“Wow. Now that’s an offer. Let’s just see how the night plays out. You never know.” She continued on her path to the bar. She had no intention of starting anything with Stephanie, and she wondered why she’d engaged in the flirtatious exchange. Her conversation with Samantha a few days prior played back in her head. Because you never want to hurt anyone’s feelings. You should be more up front if you’re not interested. It seemed that advice wasn’t exactly easy to implement.
She waited patiently at the bar, subtly moving her head in time to the music, until Hope, the bartender, caught her eye and smiled. Speaking of a lot of attention from girls, Hope always had her hands full with the groupies that flocked to Showplace just to sit at the bar and stare awestruck at her all night. She’d started work at Showplace about six months prior and was instantly the talk of the lesbian regulars. With medium-length blond hair (generally pulled back when she was working), soft brown eyes, and an easy smile, Hope garnered lots of attention. But she kept her head down, made the drinks, and collected her tips, preferring to stick to her job rather than chatting up girls. She and Hunter had struck up a friendship over the past few months and found that they had quite a few things in common.
“Hey,” Hope said, resting her forearms on the bar in front of Hunter. “How’s your night?”
“Just getting started,” Hunter said, projecting her voice above the music. “How’s yours?”
Hope glanced around. “It started picking up about eight and hasn’t slowed down for a second. I’m going to sleep like a baby tonight. Won’t make it home until probably three.”
“But you’ve landed at least ten phone numbers already, if I had to guess.”
Hope grinned, dropped a cherry on top of a beverage, and handed it across the bar to a waiting woman. “You know I don’t pay attention to that kind of thing. I’m working. Six fifty,” she said to the girl before turning her attention back to Hunter. “Hey, did you check out that band in the East Village? I wanted to hear what you thought before I ventured out.”
“No. I skipped it. But if you decide to catch a set sometime, let me know. I’ll tag along.”
“You’re on. Now what can I get for you?”
“I need a cucumber martini and a bourbon and Coke.”
“Coming up.” When Hope returned with a tray with three drinks instead of two, Hunter raised a questioning eyebrow. Hope shrugged. “Mallory’s drink looks a little low.”
Hunter stared at Hope, enjoying this. “But you don’t pay attention to that kind of thing. You’re working.”
“Spotting a customer in need of a drink is part of that job.” She winked at Hunter. “And I’m excellent at my job.”
It wasn’t the first time that Hope had sent Mallory a drink. And it probably wouldn’t be the last. “Well, thanks.” She slid Hope some cash for hers and Sam’s cocktails and made her way back to the table.
“A refresher for you,” she said to Mallory, placing the drink in front of her. “On the house. You’re officially a stud, by the way. Mad props.”
“Oh no. This is from the bartender, isn’t it?” Mallory eyed the drink critically. “I don’t know how I feel about stud status.”
Hunter stared at her. “Don’t overthink it. Hard for you, I know, but you’ll manage. Enjoy your drink and wave to Hope. It’s what you do.” She shifted her focus. “And a cucumber martini for Sam.” She placed the glass in front of Samantha.
“Thank you.” Samantha smiled widely in appreciation and Hunter couldn’t seem to look away. She radiated tonight. She’d complained about her inability to put an outfit together, but there was something so simplistic about her look, a casual solid green sundress with a silver necklace that brought out her eyes and easily made her the most attractive woman in the room. Her hair was down and she must not have blow-dried it that day, as it fell in subtle waves that clung just past her shoulders, shiny and soft like some kind of shampoo commercial. Hunter remembered the way it had cascaded softly through her fingers when they’d kissed in the entryway of Samantha’s room. How sweet it had smelled when she buried her face in it in Sam’s bed. A tingle moved through her at the very vivid sensation.
“Hunter?” she heard Brooklyn say. And then there were hands on her shoulders from behind. “Hey. You in there?”
“Yeah, totally. Sorry.” She turned and focused her attention on the newly arrived Brooklyn, breaking into a smile at the addition to their table. “You guys made it.” She’d seen Brooklyn earlier that day, but she pulled Jessica in for a quick hug.
