hasn’t called, texted, or shown his face. His car is still at the hostel. It’s probably a matter of time, though, before he takes off. I should be relieved. Happy, even. Pleased his betraying self will be out of my life. I’m still angry, hurt, and disappointed, but in the calm after the storm, I can’t help but wonder if I overreacted. It’s natural for him to be curious, to look me up online. And that video is a testament to my crazy. If I were beside him when he watched it, he’d likely still have howled like that, but maybe he’d get me laughing at myself, too. Maybe.
“Jesus, Nina. Put one foot in front of the other. That’s what we normal folk call walking.” Leigh shoves past me into the bar.
I don’t feel like walking. Or sitting. Or existing. I’d much rather glue myself to the post I’m pressing my shoulder into. Although I’m conflicted over things with Sam, Leigh isn’t. Callum was on the paragliding trip with us earlier, flirting with me again, asking me to meet up with him later. Apparently, he wasn’t deterred by Sam’s posturing last night. That’s when Leigh came up with her genius idea to solve my Sam stress: shove Man-candy’s loss in his face.
So I’m here, in a bar, practically naked, but I don’t see Sam.
Leigh took a page from Reese’s book and dressed me up. Her black skirt is a size too small on me, the thin material stretched to the max, and my black bra is visible under her sheer gray tank top. She even made me buy heels. When I looked in the mirror earlier, I felt stylish and sexy. Now it feels like I should loiter on a street corner.
Leigh is two steps ahead. She looks left, then right, probably searching for me, then spins around and juts out her hip. I try to flatten myself against the wood post.
“Just when I didn’t think you could get any freakier.” She shakes her head and tugs the back of her hair, a habit she’s formed since chopping it off. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” She beelines for the bar.
People are lined up waiting for drinks, and a dozen tables are filled with others watching muted MMA on TV. A few pool tables are at the back, and I spot Bruno and Callum with some kids our age by the retro jukebox. Maybe hear is more accurate. Bruno’s laugh is unmistakable. The boys are busy chatting and haven’t noticed me, thank God. I don’t know how Leigh talked me into this.
Clutching two shots, she shoulders past a couple of older guys in denim and cowboy boots. She holds the glasses out to me. “This, Nina, is alcohol. Alcohol is your friend. It’s time for some liquid courage.”
She shoves the first shot into my hand. Unless we’re playing silly drinking games, I don’t do straight alcohol. I stick to beer or easy drinks like piña coladas, but she’s right. The only way I’ll be able to face Sam is by numbing my overactive mind. I tip my head back and shoot the liquid like a seasoned veteran. At least, I try. The coughing attack that follows sounds like Emphysema Betty in my tai chi class before she puts on her oxygen mask.
People look our way. Callum looks our way.
I snatch the other shot and down it. No hacking ensues. “I think I need another.”
She hooks her arm through mine. “Let the games begin.”
By the time we make it to the bar and order another round, Callum is there, leaning on the worn-out wood. “Glad you made it. This place was looking drab before you turned up.” His eyes are glazed, and he’s got his beer by the neck, swinging it lazily. He takes a swig and licks his lips.
I try to reply, but I revert to animatronic me. Giggle. Don’t giggle. Flip hair.
Callum is an attractive guy, his accent alone making up for the crooked bottom teeth and weak jaw—he doesn’t have Sam’s jaw. But his smile lights up his face, and he’s smooth and laid back, the type of guy who surfs and plays guitar at sunset. If I can jump off a mountain and survive in one piece, surely I can flirt with him as easily as I do with Sam. My grin falters. Sam. Earlier today, I wanted this. I wanted to flirt with Callum and make Sam jealous. Make him feel a fraction of the hurt