect.
The club wasn’t downtown. It was at the edge of a shopping center in Sugar House. The sign out front boasted live bands almost every night, and the parking lot was only about half full.
At least it should be easy to find the guys. I stepped inside, pausing just out of the flow of traffic to scan the room. The lights were low, but it was still easy to see that the tables weren’t any more full than the lot had been. Photos of bands lined the walls, several of them taken in this room.
“Addie.” Dustin’s shout carried about the loud chatter and drew my gaze and a smile. He waved me over to a table where Phillip and Brandon also sat, near the stage. Not that far from the stage was a huge difference. “What are you drinking?” He asked when I reached them.
“Cranberry juice.”
“With Vodka?”
“No... Just cranberry juice.” Because I was ninety, apparently. Also because I’d skipped dinner in the process of pretending I wasn’t obsessing about tonight, and I had to drive myself home.
“Don’t mind him,” Brandon said. “He doesn’t know how to react to people not drinking on his dime.”
Phillip pulled out the empty chair next to him and gestured for me to sit. “Not his fault. Free booze is the mating call of most sales representatives.”
“You make it sound like I’m fucking them.” Dustin set a glass of juice in front of me.
How did he do that? I hadn’t seen him leave or order.
“Nope. Pretty sure they’re the ones doing the fucking.” Brandon clucked.
I’d only talked to Brandon a few times in the last couple of days, but I liked him. One thing surprised me, though. “You said celebration, I figured more of the office would be here.”
“Most of the people we work with aren’t really...” the way Phillip wrinkled his nose was more like thought than distaste, “...bar people.”
I understood that. Graham and Cole weren’t either. I would’ve asked about inviting Luna, when Dustin called, but Cole had taken all three of them off the grid for the weekend. It was the only way he could guarantee Luna and Graham would put away the tech.
“Their loss.” Brandon twisted his seat toward the stage. “You’ll never hear a better band than this.”
Looking at the fact that every other table in the room was empty, I had my doubts. Brandon was probably biased. I didn’t need the best, though. I was here for the atmosphere, the company, and the view.
On the stage, a man with tattoos covering both arms and climbing up his neck from his tank top, stepped up to the mic. “All right, gang. We’ve got a favorite back tonight. Let’s show Plaid Peanut Butter how much we love them.”
The loud whistles and hollers that came from our table, drowning out the lack of the same anywhere else in the room, were reminiscent of Dustin’s rally earlier this week.
I liked being part of the group here to have fun.
A drumbeat played over the bar sound system, simple at first, but growing in complexity.
