Where We Belong

by K. L. Grayson

  I push the shot glasses away from us. "Wow. I actually liked that."

  "Oh. My. God." Quinn throws her head back with a deep moan, eliciting the attention of every male within a ten-foot radius. "This is the best Tijuana Hooker I've ever had. Ever. I needed this." She smacks her lips and looks around, noticing for the first time the attention that she has garnered. Quinn loves it—of course she does—so she smiles, turning her attention to me.

  "See, I knew you'd love a Tijuana Hooker. Now, let's do another one." Partly jealous that she has a dozen pairs of eyes watching her every move and partly because my lips are too tingly to protest, I nod my head in agreement. I'm already half cocked so if I'm going to do this, I might as well do it right.

  "But after this, we really need to stop,” I say as I regain feeling in my lips. “Do you know how long it's been since I've drunk like this. I'm going to have a three-week hangover." I know I’m being a worrywart, but I can't help it. I'm a full-fledged, panties-in-a-bunch, Type A personality, ‘nervous Nelly.’ I think first and act second. Sometimes I wish I could be more like Quinn, who acts first and then worries about the consequences later.

  Her head rolls back on her shoulders and she sighs dramatically. "Fiiiiine. One more and then we're done." She turns to look at me. "I'll let you pick, since it's your last shot."

  "Ummm…how about something with Irish Cream? I love Irish Cream." She purses her lips in contemplation, then leans over the bar and snaps, "Yo, Mike!"

  A beautiful blonde—I'll call her Barbie—walks up and rests her hands on the bar. I cock my head to the side, examining her face. I'm fairly certain I've met her before, but right now my brain is in an alcohol-induced fuzz and I can't really put my finger who she is. "Mike's busy. What can I get ya?" Damn, she's pretty. Her eyes are two deep blue pools of water.

  "You can get me Mike," Quinn replies tightly, but Barbie doesn't miss a beat. I take it she's used to women asking for Mike all the time.

  "I said—"

  "I got this,” Mike says, resting a hand on Barbie's shoulder. "There's a guy down there you can take care of. Blue shirt." She rolls her eyes and walks away.

  "What can I get you beautiful ladies?" he says, shoving the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbow, effectively putting on display the sleeve of tattoos adorning his left arm. Yup, not only does Mike have sexy-as-hell ink, but he's also got a shitload of charm. His bright blue eyes dance with trouble as he stares at Quinn. My eyes snap to her and I find her staring back. He grins. She grins. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the bar. She bats her eyes, which I totally didn't realize women could actually do, but she does.

  My head continues to snap back and forth between the two of them. Okay…now I know I'm a little tanked, but if I didn't know better, I'd think that the two of them are having a conversation, promising each other all sorts of pleasure and other dirty things.

  Good God, that's hot. Shit, now I'm kind of jealous.

  I clap my hands between the two of them and Mike laughs, turning his handsome face to me. Quinn pipes up before I even have a chance to order.

  "We'll take two Clit Lickin' Cowgirls." She raises two fingers and smiles suggestively. Mike flashes us a huge, white smile and turns to the bar.

  Did she just say Clit Lickin' Cowgirls? Who the hell comes up with these shots?

  "Okay. Who are you? What's a Clit Lickin' Cowgirl? And how do you even know what a Clit Lickin' Cowgirl is?" It's like a damn tongue twister…pun intended. I laugh softly at the little inside joke I just made, and Quinn stares at me like I’ve lost my mind before answering.

  "I'm Quinn James, your BFF, and a Clit Lickin' Cowgirl is Butterscotch Schnapps, Irish Cream, Grenadine syrup, and…you don't want to know what else."

  Mmmm…that actually sounds good. So far.

  "I do want to know."

  Quinn's eyes lock onto something over my shoulder and her face goes stone-cold sober. Her eyes flick nervously to me and she opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. What the hell? Turning in my seat, I look toward the opposite end of the bar and scan the crowd to see what caught her eye.

  "Quinn, what are you loo—" The words clog in my throat when my eyes land on the beautiful Barbie bartender from earlier. She's leaning over the bar talking to…Tyson? I cock my head to the side, hoping to get a better look. I have had a few drinks tonight and maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me. Maybe I've been thinking about him so much that poof, here he is.

