Story of My Life (Story Lake #1)

48. Weekend at Bernied

48

WEEKEND AT BERNIED

HAZEL

I don’t want to be social,” I whined as Zoey dragged me toward the Fish Hook.

The Saturday night weather had finally tipped in favor of fall, so I was dressed in the jeans and sweater she had picked out for me. The jeans were made for standing, and the neckline of the dusky-blue top showed an excessive amount of cleavage for a woman who had to be pried away from her laptop and out of her favorite writing sweatpants an hour earlier.

It was a Saturday night, which to me was another excellent reason to stay home and mope. For two weeks, I’d avoided my own house between the hours of 7:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m. Progress was happening fast and furious in the house and on the page.

In a fit of tortured inspiration, I’d gotten my characters to the fight and the third act breakup. I’d borrowed heavily from real life, which meant I’d written myself into a corner. Because the “hero” was an unredeemable dumbass and there was no grand gesture grand enough to warrant forgiveness. But I was toying with the idea of toning down his dumbassedness to find a way through…fictionally, of course.

While I waited for some fresh source of inspiration, I’d been spending quality time with readers on social media and shopping online for house necessities like the gargoyle bookends that were coming Tuesday.

“Tough shit,” Zoey said, holding the glass door open for me. “It’s all part of the I’m Fine Tour.”

I scoffed. “I don’t feel fine.” I didn’t love being Negative Nellie, but the comforting familiarity of crotchetiness was like an old cozy sweater. Once I wrapped myself up in it, I didn’t want to take it off.

“The important thing is that you look like you’re fine.”

“Right, because appearances are the priority.”

“You know exactly how shitty it is to run into an ex on a bad day instead of in peak revenge form,” she pointed out.

“Is he here ?” My feet froze to the ground. I’d rather face a cold speculum and a drafty exam room at the gynecologist than see Campbell Bishop in person right now.

“Of course not,” she huffed. “Besides, I have good news, and you’re my best friend. You’re contractually obligated to celebrate with me.”

“Your cousin didn’t clog your toilet and flood the apartment under yours?”

“No, she definitely did that. But no matter how hard you try, you’re not bringing me down.”

We skipped the host stand and went straight to the bar, which was pretty crowded by Story Lake standards.

A cheer went up, and I turned around, looking for the reason. But there was no one behind me. I was checking the TV screens for some sports ball victory when someone shouted, “Lookin’ good, Hazel!”

There were more applause, a few wolf whistles, and several smiles directed my way. I spotted Laura and Sunita waving to us from a table.

“Um. Thank you?” I said, smoothing a hand over my sweater. “Why is everyone applauding me?” I hissed out of the corner of my mouth.

“Because they’re Team Hazel.” Zoey punched her fist in the air.

“Team Hazel!” the bar responded enthusiastically.

“Are they holding up copies of my books?” I asked, certain I was imagining things.

“That’s how Team Hazel identifies each other,” she explained as she ushered me to the bar.

Rusty met us on the other side of the bar. “Ladies. The usual, Hazel?” he asked with a teasing grin.

I blanched. “God, no. Can I have a chardonnay please?”

“Sure thing.”

“Same for me,” Zoey said.

Junior Wallpeter walked up and clapped me on the back. He had some kind of baby vomit/food stain on the collar of his date-night shirt. “You deserve better, Hazel. I hope you’ll find the real thing like me and the missus.”

“Thanks, Junior,” I said weakly.

“Hey, I’ll email you some pics of the twins, okay? Wait’ll you see the double diaper blowout at the park. That’ll cheer you up.”

“Sounds…great,” I lied.

He returned to his table and his wife, and I stared morosely at my wine. Even Junior Wallpeter had a happily ever after. Meanwhile I was destined to only write about other people’s HEAs.

“Stop moping,” Zoey commanded. “Garland is coming over here.”

I groaned. “Seriously? I can’t deal with my own personal paparazzi tonight.”

“There’s my favorite local celebrity,” Garland said, sidling up to me on the left. “How do you like my recent reporting?”

I felt a breeze behind me and turned to find Zoey mid-throat-slashing gesture.

“I haven’t seen it,” I said, turning my suspicious gaze back to the amateur journalist.

“Well, in that case, I just need a quick pic for…reasons,” he said.

“You know what, Garland, I don’t feel camera-ready,” I said.

But he wasn’t listening to me. He was too busy snapping his fingers at Quaid, the bodybuilding twentysomething at the end of the bar.

“Quaid, do me a favor and come on down here for…uh…contrast,” Garland said.

The blond permed, mulleted Quaid abandoned his barstool and brought his muscle mass our way.

“He looks like an eighties Ken doll,” Zoey said with an appreciative sigh.

“We’re old enough to be his much, much older sisters,” I pointed out.

“So then I was just like, ‘You can do it, Quaidster. Four hundred fifty pounds is nothing.’ And then I lifted it.”

