Fuuuuck.
My eyes dart to Nicole and back to him. "I didn't mean to call you out about Nicole. I'm so —"
"No—no, no." He shakes his head, frantically, cutting me off. "Franklin Charles. We talked about Franklin Charles."
Oh. God, I'm a moron. Now I'm embarrassed and he's embarrassed and all I had to say—even if I have no memory of it, Jared already told me—was that we'd spoken about Franklin Charles. I just had to open my stupid mouth about Nicole. Again.
I squeeze my hands together under the bar in an effort to stem some of the pathetic embarrassment.
"Right, right," I say, my throat tight. Something about Zach makes me want to impress him. Not in the same way I want to impress Gage, but in the way anyone would want a boss to think highly of them. I make an assumption regarding the conversation I can't remember and say, "I still think you should try to book him here."
"I am thinking about it," he says. "Now back to work—I just stopped over to tell you I'm glad you took the job."
I am, too. Even more now than before. It's my second night here and I already feel like part of the crew. Something is slowly opening inside of me. This sense of—I don't know—peace, maybe? There's no doubt in my mind I've made the right decision on what to do with my summer. I need this break. No pressure from professors, no peers in constant competition. No parents. No drowning in air thick with unresolved grief.
No Jason, my mind whispers.
But I swallow the guilt. I tell myself it's okay. I don't have to feel bad. This summer is meant solely for fun—without the deep, tugging emotions attached to real life.
Drink orders continue to fly in and Nicole and I stay slammed until the opening act starts in the amphitheater. We've dwindled down to less than ten customers by the time Castle Zero takes the stage. And Gage is nursing a beer at the end of the bar, hanging out while I finish my shift.
"Why are you still here?" I ask, smiling because I think I know.
"Waiting for you to get off." There's a clear innuendo in his teasing tone—and it makes my face heat. Other parts of me, too. He watches me with a smug, knowing expression. "You want to come over?"
"How about my place?" I counter. Going to his place… I don't know. It'd make this a little closer to something real, I think. Which is not what I want this summer. Not what I need.
He nods.
And it turns out neither of us have to wait very long for me to get off.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When Gage leaves the next morning, I call Teagan.
I sit on the carpet and lean against the base of my bed, crossing my legs while I wait to see if she'll answer. I'm not sure if I want her to pick up or not.
She does, skipping past any preamble. "Cassidy. I am so, so, so sorry."
A knot dissolves at the nape of my neck. Here she is. My closest friend. "Me too. I have so much to tell you."
"Gimme five minutes and I'll come over."
"That's actually part of it… I'm not staying at my parents' house." And I tell her everything.
"I can't believe you're sleeping with the dude I called dibs on," is her takeaway. "But…given all that shit with your parents, I suppose you can keep him."
"Oh, thanks," I say, all sarcasm even while I'm grinning at my phone. I slide down until I'm on my back on the floor, staring up at the whirling fan on the ceiling. "What have you been up to?"
"The usual. Working at the salon. Going out. Breaking hearts. You know…"
I do know. Nobody works a guy over like Teagan. Her stories give me ab muscles from all the laughing over the phone while I'm away at school. I lift my legs, studying my toenails—which could use a fresh coat of polish—while Teagan regales me with her latest conquest.
"Obviously, I had to get out of there," she finishes a few minutes later. "He had a pet bunny. Come on."
"How can you not think that's cute?"
"I want to hump like a rabbit, not watch some dude feed one lettuce."
"Guess I can't argue with that." I pause, tugging at the pale pink lining of the bed skirt while I think of how to phrase my next question. "Can you just tell me… Did I do something wrong at the concert the other night?"
"Cass…"
"I've been going over and over it in my mind and you were so mad—you literally left me there by myself." I sit up, taking a deep breath to quell the little flare of anger rising in indignation. "And we both know this has kind of become a thing over the years."
"I've never ditched you before."
"You know what I mean. You're always so angry at me, but I never understand why."
