by Zoey Castile
“Yeah,” I say. “I want to.”
He’s going to kiss me. His entire body turns to me. His hand is pressed on the small of my back, lightly pushing me toward him, his eyes fluttering as they look down at my mouth. I breathe short and fast because I don’t know how I’ll tear myself away from his lips once they touch mine. They brush against mine, cool and minty from the mojito. Then they’re gone too soon. He clears his throat and looks over my shoulder.
“I think he knows you,” Fallon tells me, his voice deeper and gruff.
I’m too dazed to understand what he means. He who? I turn around and realize someone has been calling my name.
“Robyn?”
I nearly jump out of my skin. “Principal Lukas!”
Nothing kills a date like your boss sitting at the table right beside you.
FALLON
I don’t have good memories of principals. When I was in school, I was habitually sent to their office. So when Robyn’s entire body language shifts from comfortable to being caught under the bleachers, I leave principals in the same column I reserve for things I hate. Right up there with clowns and hipster douche bags.
But the real clincher is the way he looks at her. This guy, Principal Lukas or whatever, is on a date. She’s young, but looks legal, and she’s in a dress that sparkles under the neon lights and hugs her body like paint. Her smile is lovely, and her hair is teased and arranged to frame her assets, a beautiful face and breasts that I’m trying so hard not to look at. Like I said, I’m not a saint, and the nuns at every Catholic school I ever went to reminded me of the fact.
“Hey, man,” I say, holding out my hand to save Robyn the introduction. “Zac.”
“Lukas Papadopoulos.” He squeezes hard, but I don’t let go of his grip. “This is Melodie.”
“Hi.” The girl shakes Robyn’s hand. “Isn’t this place amazing? We didn’t even have to wait in line that long.”
“I know the owner,” Lukas says, even though we didn’t ask. “You should let me know next time.”
He’s talking to Robyn, who looks like she’s either going to have a heart attack or throw up. I’m rooting for throwing up, honestly. She hasn’t said anything since she shouted “Principal Lukas!”
“You guys work together?” I ask, trying to fill the awkward need to speak.
“Actually, Principal is my real name,” this dick bag says, but smiles the whole time. He brushes a hand in the air, like we’re old friends. “And yes, I’m the principal over at P.S. 85, but we have friends in common.”
I’m more than happy to ignore this guy, but having confirmed he’s her boss, I’m pretty certain she isn’t going to want to dive back into our kiss with him three feet away. Then again, it’s better that we’re being supervised because my dick was throbbing from that kiss. Fuck, it’s like being in detention all over again.
“That is so weird,” Melodie says, trying not to be left out. “What a small world.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Robyn says. She’s been smiling since she realized they were seated beside us, and it looks painful. “And here you were asking me for restaurant recommendations. I should’ve been the one asking you.”
Lukas chuckles, but doesn’t respond.
“You should try the mojitos,” I say, and raise my glass. I hope that’s enough of a lead into “Get back to your own date, buddy.” The waitress comes over to their table to take their order.
“Can I have a margarita?” Melodie asks. She cocks her face to the side, and a mischievous pitch in her voice says she’s trying to get away with it.
“I need your ID.”
“She’s okay,” Lukas tells the waitress. “We’re with Reggie.”
The waitress looks a little flustered, but writes down the order. I’d bet every cent in my pocket that Melodie’s barely nineteen.
I squeeze Robyn’s knee and she jumps a bit. Come back to me, Robyn, I think. She’s distracted now. Whatever moment we had going on is over.
Robyn looks at me apologetically, and sits up and away from me. She takes her drink in her hands and sips, stabbing the ice with a stick of sugarcane for something to do with her hands.
“Tell me about the dress fitting,” I say, trying to lure her attention back.
I recognize the chaos in her eyes, as if her mind is trying to be in two places at once. She even rubs her hand over her arm, as if she feels naked. I take my jacket and rest it over her shoulders. She looks up at me, those long eyelashes bat at me, and I swear something inside of me aches from that stare. I want her to look at me like that always.