Garland had art directed a shot of me and “the Quaidster” at the bar, looking like we were deep in conversation. He claimed it was for his marketing side gig. And then he’d vanished, and Zoey had excused herself to the restroom, and now I was left sitting here alone with Quaid while he explained the difference between regular dead lifts and Russian dead lifts.

Was this what real dating was like now? Sitting quietly waiting to interject something about your own weird interests with someone you had nothing in common with?

“Quaid, let me ask you this. If you really screwed up with a woman, what would you do to win her back?” I asked. If the guy was going to bore me with his interests, I might as well mine him for fiction.

He frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever screwed up with a woman.”

“I don’t know what to say to that,” I admitted.

“You’re really easy to talk to, Hazel,” he said with appreciation. “Wanna hear about my training regime for my bodybuilding competition in November?”

“Sure, Quaid.”

Zoey had been gone a long time, and I was getting suspicious. I was just about to make an excuse to go track her down when a dozen phone notifications rippled through the bar at the same time.

“What’s going on?” I asked over the hum of excitement.

“You ready for another glass?” Rusty offered, appearing in front of me.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“I’ll take another wheatgrass brotein beer,” Quaid said, holding up his empty glass. “It’s like a protein smoothie and a light beer had an awesome baby.”

“That sounds…interesting.”

I rubbed the back of my neck absently.

“Tight traps?” Quaid asked.

“Huh?”

He reached over and applied pressure to the spot where my neck met my shoulder.

“Oh my god.” The words burst out of me on an appreciative groan.

“Yeah, you’re super tight,” he said, twisting me on my stool so he could massage my taut muscles with his ham-hock-sized hands.

“Oh wow,” I purred. I’d spent a lot of time pretending to be writing that week, and apparently pretending to write used the same muscles as actually writing.

Something was happening in the room behind me. There was an electric tension, as if everyone was holding their breath simultaneously. But Quaid’s magic, muscular thumbs made it hard for me to concentrate on anything else.

“Get your hands off her.”

The snarly command had my eyelids popping open like tubes of biscuits.

“Oh, hey there, Cam. I didn’t see you,” Quaid said easily, still working my neck muscles.

“I don’t care if you can bench-press a pickup truck. If you don’t move your hands in the next two seconds, I’m going to rip your arms off and punch you in the face with your own fists.”

I squirmed out of Quaid’s meaty grip and spun around.

Campbell Bishop looked like he was in actual physical pain.

“Now hold on there, Cam. If Hazel wants to date Quaid, that’s her prerogative,” Rusty warned.

“I gotta agree with Rusty,” Sunita called out in her crisp British accent. “You’re the wanker who made her single.”

“Heh. Wanker,” Laura said next to Sunita.

Heads nodded, and more agreements were shouted.

Gage and Levi skidded to a halt just inside the door behind Zoey.

“Least no one’s bleedin’,” Gage observed dryly.

“Yet,” Levi muttered.

I hopped off my stool, suddenly fueled by a bone-deep anger. “What is your problem?” I demanded, drilling a finger into Cam’s chest.

“Can we talk? After I throw this beefcake in the lake?” he asked me.

“ Now he wants to talk,” Junior observed.

Cam turned to face the room. “Swear to God, I will fight every last one of you.”

Ms. Patsy stood and started swinging her purse in circles over her head like it was a lasso. “I’d like to see you try, whippersnapper.”

“Except you,” Cam said, pointing at her. “I don’t trust that purse.”

Gage and Levi reluctantly came to stand behind Cam. I wasn’t sure if they were there to protect him from everyone or everyone from him. Though judging from their grim expressions, there was also the possibility that the brothers wanted to ensure that they got in the first punches.

“No one is fighting anyone unless it’s Hazel punching Cam,” Levi announced.

Disappointed muttering was quickly squelched by a steely look from the chief of police.

Cam turned back to me, his eyes pleading. “Five minutes. Away from these jackasses.”

“No.”

“You had your five minutes. She’s moved on, buddy,” Zoey said smugly.

“Oh good! We didn’t miss it,” Frank said from the door.

“I thought they’d be covered in blood by now,” Pep said, tossing the first aid kit down on the nearest pub table. “Beer us, Rusty.”

“If you think brawling in a town bar is going to be some grand gesture, you are sorely mistaken,” I informed Cam.

“I kinda thought I’d work my way up to a grand gesture. But it’s tough with you dating every single man in town.”

“Dating? I’m not dating!”

“Oh, like we weren’t dating? I suppose this was just Bronson Vanderbeek holding the door for you at the bookstore. He doesn’t even read, Hazel. And how about this cozy little lunch with Darius’s cousin Scott? Or going kayaking with Scooter?”

He showed me the screen of his phone, scrolling through photos of me smiling at other men.

My mouth fell open as I realized what had happened.

I’d been Weekend at Bernie d by the entire town.

“Garland!” I barked.