She’s…she’s with someone. My hands clench and press against my legs as I take them in, the glasses on their table, the way he’s leaning in over her, his arm around her shoulder.
Yeah, it’s like that then. Space.
Yet, here I am with someone.
What right do I have?
But those are logical thoughts, and right now, logic is way out of reach, stupidity inching in. I want to go over there and pull her out of that booth. My hands curl—
“…which side of the booth do you want?”
I look down at the redhead and blink. What’s her name? Melody…Melanie? I shake my head then nod when I realize that’s the wrong response.
“Uh, wherever, yeah, great.” Only when I slide in, my view is of her.
My hand goes in my pocket and I touch the note there.
The one I can’t bring myself to ask her about.
My date leans into me, and I look down at her. How the hell am I supposed to get through this date when I don’t even remember her name?
We order a round of drinks as the band picks up, a ragtag but talented group of students from Waylon who mostly do old rock cover songs.
M is on her second beer when Dillon and his girl, a brunette, join us. I don’t know her name either, but I’m glad for the distraction.
“How’s it going?” he asks me when the girls pull out their phones to take selfies.
“What’s her name? Your cousin?”
He rolls his eyes. “Fuck you, man. That’s my family and you don’t even know her name?” He studies my face, and whatever he sees makes him frown. “Dude, it’s Mary—easiest name in the world.”
“Does it end with an “I”, like M-E-R-R-I? Because I’m starting to see a trend lately.”
He smirks. “Nah. Just regular Mary.”
I nod.
His eyes skate over the room, linger for a moment in one spot, then come back to me. “Now I know the problem. Your ex is here.”
“Not my ex.”
“Okay, your former hookup who’s also in our class, also known as the ‘hot piece who turned me down sophomore year’.”
“Fuck you.”
He takes a sip of his beer. “See. That explains the mood.”
“I’m fine,” I snap.
He studies me. “Tonight, you’re not gonna think about her or anything. You’re gonna drink some beer and have fun. You feel me?”
The band takes a quick break, and Dillon gets up to go talk to them. They look at me a few times until I finally raise my beer and toast them.
Dillon waves for me to join, and I finish up the beer and head that way—anything to move around and get her out of my line of sight.
“You wanna sing tonight?” Dillon asks. “The band is asking.”
“Nope, not feeling it.” I have a few times over the years, mostly when I’ve had too much to drink and someone prods me until I give in and do it.
Mary has joined us. “Oh, please, Blaze! Dillon is always talking about how great you are.”
I shrug. “I’m not that good. I just know how to carry a tune.”
Dillon shakes his head. “Liar.”
The band guy speaks. “You know any eighties songs?”
My eyes go over to Charisma. “A few.”
“What instrument do you prefer? I’ve got a little bit of everything. Piano, guitar, drums…” he asks.
She’s not watching me, instead looking at her date, their heads bent low. I watch him touch her hand—
“I can play them all, but I’d rather just sing. What song you want? I know the words to a shit ton.” Thanks, ADHD.
We run through some options, talking over Skid Row, Guns N’ Roses, and Poison, but nothing strikes me.
Then it hits me, and I suggest a song that’s been burning inside me for three damn days. Images of her play out in my head, that short skirt, her heels.
“Can you sing it like he can?” Carson, the lead singer, asks with excitement. He’s a tall, skinny guy wearing a Metallica shirt.
I bark out a laugh. “I’m rusty, and it might sound shitty, but…”
He grins. “Doesn’t matter. It’s the whole package they’ll see.”
Whatever. I just want to sing those words to her, get them off my chest.
Dillon rolls his eyes. “Dude, your voice is butter. You’ll nail it.”
I look back at Charisma, and part of me—okay, all of me—wants her to be watching me, wants her to want me so bad she can’t stop looking.
Mary hands me another beer, and I take a long sip.