“Aww, that’s so cute,” Melodie says, turning to Principal Dickbag. “Isn’t that cute?”
“What do you do, Zac?” Lukas asks. His hazel eyes look me up and down as he leans back into his chair. When I was in school, my principals were either priests or men pushing sixty. Lukas’s taste is impeccable. He reminds me of Ricky in that way, their slacks pressed so there’s a line right down the center. I never understood the appeal of that. His build is large so he’s confident enough to wear a shirt so brightly pink. Gold cuffs catch the light as he runs his hand through the side of his dark hair and waits for my answer.
Great, now we’re on a double date. Honestly, I’m surprised Captain Principal didn’t ask me right off the bat. I know guys like this. What do you do? As if my work or how much money I make is the only thing that defines me. He wants to play that game. See who makes more money. See if I’m good enough, or what I’m guessing by the way he looks at Robyn, if I’m good enough for her.
“I’m in the entertainment industry,” I say, a tight smile on my face.
Robyn looks between us nervously, drinking her mojito as if it’s going to make everything better. I try to give her a reassuring smile, like a promise that I’ll be on my best behavior. But something about this guy pisses me off.
“Oh, yeah?” Lukas says. “Bartender? I have a couple of buddies who own some clubs in Astoria and the city if you’re looking for work.”
Robyn sets her empty drink down. I push mine over to her side and she takes it with a slight nod of her head.
“Thanks for the offer,” I say, “but I run my own gig.”
“Nice, what is it?”
“I choreograph a show.”
“Like on Broadway?” Melodie asks, her voice high-pitched. “I love musicals. Wicked changed my life.”
I don’t know why I’m dancing around the question. I never lie about who I am and what I do. But when I look at Robyn, her body stiff and nervous, I know why I’m lying. I don’t want to embarrass her.
I turn to Melodie, her smile honest and sweet. I can’t help but smile back. “More of an off-Broadway thing.”
“That’s cool,” Lukas says. “Where’d you go to school?”
“Me?” I’m at the end of my fuse. “I went to Hogwarts. Gryffindor, class of ’03.”
Melodie rips into a cute laugh, all ohmigod you’re so funny, which makes Lukas frown.
And Robyn smiles at me. There’s that smile. All of this bullshit third degree from her boss is worth it for that smile.
“I knew I liked you for a reason,” she tells me.
Thankfully, the food runner brings Melodie’s underage margarita and Lukas’s red wine.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Robyn and press a kiss on her cheek. “Bathroom.”
Melodie stands up. “I have to go, too.”
I nod at Lukas, but there is no longer a smile between us. Why am I letting a douche like that get to me? I know his type. I’ll bet anything he’s hit on Robyn a dozen times. He looks at her like she’s a juicy steak he can’t wait to cut into.
I head to the bathroom area, a unisex strip with this weird water fountain to wash your hands. Melodie runs into a stall. I splash water on my face and dry my hands. I put a couple of bucks in the bathroom attendant’s jar and grab a toothpick and some hand lotion.
“Date not going well?” Daya asks. She comes out of a stall and washes her h
ands beside me.
“It was going great until the other hostess sat Robyn’s boss next to us.”
Daya’s eyes widen. “Reggie’s friend? He’s fine.”
“Not helping.”
She pats my back. “He’s got nothing on you, baby. Since when have you ever felt threatened by someone else?”
“I’m not,” I say, and I know part of it is a lie. “We’re just from two separate worlds. I think it matters to her, even if she’s trying not to let it.”
I walk with her back into the dining room.
“Don’t let it get to you,” Daya says. “If anything, just call it off. But just from the way you look at her, I know you’d regret it.”
With a smile, we part ways. When I get back to our table, Lukas is sitting in front of Robyn. I wonder if her cheeks hurt from the pained smile on her face.
“Is this musical chairs?” I ask dryly as I slide back into my seat.
Robyn looks around. “Where’s Melodie?”