"We already apologized to each other. Can we not do this?" she snaps, and the umbrella sheltering us from the fight—held up by the laughter of her sex story and by my own drama with my parents and Gage—swings shut. Bad feelings hail down all over again.
"I am sorry for making you so mad, but I need to know what I'm apologizing for. Tell me what I did to deserve that? Seriously. I'm not saying that flippantly. I literally cannot figure out why I pissed you off so bad."
She's silent for a long pause, so quiet I have to check my phone to make sure she didn't hang up on me.
Finally, she says, "You're always so braggy about your internship."
Wait.
Huh?
Of all the things she could be upset about… "Teag. I mentioned it to you twice. Once when you asked what my summer plans were and again, in passing, before the concert—and I wasn't bragging, I was complaining about the loss of my freedom."
"Yeah. I had to ask you about it. Why couldn’t you tell me about it on your own? Did you think I’d be jealous?"
"Of course I didn't think you'd be jealous! God. I figured you'd think it was stupid for me to give up my summer to be some head honcho's slave. And which is it? Either I'm braggy or I don't tell you about it enough. You can't have it both ways."
I'm greeted with silence, and something dawns on me. "Do you want an internship? Is that it? Because I could've talked to my dad for you."
"God. No." There's so much disdain in her voice I can practically hear her shudder at the thought.
"See? That—that attitude? I should have been the one to storm off. You're the one who's acting like an ass."
Turns out my phone beeps when she hangs up on me. Guess I didn't need to worry about it earlier.
The knot at the back of my neck reties itself, tightening. I still don't know what the hell her deal is.
Maybe my break from stress this summer needs to include a break from Teagan too. Maybe I just need to throw myself into the job—and into Gage.
And that's exactly what I do.
I spend my days (and nights) happy, carefree, exhausted and very, very satiated. When an errant thought about Teagan or Jason or my parents slips through, I force it to the back of my mind, lock it into the darkness of my subconscious. And when the thoughts build up and it's harder to keep them all in the vault, I let Gage use his tongue until my mind goes blank.
It's a fucking wonderful situation.
Literally.
"You and Gage are actually into each other, aren't you?" Vera asks, a week or so later, while we're getting ready for work. We both do our makeup in her bathroom, one of the fun little perks of being roommates.
"I… I think so. At least a little." I bounce on my toes, only realizing I'm doing it—and stopping—when I have to line my eyes. Keep it together, Cassidy. "I mean, it's super casual and I'm definitely not looking for anything serious this summer. But I like him. And I think he likes me, too." Shit, the guy's spent almost every night with me since we met; I know he likes me. Or at least he likes the sexy times. Lord knows, I do.
"Casual, huh?" She pulls her short hair into a ponytail with ends that spike out everywhere. Very rock chic, a look I could never master. "Would you care if he was seeing someone else?" Her tone is light, teasing.
"Nope." I want the word to be true, but the tightness in my gut makes it a lie. It's possible I'm a little more into him than I want to be
…
"So his ex is this girl who—"
"La, la, la." I pretend to stick my fingers in my ears. "Don't want to know."
"But she—"
"La, la, la." Don't get me wrong. There's a part of me dying to know. But the rest of me knows she shouldn't matter. I try to steer clear of personal things with Gage—well, out of the bedroom anyway—and that's getting harder and harder to do. I definitely don't want to know about, think about, be jealous about his exes.
"Fine," she says. "I get it. You aren't the kind of girl who cares about that stuff."
"Nope." Mostly. Kind of.
"But you are having a lot of sex." Her eyes dance at mine across the mirror.
Now I grin. "I'm surprised I'm able to walk."
"Go Gage," she says.
"Go me," I counter. And then because it's polite—and I actually do care about Vera—I ask, "How's it going with Jared?"
She sighs. "Depends on the day."
"How so?"
She goes on to tell me that some days he clearly wants to be with her—but other days he flirts with anything that moves. I try not to be offended being lumped into the category of anything that moves. They haven't defined anything either, though Vera isn't quite onboard with the openness.