  "Harley, come on. Let's go." Quinn grabs my arm but I pull it back, refusing to turn away. What is he doing here? He canceled on me because he had to work. If he got off and wanted to go out, why didn't he call me? Maybe he talked to Levi. Maybe he knows I'm here. I move to stand, intent on talking to him, when my whole world falls apart. Okay, maybe that's a bit dramatic, but well…I'm drunk and feeling a bit dramatic.

  The scene in front of me unfolds in slow motion and my stomach plummets in defeat and embarrassment. A beautiful woman leans forward, peeking around the side of Tyson, and her eyes meet mine. She watches me intently for several seconds and her brows dip down in confusion, as if she's trying to figure out how she knows me.

  My eyes jump to Barbie, who is leaning over the bar trying desperately to shove her tits in Tyson's face. I feel Quinn tug on my arm a few more times, but I'm frozen. Barbie's head snaps up and watches the girl next to Tyson, whose hand is now resting on his arm. She's looking up at him…lovingly? I'd give anything to hear what she is saying.

  The movement of her hand catches my attention and I watch as she slides her arm across his back and grips his waist intimately. I'm hyperaware of every move the two of them make and the more I watch, the more I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched in the stomach.

  "Alright beauties, here's your shots." Reluctantly, I turn my head and stare at the shot in front me.

  I'm an idiot. Scratch that, I'm a fucking idiot.

  Reaching forward, I grab the shot, taking it without waiting for Quinn. Emotion burns deep in my throat as I turn back around to watch Tyson and the woman who now has her arms around him. Maybe this is why he pulled away from me…he's with someone else. I don't know why I'm surprised. After all, he is the whole package. He's perfect and wonderful and…I can't do this to myself anymore.

  I need to see this. I need to watch him with someone else so that maybe, once and for all, I can allow myself to accept that we simply aren't meant to be. Tyson isn't mine and he never will be. The realization causes something inside of me to clench and then break, causing hot tears to burn the back of my eyes.

  The woman next to Tyson points in my direction and he twirls around. Our eyes lock and a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. I can't smile back. I swallow hard, determined to make it out of the bar before I completely break down. Tyson's smile fades and he takes a step away from the bar and for a split second I have hope that maybe he's coming to me.

  But that miniscule piece of hope is ripped away when a delicate hand grabs onto his arm. I watch as he looks at her hand and then turns his back on me. I don't have to say anything. Quinn watches me lose the fight as a lone tear rolls down my cheek. Wiping it away gently, she reaches down, grips my hand securely in hers, and leads me away from the bar, just as Barbie turns her back on Tyson. I strain my neck to keep watching—to keep tormenting myself, really—as Quinn pulls me deeper into the crowd.

  Unfortunately, I don’t make it out of the bar, but I manage to make it to the bathroom so I'll consider that a success. Quinn pushes open the door, confirms that no one else is in the bathroom, and flicks the deadbolt, locking us in. When Levi built Blue, Quinn and I told him to double the number of female bathrooms he originally intended to have and right now I thank God that he listened to us.

  Gripping my shoulders, Quinn gently pushes me down onto the couch in the powder room. Letting my head fall back, I give myself the green light to cry. Streams of tears fall out of the corner of my eyes and disappear, wetting my hair. Quinn wraps her arm around my shoulders, pulling me
into her side. She rests her cheek against my head and takes a deep breath.

  Wait for it…it's coming…wait for it…

  "Quinn, you're scaring me," I say in a hoarse whisper, not moving from the cocoon she has me wrapped in.

  "Mmm…why's that?" she mumbles softly.

  "You're supposed to say something smartass and funny,” I say, my voice cracking. “Something to make me laugh or cry harder. Why aren't you saying anything?" I rub a finger across my eye, removing the excess moisture, and push myself up so I can look at her.

  This isn't like Quinn. Don't get me wrong, she'll comfort me and I'm sure that tomorrow you'll be able to find us curled up on my couch watching The Notebook and eating an array of junk food, but right now I expect her to be telling me to ‘buck up’ or ‘put on my big-girl-panties.’ I assume she’d say that he’s just a guy and there are tons of fish in the sea. Why isn’t she telling me that?

