Page 14 of Sizzle
Sitting in a bar full of people makes me think maybe it’s time I moved on, away from here. I mean, I’ve lived in this city my whole life. My parents live here. Nearly every friend I’ve ever had still lives here, though some have moved away. Maybe it’s time to think about moving somewhere else too.
A fresh start. Clean slate. All those clichés. No more hiding.
Except the part of me I hide doesn’t go away, even if I move away. I still want to get married, have children, settle down behind some white picket fence. That kind of future either means finding somebody who can live with my past… or finding a way to live with my past and never telling another soul again.
My throat tightens at the thought. I hate liars, and the idea of keeping secrets from even a hypothetical future spouse feels a helluva lot like lying to me.
I drain what’s left of my beer, trying to shake off that train of thought. No, moving away wouldn’t solve anything. I can’t leave now anyway. Elliot’s going to need all the help he can get the next few weeks.
Maybe after the holidays—
“Sorry, babe, but somebody borked your order up,” says a breathless Meg as she sets another pint down in front of me. “Mind sticking around a little while longer?”
“That depends,” I say with a smile. “You planning on driving me home?”
“Shameless flirt,” she says. “If I thought for even a second you were serious—”
“Yeah, Jack would beat the ever-loving shit out of me,” I say. “Not that you’re not the most beautiful woman on the earth, but I meant I’m gonna need a designated driver at the rate we’re going.”
Meg laughs. “Fair enough. Stay and eat, will you? We can hook you up with a ride if you stick around tonight.”
I think about it for all of two seconds and nod. “Deal.”
I’ve clearly surprised her but Meg gives me a big smile and heads back down the bar. I won’t avail myself of her offer of a ride home, but it’s nice to know somebody wants me to stick around. Even if it’s only because she knows I’ll tip her well, it’s still a nice feeling.
And just when the hell did I get so cynical? It’s easy to blame Diana and the breakup, but I’m getting pretty damn sick of that same old song, even if it’s only in my head.
I turn my attention to baseball instead, enjoying the cool bite of the beer Meg poured me. I don’t recognize the flavor; it must be new. Then again, this is the longest time I’ve spent in a bar—hell, anywhere besides work or home—in months. Maybe a year.
Definitely time to get out more.
A few minutes later, Meg sets a large bag of food on the bar next to me.
“Keep an eye on this for me, will you?” she says, already moving away. The receipt stapled to the top says FNG, so I know it’s not mine.
“Excuse me,” comes a soft voice I barely hear over the crowd. I turn in my seat, and there she is.
That’s it—that’s all I can think. There she is.
“I think that might be my order,” she says, pointing at the bag I’m supposed to be guarding.
“FNG?” I say. Because there aren’t any more words in my head. There’s barely any air in the bar. And what air was left evaporates a moment later, because she laughs.
“FNG, huh? They think they’re so funny,” she says.
“So that’s not what I should call you?”
“You can call me anything you want,” she says and winks. Thank God I’m already sitting, because my knees would have buckled.
“I’m Alex,” I say.
“I’m Joelle,” she says, holding out a hand. I shake it, battling the ridiculous urge to pull her hand up to kiss it.
“So what’s the joke?” I say, letting her go before I give into any weird impulses and try to put her in my pocket for keeps.
“Hmm?” she asks. She’s staring at me and it’s not the get-the-hell-away-you-weirdo kind of way.
Not going to lie, that’s gratifying.