"Why do you put up with it?" I ask, trying to take the sting out of my words with, "You're fun and smart and gorgeous. He shouldn't make you doubt how he feels."
"I can see good in him, he just keeps it so covered up I think he forgets it's there sometimes."
"You see the potential in him?" I ask.
"Exactly!" she says, nodding happily, like my question was meant to be a good thing.
"Don't you think you deserve someone who'll live up to their potential to be with you?" I've never understood it, the whole "potential to be a good person" thing people see in their partners. Why put up with someone until they're living up to it?
"Or maybe I'm the one who's supposed to push him into all that potential."
"Hmmm." I swipe lip gloss across my mouth, knowing my noncommittal answer isn't what she wants. But she's becoming a true friend, and I don't want to lie to her.
"You're just having fun with Gage," she says. "Why shouldn't I just have fun with Jared?"
"But you want him to define things," I say, gently. "So it isn't just fun for you."
"Maybe that's what I should go for, though. Easy breezy, non-difficult, just having fun. I could do it."
How can I suggest I actually don't think she could do it without making the biggest hypocrite out of myself? "Either way, I hope Jared knows what he's got in you."
Her cheeks flush and she offers me a shy grin, nudging me with her elbow. "Come on. We're going to be late. I'll drive; we'll get there faster."
I strum my fingers against the armrest of the door handle in Vera's car, and can't help but think about the difference in my friendships with Teagan and Vera. Lately, Teagan is a roller coaster with a crash landing. But Vera is light. Fun. Easy.
Teagan and I have so much history, but for obvious reasons, it's Vera I prefer to be around now. Maybe that's not fair to Teagan, though. Vera's mom pays her way through college and rent and groceries. Teagan's never even met hers, getting dumped on her grandparents' laps right after being born. Her grandparents barely wanted her then; they still barely want her now, treating her more like a tenant than family. I should cut her a little more slack, even if I still don't get why she's mad at me. Again.
Vera slams her brakes on for a red light and jerks me from my thoughts. Her driving makes me a little nauseated, but we definitely won't be late for work. I catch my breath and then ask, "Will your mom be visiting this summer?"
She laughs a bitter little laugh. "Not likely."
"But New York is so close."
Her mom lives in the city, I've learned over the past week.
"We're in a bit of a standstill," Vera admits, glancing at me. "Until I stop chasing a pointless journalism major, she won't speak to me."
"What should you major in?" I ask, adding hastily, "According to her, anyway."
She shrugs. "Something math or science. Or law. You know, the major that can lead me down a road of prestige and parental bragging rights."
"She still pays your bills though." I grip the side of the door as she swerves into BackBar's employee parking lot.
"Well yeah, otherwise she'd have to admit to her friends that I wasn't in college anymore." She shifts into a mock stern tone and holds up a finger like she's chastising me. "Failure is not an option."
I wonder what her father thinks about it all, but she's never mentioned him.
She changes the topic anyway. "I keep meaning to ask you—did you know Gold Rush Standard is coming at the beginning of July? Three entire nights! I'm dying, I swear."
"No!" I try to force enthusiasm into my tone because Vera obviously is excited at the prospect. But ugh. Gold Rush Standard is a pop-rock band and way too popular for their own good. Their songs are catchy and play out within a week. And the lead singer, Luca James, just…double ugh. He's hot—his abs belong in the realm of ridiculous—and he knows it. He's an international heartthrob. I can see why BackBar would book him for three nights. Tickets probably sold out in five minutes flat.
Okay, in all honesty, I was totally into Lost in Time, Gold Rush Standard’s first album, when I was a teenager. It was guttural and vivid and real. But then they completely sold out and I lost interest. My parents introduced me to the classics before I could even walk. And not that I can't enjoy more recent stuff—in fact, some of my favorite bands are newer bands—but they taught me to appreciate legitimate talent over public appeal. And public appeal? That’s pretty much all Luca James has going for him.