“Thanks for the invite,” Jessica said as Hunter released her. “We had dinner at home first. But it’s nice to get out.”
“There might have also been a quickie,” she heard Brooklyn whisper to Samantha as she assumed the seat next to her. Ah, yes, young love. What must that be like? She chose not to dwell, downing half of her drink instead. She had a lot of feelings swirling and because she didn’t quite know what the hell they were or meant, she opted instead for a bit of unbridled distraction.
“I need to dance,” she said to everyone and to no one. Without waiting for a response, she made her way to the dance floor and let the music take her far from life’s complications. The floor was crowded, but that almost made it easier to lose herself among the masses. The beat was fast and she lifted her hands and tossed back her head. The prickle from the alcohol snuck into her system, loosening her limbs and dulling her senses just enough. A girl turned into her and they danced together. She slid one of her arms around the girl’s waist. She’d seen her before. They’d chatted over drinks sometime back. They danced closer with each rhythmic pulse. Hypnotic really, the sensation of pressing against a virtual stranger to a monotonous beat.
“Well, Hunter’s in game mode tonight,” Mallory said, smiling from their table, her eyes on the dance floor. But Samantha didn’t need the update. She’d seen for herself. As Brooklyn recounted her most recent run-in with a traffic cop, Samantha perfected the art of divided attention. Though she threw in the occasional no way, wow, or nice in response to Brooklyn’s story, her true focus remained about a hundred feet away, where Hunter danced in a rather sexy manner with some club kid who looked like she wanted to devour Hunter right then and there. It wasn’t long before the random girl’s arms moved up Hunter’s body to around her neck in a display so overt that Samantha rolled her eyes.
“What’s with the face? You don’t agree?” Brooklyn asked.
Busted. She had no idea what Brooklyn had just said, but she could totally play this off. “No, you’re right.”
Brooklyn seemed satisfied. “I just think that as long as I’m not putting anyone in danger, what does it matter if I push the bounds of a yellow light?” Brooklyn continued her story, but not far away, the brunette pressed her body to Hunter’s just as that Stephanie girl joined them on the dance floor. She watched as Hunter turned to Stephanie and the two moved like they were born to dance with one another. Hunter tossed her hair. Stephanie smiled, entranced by the visual, and matched her step for step.
For whatever reason, it angered Samantha.
All of it.
And the fact that she was angry just made her that much more angry in some sort of exponential anger scenario that royally sucked. Because what did she have to be angry about, really? Those women were not good enough for Hunter, true. But if Hunter enjoyed that kind of thing, who was she to care? Just because she’d been with Hunter once did not give her the right to dictate who she danced with.
And she was so not jealous right now anyway.
Because what the hell? She was not that girl. She just wasn’t.
The music was pounding way too loud.
There were too many people.
And if that Stephanie chick danced any closer to Hunter, they’d be the same person.
“Sam, did you hear me?” Brooklyn asked.
She turned to Brooklyn, the words flying out of her mouth before she had time to censor them. “You want to know what I heard? You’re a menace
behind the wheel of a car. You always have been. But you know what? I think you kind of like it. And that’s what I heard.”
While Brooklyn’s mouth formed a tiny “oh,” Mallory studied Sam with concerned interest, always the voice of reason. “Sam, everything all right with you tonight?”
“Me? Fine. Never been better. Why do you ask?” She had no idea why she was yelling but had no ability not to.
Brooklyn raised her hand as if called on in class. “Because your eyes are flashing scary.”
“And then there is the fact that your eyebrows are kind of drawn down into a hostile little line,” Mallory added, moving her hand in a circle.
Samantha balked. “I do not have hostile eyebrows.”
“They’re a tad hostile,” Jessica said calmly. “Not to interrupt the banter.”
“Hey, you guys,” a random girl said, leaning on their table. She was maybe twenty-two at most and a little too perky for Sam’s liking. “Don’t mean to bother, but is Hunter here tonight? One of my friends was just curious.”
