by Kate Morris
It was after nine by the time they got to the bar, and he was starving. They located their friends at a long table that overlooked the sunken dance floor which sat about three feet lower than them. Tristan took a seat at the end near the railing. The place was packed. Some of his friends were already getting loud and rowdy. They didn’t mean anything by it, but they did tend to get a little overly rambunctious when they were all out together blowing off steam.
“Lots o’ honeys here tonight, bro’!” Freddie declared and offered a fist punch, which Tristan begrudgingly complied.
He just wanted a steak.
The place was jumping already, people were dancing, and the band was putting out some classic country tunes. Tristan didn’t mind country music. Anything was better than rap, which he detested. He preferred rock but could power through a few classic country songs while he filled his belly with a good-sized slab of cow.
They placed their orders and shared appetizers the guys must’ve already ordered before they got there. He didn’t want to spoil his appetite, so he stuck to just a single cheese stick and sipped his water. He hadn’t even touched his beer. He was in the mood more for a sweet tea instead and would maybe order one later.
“Yeah, baby,” one of their friends said. “Check me out!”
He half stood and rolled his hips as another song began, one Tristan was pretty sure a female country singer sang. It had a catchy beat, which was bringing out Royce’s inner exhibitionist. Royce was just being his usual jackass self. The guys all laughed, one punched him in the nuts- or tried to- and he sat again. They all high-fived. Tristan just rolled his eyes and looked out at the dancers filling the floor.
“Check it out. Check it out,” Royce shouted over the music and the general noise and hum of the bar and pointed. “Get it, honey! Hee-haw!”
They all clapped again as Royce cheered on a group of young women doing a line dance. They ignored him, of course. Who wouldn’t? He was being an idiot. Nothing new there. It was the reason he never scored, too.
“Sit down, dumbass,” Tristan stated as he continued. Royce laughed loudly but sat anyway, which Tristan was glad for.
He and Spencer talked since they were across from each other. Tristan liked him. He was a pretty good guy, quiet, but funny.
A short time later, their food came, and the table grew considerably, peaceably quieter as the men ate. The second they were done, though, it got loud again. Pearson took off in search of a girl he’d spotted that he knew. Royce and Spencer left for the dance floor to line dance like a couple of fairies, which he and Freddie called them before they hurried away.
“You ever gonna drink that?” Freddie asked of his bottle of beer.
“Nah, you can have it, man,” he said. “I’m gonna get an iced tea at the bar.”
“Tea? Party pooper alert,” his friend teased. “If you’re gonna be that good, then I’m gettin’ hammered.”
“Just don’t go starting something I’ve gotta finish,” he ordered as he stood and placed his ball cap on his head again. They’d all left stuff on the table to hold it along with a huge tip for their waitress, who Royce had shamelessly flirted with. Tristan hated when they hit on the waitresses. Their jobs sucked bad enough without dickheads bugging them.
“Ha! Me? Never,” Freddie joked and took off.
Tristan made his way through the thick crowd to the wraparound bar. He actually managed to get a seat there and ordered his drink. The bartender, a young woman with a lot of piercings, looked pissed at his choice of iced tea until he left her a big tip. He was just raising his glass to take his first sip when someone knocked into him from behind. It was followed by a lot of feminine giggling. He swung on his stool prepared to fight. He was met by a pair of pale, ice blue eyes instead.
“Oh, sorry!” she exclaimed with a wide smile. Then she caught sight of his balled fist tucked close to his stomach, preparing to punch someone. “Oh.”
“Uh…no problem, ma’am,” Tristan recovered quickly and unclenched his fist.
“Sorry! I’ve just had too much to drink!” her friend behind her said. She was staggering on her feet. Tristan offered her his untouched iced tea.
“Here, sip this. It’ll help,” he said, not sure if that was true or not but figured caffeine was better than more liquor.
The first woman put her hand out to block her friend’s outstretched palm. “No, Joella. Don’t!” she whispered and eyed up Tristan. “You shouldn’t take drinks from someone you don’t know.”
He grimaced. She was feisty. She was also familiar. Her super pale blonde hair was piled on top of her head in some sort of messy knot, and little silver earrings with stones that matched her eyes dangled delicately from both lobes. A silver necklace with small silver rings attached like charms rested against her chest. She was wearing a short white cotton dress that looked like something better suited to a summer picnic. Her color was high, her cheeks flushed a dark pink, and she was perspiring lightly. They must’ve been dancing.
“Oh, Avery, you prude!” another woman in their group announced and shoved past her toward a seat on the other side of Tristan. She was dressed differently than the blonde in a short, clingy red dress that left little to the imagination. She also stepped on the blonde’s cowgirl boot with her spiky black heel and tripped her in the process.
“Ouch!” the blonde said and stumbled into him again. Tristan’s hands shot out to stabilize her by the shoulders. Her cheeks reddened even more, and she mumbled an apology and stepped back.
He flagged down the bartender again and ordered another iced tea. When it came, he handed it directly to the blonde.
“See? It’s coming from you this time, not me. Better?”
She nodded with embarrassment and took it. “Thank you. Here, Joella, drink this instead.”