  "Harley, I—” Someone bangs on the door, jiggling the handle to the bathroom. Quinn slides her arm out from behind me and stands, leaning into the door. "This bathroom is occupied. Go away!" she yells, turning back toward me. "Now where was I?"

  "There's more than one stall in there! Open the damn door!" The angry voice outside stops Quinn in her tracks and she spins on her heel, marching back to the door, hands on her hips.

  "I'm takin’ a shit. Now take a hint and LEAVE!" Quinn seethes.

  "Seriously?" The woman laughs, and Quinn's eyebrows rise in shock. People don't usually talk to Quinn like that, so I'm sure it caught her off-guard. "That's all you've got? You're taking a shit? That's about the wor—"

  "What the hell do you want?" Quinn asks, flinging open the door. I can't see who it is because the couch is positioned so that the open door is blocking my view, but I can tell by the way Quinn straightens her spine and then cocks her hip that she isn't happy.

  Just as Quinn moves to slam the door, a woman flings her arm out, stopping it from shutting. "Wait!" she says frantically. "I need to talk to Harley!"

  What? Who the hell is that? I sit up instantly and my whole world tilts violently to the left. My hands grip my head tightly, trying to stop the spinning. Fuck me, I didn't need that last shot. Standing slowly, I give myself a few seconds to get my bearings and I walk to the door. My heart stops—literally fucking stops. What is she doing here?

  Quinn notices the look of panic on my face and positions herself in front of me.

  "You have thirty seconds to say what you have to say, or I'm going to have to throat punch you." Quinn's face is stern, her eyes narrowed and lips tight.

  The woman's eyes widen. "Throat pu—" She shuffles back and looks at me. "Did she just say throat punch?" I nod once, examining the woman in front of me who has won Tyson's heart. She's classically beautiful…perfect, in fact. "What's a throat punch?"

  "Avery," I whisper as I step around Quinn, who is eyeing me warily. I reach my hand out hesitantly. "You must be Avery?" Some of the horror leaves her face as she slides her delicate hand in mine.

  "You know who I am?" she asks, dropping her hand down to her side.

  "Uh, yeah." My eyes flit nervously around the room and I take a deep breath. Damnit. I do not want to have this conversation. "Tyson has told me about you."

  Her eyes widen in confusion and she crosses her arms across her chest. "He has?" I nod my head because that seems to be the only thing I can do tonight. "We haven't even met, so how did you know who I was?"

  I shrug my shoulders. "I just put two and two together. I've seen you around the hospital, and I remember him saying he's really glad the two of you work together." I offer her a timid smile, which she returns. “I just never really knew who you were, and then I saw you guys at the, uh, at the bar—" I wipe my hands nervously on my thighs before continuing, "—and I just sort of knew it had to be you."

  "Okay," Quinn interrupts, shoving me to the side. Her hand snaps out and she yanks Avery into the bathroom and locks the door. She walks to the sink, steadies herself, and leans forward to slip off her stilettos. Standing up, she rolls her head and stretches her arms like she's about do some hot yoga or something.

  I can't help the laugh that bursts out of my throat. "Quinn…what the hell are you doing?"

  She pushes past me and says, "You're obviously too nice and too drunk to handle this situation, so I'm going to handle it for you." Avery sucks in a sharp breath and takes another step back. I purse my lips and shake my head at Avery, trying to reassure her that Quinn won't do anything, but she doesn't look convinced.

  "Alright." Quinn cracks her knuckles. "No hitting above the neck—I just had a facial. And no hair pulling, because that shit's just not cool," she says, pointing her manicured finger at Avery.

  Reaching out, I grip Quinn's arm, spinning her around. "Quinn, you don't have to fight Avery. It's okay." The amused smile falls from my face as the words leave my mouth. A warm feeling crawls up my spine and tears clog my throat when I realize that it's true. This is okay…I will be okay. All I've ever wanted is for Tyson to be happy, and if Avery makes him happy, then that's what I want.

  Fingers snap in front of my face, pulling me from my thoughts. "Remember our freshman year when I found Ben kissing Allison in the parking lot?"

  "Yeah," I reply. Where is she going with this?

  "You hit him for me. You stood up for me, and now I'm repaying the favor," she says, looking at me like I should know why she's acting like a madwoman.

  I shake my head slowly. "I didn't hit Ben."