Brooklyn opened her mouth to speak, but Sam was on it. “She’s right over there. Tell your friend the line starts to the left. There’ll be a survey after.”
Once the girl moved on, Brooklyn slid Sam’s martini a little closer to her. “Have a drink, Sammie.”
“You know what? Best idea of the night.” She picked up the martini and downed the sucker. But she knew where there were more and headed off on a mission to locate one.
*
When the music changed, Hunter was ready for a break. The dance floor was hot, both literally and figuratively, and she needed a moment to catch her breath. She spotted Samantha at the bar, and though she was technically the reason Hunter had attempted to distract herself, she just couldn’t seem to stay away. A glutton for punishment, clearly.
“Hey,” she said, sliding in next to Sam. “Number two for you already. You’re cutting loose tonight.”
“Something like that,” Sam murmured without giving Hunter so much as a sideways glance.
Hunter nodded her head in time to the music. “This place is crazy tonight. More people than usual. I think our secret is out.”
“Seems like it.” Still no eye contact, and either Sam was participating in a “scarcity of words” contest or she didn’t want to talk to Hunter.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
Another short answer. Okay, so did this mean they were in some sort of argument she hadn’t been informed of? “Hey, why aren’t you looking at me?”
Samantha turned fully then, and Hunter had the answer to her question, as Sam looked anything but friendly. “Better?” she asked coolly, as her eyes settled on Hunter’s. Hope presented Samantha with her drink and a moment later she was gone, leaving Hunter standing there, wondering what the hell she had done to deserve that arctic blast.
When she arrived back at the table, there was yet another new arrival. Jessica’s right-hand man, Bentley, stood next to Brooklyn. She’d only spent a limited amount of time with the guy, but they’d quickly bonded. He was laid back and fun. Someone she could mess with at will. Him being a bit of a ladies’ man himself, they seemed to recognize the common ground in each other.
Jessica looked between them. “Hunter, you remember Bentley, yes?”
“Of course. Hey there, Bent. Your Mets are looking like a band of sixth graders lately.”
He grinned and raced around the table, wrapping his giant arms around her in a playful chokehold from behind. “My favorite rascal is here,” he said, kissing the side of her head several times. “And my Mets will run your Reds all over the field.”
He released her and she stumbled forward before reversing direction and punching him in the arm hard for the physical harassment. She got him good, too, the wily bastard.
“Ow. Stop beating me up. I’m fragile,” he said.
“Please. As for my Reds, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” she said, dusting her hands together.
The fast-paced music shifted behind them to a slower, more melodic tune. To keep the scene vibrant, they didn’t play a lot of slow songs at Showplace on weekends, with the exception of one or two well-placed crowd favorites throughout the night. If she had a crystal ball, she’d expect Stephanie to approach her any moment, but she had other ideas. She met Sam’s eyes across the table and inclined her head subtly in the direction of the dance floor. She wanted to fix whatever was off, and she wanted to do it now. Holding Samantha as they moved slowly to the music was just an extra-added benefit that she didn’t allow herself to dwell on.
But Samantha’s gaze glided to Bentley, who shrugged at Hunter. “She promised her first dance to me.” He offered Samantha his hand and she accepted. Hunter watched them take their place among the dozen other swaying couples. But it was the moment when Samantha looked up at Bentley and smiled that Hunter felt her stomach clench in the most uncomfortable manner.
“You okay?” Jessica asked, placing a hand on Hunter’s thigh. “You aren’t looking so good.”
“Maybe drink some water,” Mallory offered, mistaking her demeanor for too much to drink. But that was good. Let them think that, because if the world knew how she was really feeling, like she didn’t even recognize herself, well, things would certainly get a lot more complicated.
Hunter was feeling something she didn’t understand, that she couldn’t quite name, and it was freaking her the hell out. She’d been lusting after Samantha for weeks. But was this more than just lust? And as if in reflex, she panicked, because that’s not how she operated. “I have to go,” she announced to the table. Brooklyn and Jessica exchanged glances.