Her friend, Joella, nudged her way to the bar and plunked down on the stool next to Tristan. She had short brown hair and wide matching eyes.
“What is this? I want another daiquiri!” she declared drunkenly.
Tristan gave the ‘cut her off’ universal neck slashing motion to his bartender who returned it with a subtle nod.
“Oh, that? It’s…um… better than a daiquiri,” the feisty blonde friend stuttered.
“Really? What is it?”
The blonde paused and gave him a look that let him know she needed help.
“A long island iced tea,” Tristan lied to Joella and shot her friend a wink. The blonde looked away quickly as if he made her uncomfortable. Joella took a long guzzle of the iced tea. If that’s how she was drinking daiquiris, then no wonder she was drunk. Joella clearly couldn’t handle her liquor. Women and their silly chick drinks full of fruit and sugar and way too much alcohol.
“Can I get you something?” he asked the blonde, who was affectionately rubbing Joella’s back.
“No, thank you,” she said and looked away again.
Some women were like that around him, nervous, fidgety, scared, apprehensive, and sensing danger like a hare cornered by a wolf. He sometimes wondered if women picked up on his deadly side or if maybe they were just uncomfortable around all men. She looked down at her dirty cowgirl boots. They actually looked like they’d seen some wear in a barn. Most of the chicks in the bar were wearing boots that looked like they just came out of the box. Or stripper heels like her other friend.
Another young woman about the same age came running up to them.
“Avery, that guy over there wants to know if you’ll dance with him,” she exclaimed as if it were the greatest thing on earth and pointed to a man about six people away from where Tristan sat with her friends. He looked like a frat boy and was wearing khakis and a mint green polo shirt. Totally her type.
“Oh,” the blonde said, shaking her head vehemently. “Um, no, I don’t think so. I’m just here with my girls tonight, Renee.”
That surprised him. No to the mint green polo guy?
“When are you not, girl?” Renee asked. “You need to go on a date,
Ave! Like a real date! Not with Abraham or Ephraim or Finnegan.”
Was she quoting Bible characters or former boyfriends, he wondered. Renee was a chill kind of girl. She was dressed in a long black cardigan without sleeves, a black tank top, and a brown braided belt and matching boots that looked like something a Native American would’ve worn. Her jewelry matched. Her brown hair was not hair anymore at all but actual dreadlocks that nearly touched her waist. She had a piercing in her nose, too, a little hoop.
“Hi, I’m Renee!” she said, poking her hand toward him.
“Tristan,” he returned, getting a grin in return. The blonde did not introduce herself.
The band announced one more song before they were going to do a slow set.
“Oh! It’s our song, Ave!” Renee announced and tugged the tan blonde. “C’mon!”
Renee dragged her friend to the crowded dance floor. The blonde took a quick peek over her shoulder, but Tristan wasn’t sure if she was looking at him or at her friend, who was chatting his ear off about things that made no sense.
The song had a cool beat and a lot of guitar work. The singer kept singing the name “Jolene” over and over and sounded like she was pissed at the chick who was trying to steal her man. He guessed it was an extended edition because the crowd was really into it, and there were long guitar and drum solos spaced out between the lyrics, too long for a traditional radio version.
Tristan had the advantage and could see the sunken dance floor below the bar very easily. He guessed that it was built this way for this exact purpose. It was meant for scouting, hunting for Mrs. Right or Mrs. Tonight.
He sat back and watched Renee and the blonde dance. Renee looked like she was on some sort of trippy acid or something, but the blonde was graceful and sang along to the words when the female singer in the band belted out the notes. She swayed gracefully, actually slightly slower than the tempo would’ve dictated. She held onto the hem of her short sundress and swished it a few times. Some of the hair on top of her head had come undone throughout the night, probably from dancing, and hung in gentle tendrils around her face and down her partially bare back. Renee grabbed her hands and yanked on them until she was paying attention. Then they were both jumping up and down with the beat as the song came to a crescendo. They sang at the tops of their lungs just like everyone else on the dance floor.
Tristan glanced around and realized he wasn’t the only one watching the two women. Many of the men at the bar and standing at the railing overlooking the dance floor were staring at those two women in particular. They were like light and dark, day and night, opposites in so many ways. The blonde was almost ethereal in her white, virginal dress, pale eyes and nearly white hair pulled on top of her head as if wearing it down would be improper while her friend was dressed in darker clothing, had brown dreadlocks, dramatic makeup, and lots of dangly jewelry. He’d even spotted tattoos on her fingers. She was the antithesis of the blonde and had the promise of something exotic and sexy while the blonde was damn near an angel.
When the song ended, the two women rejoined their friends flanking Tristan. The slutty one was talking to Royce on her other side but paused to introduce himself to the blonde and her friend. The slutty one seemed wild enough to handle him, so Tristan didn’t interfere.
“Want some drinks?” he asked the brunette when they were in front of him.
“Ye…”
“No, thank you,” the blonde said, interrupting her friend.
“I’ll take a whiskey sour, thank you very much,” Renee stated with pluck and shot the blonde a sneer and then a grin.
“Whoa, a whiskey girl, huh?” he teased and got a lopsided grin. She had a pierced lower lip, too.