I shrug. “What am I, babysitting?”
I meant for it to come off as a joke, but I see my mistake when I see the anger flash across Lukas’s eyes. Robyn looks down at her lap and smooths out her napkin. But I can’t stop now. Something dark and twisted has snaked its way around my thoughts. It’s in the way Lukas tries to size me up, as if he doesn’t understand what a woman like Robyn is doing with someone like me. It’s in the way Robyn is so nervous she has completely shut down.
“Dude,” I say, unable to stop myself. I chuckle and lean forward to face him. “Is she even old enough to have that margarita?”
Lukas’s face hardens with anger. If he were any other guy, if he thought he could take me, he’d ask me to meet him outside.
Instead, he leans forward, his body bordering on a threat. “That’s none of your business, Brad.”
“Zac,” I say, sitting up. “What’s your problem?”
Robyn sits up and holds her hands up between us. “Whoa, guys. Calm down. Everyone’s having a nice time.”
“Clearly, you’re the one with the problem,” Lukas tells me.
I try to rein it in, but he stands and I rise to meet him. “Why don’t you go sit back at your own table?”
Lukas gives me a shit-eating smirk and takes a chip from the bowl in front of us. “We were just having a nice chat between colleagues, Zac. You’re the one getting all riled up.”
Robyn’s dark eyes beg me to sit. Be the bigger man. When she places her hand on my arm, I flinch a bit, too strung up to do anything else.
“Oh look, our food is here,” Robyn says, pulling at my shirt to settle me. The food runner brings over a wooden board loaded with roasted pork, steaming things wrapped in leaves, sausages, sweet and savory plantains, and heaping bowls of rice and beans. He smiles, brandishing his hand.
“Thank you,” I tell him, pressing a hand on my chest. My heart beats right through the layer of my shirt.
“You know what?” Robyn says, standing up so quickly she rattles the table. “I’m not hungry. Have a nice date, the two of you.”
“Robyn,” Lukas and I say at the same time as the band starts up again.
The singer counts off into the mic, the horns come to life, and the congas beat as rapidly as Robyn’s footsteps out of the restaurant.
Melodie chooses this precise moment to walk back and block my path to Robyn. Melodie’s pupils are like pinpricks and there’s a wide smile on her face. She looks up at her date and me, and at Robyn’s empty chair. “What’d I miss?”
* * *
“Last call, amigo,” a familiar voice tells me.
I look up at the hazy face beside me. Aiden. Daya must’ve called Sebastian and Sebastian must’ve called Aiden. His light-brown skin is covered in glitter. I look back down at my mojito. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve had, but my bartender is just smiling because I’m tipping in cash.
“Why do you look like a fucking disco ball?”
He peers at the mirror that lines the bar, turning his face this way and that. “Sorry, I had a gig.”
“Yeah?” I ask, sitting up. I’ve been at La Isla for hours. Right after Robyn left, I was too much of a coward to chase after her because she was right to be angry with me. I settled in the far end corner of the bar with my dinner for two and have watched the dinner crowd clear and the dancing crowd thin.
He whistles and grins. “Park Avenue, baby. This bar called The Pleiades. She had me try this tequila that was $200 a shot.” He knocks on the bar and Lucho walks right over. They speak back and forth in Spanish. The only part I understand is “tequila.”
“Well?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“Well, what?”
“Do they have the $200 tequila?”
Aiden makes a scoffing sound. “Hell nah.”
I shrug and drain my mojito. “That’s fine. I think I drank a whole bottle of rum.”
“How are you not plastered on the floor?”
“I’ve been training my liver since I was thirteen. Though after all these drinks, I might go into diabetic shock.”
Lucho lines up three shots and pours amber liquid from a shaker. We each take one.
“To terrible dates,” I say.
“To wealthy older women,” Aiden says.
“To drunk cojudos who are paying for my daughter’s tuition,” Lucho says.