“I’ll walk halfway with you,” Brooklyn said, pushing back from the table. “Make sure you’re all right.”
Hunter didn’t so much as pause. “Do what you want, but I’m fine.” Just before pushing the door open, she stole one last look at the dance floor. At Samantha swaying sweetly with Bentley, smiling up at him. Jealousy was unattractive, a trait she’d always prided herself on never having to deal with. She was the exception to most any rule, damn it.
Not anymore, apparently.
Because the healthy dose of envy she’d just been doused with served as a sobering reminder that maybe she’d given herself too much credit. New verdict: Jealousy sucked.
“You want to talk about it?” Brooklyn asked as they walked the darkened street, dodging passersby. Hunter folded her arms across her body, partly to brace against the chill and partly in self-protection mode. She wasn’t in a good place.
“Not really.”
“This isn’t you drinking too much. I’ve met drunk Hunter many times, and she’s a happy drunk. Something else is going on with you and it has been for a while now.” And then Brooklyn stopped dead in her tracks, forcing Hunter to pause and look back at her.
“What? Are you coming or not?”
Brooklyn’s mouth fell open. “You’ve totally fallen for her, haven’t you?”
Hunter felt the blood drain from her face and she grappled for the words that would best explain what she couldn’t even explain to herself. She wasn’t falling for Sam. She didn’t do love. But there was a depth of emotion there that she couldn’t quite pinpoint. How could she explain to Brooklyn that there was something pure and wonderful about Samantha, unlike any other girl? That she was kind and funny and quirky and so beyond beautiful that it wasn’t fair? That when she stared up at Hunter with those fathomless green eyes, Hunter ran out of air? But instead of sharing those things, all she could manage to say was, “No, that’d be crazy.”
“But you have feelings for her,” Brooklyn countered.
Hunter dropped her head back and looked up at the sky. “I don’t know. Maybe a little.”
The corners of Brooklyn’s mouth turned up in happy excitement as she skipped the rest of the distance between them. Was Brooklyn happy about this? Because honestly, Hunter wasn’t sure she would be. It complicated so much.
; Brooklyn snatched up Hunter’s hand and squeezed it against hers. “So are you guys going to live together and get married and have little yoga babies? Family Tree Poses for the win!”
She blinked at Brooklyn, trying to decode the sentence before understanding zapped her. She’d told Brooklyn about April in the park, and the misinformation had carried through to this very moment. Damn it. As she stood there on the corner of Spring and Broadway, she recognized that the crossroads in front of her literally mirrored the decision she faced about what to tell Brooklyn. But why ruin the chemistry of the group for something that wasn’t going to go anywhere anyway? That couldn’t go anywhere. She and Sam were hook-up buddies. That was it. The people Samantha dated were nothing like Hunter.
So what would be the point in confessing her feelings to Brooklyn? Just because it would help to talk out her situation with someone? Not a good enough reason. Hunter took a cleansing breath. “Yoga babies might be a little far off.” She swallowed the truth and felt heavier for it.
Brooklyn pulled her into a hug and held on. “I know you are probably freaking out over this. I did the exact same thing. Just don’t run from your feelings. Promise me? Give them a chance.”
“I promise.” Hunter returned the hug, knowing that was an agreement she wouldn’t be able to keep.
*
Sam was feeling a little bit tipsy when she and Mallory walked home from Showplace that night. The sky was clear, and there was a night chill that had Samantha wishing she’d brought a sweater. It was just after midnight, and despite her best efforts to turn the evening around, the images of Hunter dancing with that Stephanie girl hung on like the plague, making everything that followed taste bitter and unhappy.
Mallory nudged Sam’s shoulder with her own as they walked. “Something’s going on in that analytical brain of yours.”
She fired a glance at Mallory as they split the sidewalk to leave room for a gaggle of teenagers to pass. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re uptight, argumentative, and quiet. Which is the way you get when column A doesn’t match column B. I’m expecting you to go home and put on your glasses and serious ponytail while you work out the life details.”
Just Three Words Page 18