Teagan's a bit obsessed with Norris Marshal, their drummer. She saw him play solo one time at a beach bar a few years ago and said he was completely amazing. I'm not sure I believe her, but maybe he's just overshadowed by the douchebaggery of Luca James.
"Do you think they'll come out early and drink, like Castle Zero?" Vera's all aflutter, clutching her hands together in oh, so much hope.
"Maybe." I slow down to let her catch up with me. Vera may drive like she works for NASCAR, but she walks like a damn turtle. The one thing—the one thing—Luca James has going for him is that he's the poster boy for anti-drug campaigns around the country. Obviously, it hits close to home for me. Still, I'd rather hang out with Franklin Charles any day.
"Just in case, I told Jared he better put me on early all three days or he's not getting any of this," she drags a hand across her chest and down her stomach, "for the rest of the summer."
"Work it, Vera." Nicole whistles, joining us.
We walk in to work together, laughing.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
And so it goes. Slinging mixed drinks and having amazing sex and living a summer that's turning out to be sweeter, sweatier, and hotter (so, so, so much hotter—and I ain't talkin' about the weather) than I could ever have imagined.
One week of my new life turns into two and I'm loving the rhythm. And the money. Tips, tips, and more tips—plus, I get my first paycheck. I happy dance all the way to the bank.
I log in on Vera's computer to pay my cell phone bill before my father does it for me. I don't know if he'd planned to keep paying it for me anyway, but I hope so. I hope he logs in to find that I've taken care of it on my own. Let him chew on that.
Plus, I've convinced Vera to let me pay rent. It's still way less than anyone would ever charge, but at least I'm contributing something. I'm saving money, too. Enough to, maybe, take a semester off from working at the university book exchange at school.
The week Spinster Malady is in town to perform, I walk in and find the VIP pavilion a complete madhouse. The entire patio is packed full of people. Gage is already on the deck stage, performing. Somehow his eyes meet mine as soon as I walk in. I smile, waving. He nods, but his expression is troubled. Or, at least I think it's troubled. Maybe it's just the sad song he's covering
. I'll have to ask him later.
I squeeze through people and make my way to the bar—and find someone new serving drinks in my usual spot. Or, actually, on second thought she's not new. I've seen her before. Golden brown skin, curls for miles. The waitress who dropped a tray of food the night of Demi Jade's concert.
"Hi." She smiles, flashing dimples the sizes of the Grand Canyon. Yet again, I like her immediately.
"Hey," I say. "I'm Cassidy."
"Thank God you're scheduled—we're dying here," she says. "I'm —"
"Girl, get your ass over here and help me," Clark yells across the bar, interrupting us. "In case you haven't noticed, we're slammed."
"So demanding." She rolls her eyes, winking at me before turning toward him.
"You, too, Cassidy," Clark calls. "I don't have time for idle bullshit."
"I don't have time for bossy ass coworkers," I shoot back.
Customers around the bar crack up. I swear we make more tips the sassier we behave, and I can already tell we'll have a good take tonight. Teagan would probably kill it here, snark-master of the universe that she is.
Not that I'm thinking about her.
I throw myself into serving drinks to drown out any more Teagan thoughts. It's easy to do. I can't keep track of half the orders I take. By the time things are starting to slow down, I'm sweaty and tired and—after being snapped at by one too many customers—on the verge of being cranky. As if to help me along, Jared meanders up to the bar.
But thankfully he ignores me and taps the other girl on her shoulder. "Hey—I have your check in the management office and a few things for you to sign. Come with me."
She follows him to the office, located in the white brick building between the kitchen entrance and the public restroom doors.
"Just so you know," Clark says a moment later. "That's Zoey."
"Zoey," I repeat. Her name sounds so familiar, but I can't place why. I mean, I know why I recognize her face—I saw her that first night. But she didn't tell me her name, did she?
Zoey… Zoey… And then it hits me.
Vera's face comes to mind, the first night I met her.
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