We each tap the bottom of our glasses on the bar top and then drink. After the sugary cocktails I’ve been pounding since Robyn walked out on me, the tequila burns so good.
Lucho walks away and Aiden pulls out a money clip from his pocket. He flips through twenties until he finds a hundred and leaves it under one of the empty glasses.
“You want to talk about it?” he asks, taking a napkin from behind the bar to dab at his sparkly-ass face.
“I want to talk about why you went out with a woman who leaves behind that much glitter.”
Aiden looks at me, and his face spreads wide with a smile that speaks to dirty, dirty deeds. “It was the edible kind.”
And I’m left in a tequila daze trying to imagine all the places one can eat glitter from. “Damn. I guess there is a flavor for everyone.”
“I’m serious, man. You want to talk about it?”
I don’t but I do. Ever since Florida, I don’t talk about women with the guys. Maybe I’m too embarrassed. Maybe I still feel like a goddamn dick.
I wave Lucho over, but he’s already got the bottle in hand.
I spin on my bar stool, which is decidedly the worst idea to have when you’ve practically drunk a whole bar. I shut my eyes, but nothing can get rid of the image of Robyn walking out.
“It’s just—” I gulp the tequila in a single shot. The warmth spreads deeper and deeper, like I’m sitting out in the sun. “I’m in fucking Hogwarts.”
“Wait, what?” Aiden asks.
“You know, Harry Potter?”
“I know what Harry Potter is. I just didn’t know you read, like, books.”
I punch him on the shoulder, and he laughs. “You have to be straight with me, Fal, because right now you’re not making sense. And my third language is Drunk, okay?”
So I tell him. About my unbelievably sexy lady and how perfect everything was going. About Lukas and how every question he asked me chipped away at the dark parts of my soul I don’t let people see. About how she walked out and the only reason I didn’t punch the principal in his face was because I didn’t want to get Daya in trouble.
“Then I sat at the bar.”
“What happened to the food?” Aiden asks.
“What?”
“This place has an hour wait line and the kitchen’s closed, bro. Are you telling me you wasted a sample platter for two?”
“I’m pouring my soul out to you and you want to know about food?”
Aiden grins. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”
I reach for the brown takeout bag I set off to the side and slam it in front of the worst friend in the world. “Here. Someone should eat.”
Behind us, the busboys and barbacks are picking up and sweeping and turning chairs on top of tables. The band is long gone, but the house speakers still pump music. It isn’t the first time I’ve closed a place down, but it is one of the few I can think of when I’m this pathetic and not going home with a woman.
No, my beautiful woman is gone. Because I was a dick. Because I couldn’t be the bigger man.
“I told you she was trouble,” Aiden says, unpacking the food and going to town.
“That’s not really what I want to hear. It’s not her fault. It’s mine and Principal Dickface’s.”
“Do you want the truth or do you want to hear bullshit?”
“Is there a place between the truth and bullshit?”
“Denial, maybe.” Aiden drinks another shot and rolls out his neck. Why can’t I be like Aiden? Girls throw themselves at him and he never gets attached. The longest relationship he’s ever had was with a carton of milk that expired in his fridge. He’s happy. Fucking glowing. Sparkling, even. He’s got his side gig taking out filthy rich women who want to shower him with gifts. He sleeps well at night, even if he doesn’t have someone to go home to. He’s complete.
“I texted her,” I confess.
“Bro, come on.” Aiden smacks his hand on the table. “You are making every rookie mistake in the book.”
“There isn’t a book, Aiden.”
“Of course there’s a book. I’m finding out all this stuff about you. First you read, now you let some girl you don’t even know stomp all over your dick. What’s happening to you, man?”
“This is the worst pep talk I’ve ever had,” I tell him. “And that includes the time my dad convinced me to quit Little League.”
“You’re the worst baseball player in the world.”
“What good are you?” I yell at him.
Lucho walks over with more drinks. “Last call, boys. For really real this time. The guys are almost done packing up the kitchen. Want some leftovers since this bastardo over here ate your dinner?”