“So, are you a soldier or something?” Renee asked after he ordered and handed her the drink.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered honestly.
“What’s your rank?” she asked and poked her hand toward him to offer a shake.
Tristan took her hand and clasped it gently, gave it a few pumps. “Sergeant, ma’am.”
She nodded. “Cool.”
“What’s that mean?” the drunk one, Joella asked, stabbing her finger at his forearm and the tattoo of the eagle wrapped in the Gadsden flag.
“Eagle, don’t tread on me flag,” he explained.
She repeated, “Whas-tha-mean?” in a slur.
The blonde stepped forward and started rattling off facts as if she were a computer, “The Gadsden flag was named after General Christopher Gadsden and represented the Continental Marines, who fought against the tyranny of British rule. The snake on the flag is said to have represented the thirteen colonies and was a reference to Benjamin Franklin’s published papers. It was a way to show an opposition force and unity of the Continental Army.”
“Ohhhkay,” Tristan said slowly. “Impressive.”
“She was homeschooled,” Renee said, sipping her drink and thumbing toward her friend.
“So were you,” the blonde tattled.
“We all were,” Renee clarified for him. “This is a homeschool girls night out.”
She laughed, a guttural tone that was exactly what he would expect from her. Were these chicks for real? Homeschool? Like Amish people or something?
“Wait, how old are you guys?” he asked next.
“Avery’s nineteen, I’m twenty-two, Joella’s twenty-one, and Sheba over there with your friend,” she pointed to Royce, who was hanging on the woman’s every word, “is twenty-three.”
“Cool, so you were uh…homeschooled? Together or…” he asked but stopped, out of his comfort zone. The gorgeous blonde was only nineteen. No thanks. She was just a baby.
“No, silly,” Renee explained. “We were all schooled at home by our moms. Except me. I got kicked out of private school. I did school online. The rest did traditional homeschool.”
“Oh, and that’s legal?”
The blonde glared at him with irritation, but Renee laughed loudly and jumped in to explain. “Of course, soldier boy! Geesh! It’s legal. And we’ve all been to college, too, most still in. ‘Cept Avery. She’s a super genius like her dad. Gets all these big contracts and stuff…”
“Renee,” the blonde cut her off, clearly not comfortable with having someone know so much about her. “I went to college, too.”
“Not that long,” Renee said. “You’re lucky you knew what you wanted to do. I’m never gonna finish. I’m in grad school to be a social worker.”
“What kinda’ contracts?” he prodded, wanting to know more about the blonde’s job.
“Just for work,” she answered noncommittally, letting him know he wasn’t getting any more information. Man, she really did not like him.
“So, are you on leave or something?” Renee asked as Joella rested her head on the bar.
“No, not leave, just temporarily stationed here at the base,” he answered and stood up. “Here, take my seat.”
He was offering it to the blonde, but Renee stepped forward and plopped down. “Thanks!”
Tristan stepped back to stand next to the blonde. She took a subtle step sideways away from him. Her friend kept drilling him with questions about his service, most of which he evaded with answers that were simple and not too full of the truth.
Renee asked him for a slow dance, so he accepted and offered his arm to lead her to the floor below. Royce was already dancing with the other friend in the slutty clothes. He glanced over his shoulder at the blonde who had taken up residence in his seat and was watching him with wary cool blue eyes as if he might kidnap her friend. Obviously asking the blonde to dance was going to be an exercise in stupidity and a waste of time.
Chapter Four
The man next to Joella kept coughing, which made Avery nervous he had a cold. She didn’t want her friend to get sick. Maybe it was just a smoker’s cough.
She ordered a diet soda and sipped it as her friends danced with the soldiers from the base outside of town. Avery was familiar with it. Once a month, her mother made her
and her siblings bake homemade cookies which she delivered to the base. She said it was a nice thing to do for men and women so far from their homes. Avery remembered going there once with her to make the delivery when she was under the weather. She was probably around twelve years old at the time. It was an imposing place with tall fencing and razor wire at the top. The soldiers were all smiles at the prospect of something home baked, though.
“I need another daiquiri,” Joella announced.
“I think you’re doing just fine with your tea,” Avery told her friend.
“I need to pee,” Joella said next, making Avery cringe. If her friend knew the things she was saying, she’d cringe, too.
“Okay, let’s go,” she said and hopped down from the stool.
She helped her friend and waited until she stopped swaying. Joella had just turned twenty-one a few weeks ago, so this was her first foray into alcohol. It wasn’t going well. Avery didn’t drink and had no intention of starting when she was of age but wasn’t going to sit in judgment of her friends if they did. She just didn’t want them making regrettable decisions in a drunken state.
There was a line for the bathroom, so she waited with Joella, leaning against the hallway wall.
“Hey, baby,” a man said behind her.
Avery turned to look up at him. She turned back with the barest hint of a nod acknowledging him.
“I said hey,” he repeated.
“Hello,” Avery said with a touch of antagonism, hoping he’d go away. He was clearly drunk, had long hair that looked like it needed a good washing, and cutting for that matter, and had bloodshot eyes as if he were also on some sort of drugs.
