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“Sure is one busy week.”
“And a get-busy one for you.”
“Bringing the cheese, Angie McFee! I like it.”
* * *
My Friday afternoon flew by fast. Between four hours in the computer lab and then an hour to get ready for the date with Will, my body craved a nap that there wasn’t time for.
As predicted from the initial meeting at the mixer and the contact from the agency website, Will was a perfect date. At no time did he try to “handle” me, coax me into awkward conversations, or push his luck. The midthirties man simply wanted a companion for an outing with his new employees. Through a light dinner, I discovered that Will owns a construction company that he inherited from his late father. His compliments on my teal long-sleeved silk sheath dress were tasteful and gave me confidence in starting conversations with his workers.
Will basically reestablished my confidence in myself for doing this line of work. Some men just need a simple companion—nothing more. I desperately pray that more of those types of men come out of the woodwork and want my company.
Upon request, I have Will take me back to the townhouse for me to change into something less formal for the night at the bar. A friendly hug is exchanged upon exit from the car. I actually had a good time.
I race up the stairs to my room, tossing the dress onto the bed. I skip down the hallway to Claire’s room, taking her up on her offer to borrow an outfit for the evening from her closet. I push on her door and meet resistance. Dirty clothes are scattered on her floor in a wrinkled heap. Empty cups and plates are on her dresser stacked from the week. While this is her typical behavior, I am surprised she did not clean up a bit for her sleepover date with Ethan. If we get a rodent, I will blame her.
What am I thinking? She’d probably rescue it, name it, and call it her own.
I settle for a black sequined halter top that ties around the neck with a delicate satin bow, showing off my bare shoulders. A flirty pleated gray skirt with flared layers showcases the length of my legs and sits low on my hips. When I move certain ways, a small section of my belly gets exposed—probably because I have a longer torso than Claire. I go back into my room for a pair of sheer black thigh-highs and black knee-high boots with a two-inch heel. I forgo a coat, simply because The Shack is not the venue for such an amenity as a checking station. It will be a miracle if they have enough toilet paper in all of the stalls and some working soap dispensers. I layer on more smoky silver eyeshadow, add another coat of mascara, and put on some sparkly hoop earrings.
After a week like this week, I am ready to let loose and have fun.
* * *
I arrive at The Shack via a short cab ride, knowing that I will get a ride home with friends at the end of the night. The bar is standing room only with local patrons lining the space between wooden hi-top tables and surrounding wall booths. The rustic look of the venue creates a homey feel that could only be enhanced with the genuine energy of the crowd. Strings of clear, full-sized glass light bulbs drape from the ceiling, giving the place an open-air outdoorsy feel. It is like everyone is on a patio having a good time.
I squeeze my way through the semidrunk groups of people, trying to find Zander and the gang. Surely, Z will have a space reserved since he probably arrived earlier than the rest to set up the stage for the performances. I feel a jab against my shoulder as an elbow hits me, causing me to stumble backwards a bit. I steady myself and continue to search for groups of females to try to break through, because the guys won’t budge. I stand on my tiptoes and stare in between heads to see if I can recognize anyone. Before I can pull my cell out to text Claire, I feel a tap at my shoulder and turn.
“Oh, hey you! I didn’t know you were going to be here, Bryce!” I yell over the chattering going on around us. He is dressed in casual jeans and a green T-shirt. His backward baseball cap hides most of his hair, and he blends in with the rest of the male population.
He gives me a half hug. “Drunk, hot ladies. Need I say more, Teach?”
I chuckle at his comment. So predictable. “Your transparentness is oddly comforting.”
His laughter only spurs mine on full force. It feels good to let go. “Where you heading?” he asks, throwing back beer from his bottle. He tilts it toward me in offering, but I decline. I need something stronger.
“I guess to the bar. I am supposed to be meeting friends here who are performing for open-mic night. I just don’t see them yet.” I do another scan of the room but am blocked by tall guys.
“You performing, Teach?”
“Um, hell-to-the-capital-no. You crazy?”
“Clinically, yes. Theoretically, no.”
I giggle at his response.
“Well, let me buy you a drink,” Bryce offers.
“Can’t say no to that.” I follow him through the crowd as he gently pushes through, grabbing hold of my hand to keep me from getting stuck behind in the chaotic cluster of people. When we arrive at the bar, I spot Zander and Blake shadowing the seated backs of Claire and Resa. “My friends are over there,” I tell him, gesturing with my hand the direction to turn. “I’ll introduce you.”
“Either single?” His eyebrows wiggle up and down suggestively. Oh, boy.
“Um. Not committed exactly,” I say slowly, pronouncing each syllable with thought. I didn’t really know how to answer the question. Resa had a thing going on and off with her boyfriend. He is the reason she is on a diet campaign. She wants to impress him. Claire is sharing breakfast, white collared shirts, and bodily fluids with Ethan. And as much as I have a thing for bacon, Bryce cannot interfere with that phenomenon.
“Challenge accepted,” he jokes.
“Hey guys!” I announce my arrival. Zander leans over to embrace me in a full-on hug, catching me off guard.