  "Yes, you did!" she snaps. "I got mad and pushed Allison, called Ben a few choice names, and then stomped off. When I turned back around, Ben was holding his cheek and you were standing in front of him." I continue to shake my head slowly, discrediting what she's saying. Her face falls and I almost feel bad for telling her the truth. "Yes, I specifically remember I cocked my eyebrow at Mason and he pointed his finger at you, indicating that you did it."

  "I'm not the one that hit Ben. I'm sorry, Quinn. I hate that you thought I stood up for you like that and I didn't. I mean, I totally would. You know I'd smack the shit out of any man that hurt you, but I didn't smack the shit out of that man."

  "Who did?"

  "Mason."

  "Mason?" Her jaw drops and she stares at me, but I can tell she isn't looking at me. She's looking through me, trying to remember the events of that day.

  "I'm sorry." Avery approaches the two of us cautiously. "I really don't mean to interrupt your trip down memory lane, but does this mean that you aren't going to throat punch me now?"

  Quinn is still staring at me, dumbfounded. "No,” I answer for her. “There will be no women's bathroom MMA fight tonight."

  Quinn seems to snap out her funk and she whips her head around. "Damnit, Harley. She stole your man! You have to fight for him!" Avery opens her mouth to talk, but Quinn and I both raise our hands at her and she snaps her mouth shut.

  "No, Quinn. She didn't steal my man. Tyson is not mine. He never was." The last part is whispered because it physically hurts to say.

  "Ummm…" Avery raises a hand and tries to interject, but Quinn and I keep bickering.

  "You're wrong. He is your man. He was yours five years ago when he walked away and he is yours now." I appreciate that she’s fighting for us, but there's really no point. I'm done fighting. Done dreaming. I'm just done. I've spent the last five years being regretful, mad, sad, angry, and hopeful…I want to be happy. I want to be normal. I want to fall in love. I want to find a nice man, one who will love Max and me the way we deserve to be loved. And that man might not be Tyson—like I'd hoped—but that man is out there...somewhere. I just have to find him.

  "Quinn," I whisper, touching her arm gently. "You are the best best friend a girl could ever ask for." The emotions, mixed with the amount of alcohol in my system, prove to be too much and tears start dripping from my eyes. I bat them way. "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. You've been with me through everything. You've held me, cried with me, and laughed with
me. And the fact that you are willing to fight for me tonight…" I gesture toward Avery, who appears to be fighting to hold back her own set of tears. "Well, it just reiterates what I already know. You are amazing and wonderfully loyal and I will love you forever. But this thing with Tyson…I need you to let it go. Please," I beg when she opens her mouth. "Please, for me. I can't do this anymore." My voice thickens and then cracks, and my hand fists my blouse over my heart. "I. Cant. Do. This." Quinn steps forward and engulfs me in her arms, holding me like she's done so many times before.

  "Can I just say someth—” Avery starts to speak when the door handle turns and Levi walks in, key in hand, followed by Tyson. "Goddamnit. Why do I keep getting interrupted? I need to fix this," Avery says as Levi and Tyson walk further into the room, trying to gauge what the hell they just walked in on.

  Tyson is watching me. I can tell he wants to say something, but I'm on a roll. May as well get this over with.

  I pull back from Quinn. My face is throbbing, but I'm not sure if it's from the alcohol or the crying. I tend to be one of those ugly criers. You know the kind…red face, snotty nose, puffy eyes. Yup, that's me. I'm sure I look extremely unattractive right now. Regardless, I wipe my face and turn toward Tyson, who is now standing where he should be—next to Avery.

  "There is nothing to fix," I say to Avery and then turn toward Tyson. Quinn stands next to Levi, and for some reason I feel like I'm on a stage and they are all my audience.

  "Harley?" Tyson whispers, taking a hesitant step forward. "Are you okay? What's going on in here?" he asks, looking at both Quinn and Avery before turning back to me.

  "No." I let my lids droop over my eyes and cast my gaze down. "Everything is not okay." I don't want to him to see how he affects me. I showed him my hand five years ago and he walked away. I showed him again last night what I was willing to give him and he rejected me. I'm done handing him my heart, just to have him throw it right back in my face. I take a deep breath and search for the resolve that I lost the night I saw him again for the first time...here at this very club.