3. Sharpest Tool
CHAPTER THREE
sharpest tool
ABI
TORONTO, CANADA
MAY 2021
Holy shit it’s loud in here. Maybe I made a mistake agreeing to this.
That, or I haven’t had enough to drink yet.
But I have to admit, Kat was right. This feels a lot better than locking myself in the hotel room and watching romcoms. I feel free, and I’m actually smiling . And what’s even better? The music is so loud that I couldn’t think about Brendan if I tried.
It’s 80s night, and a lot of people are dressed on-theme, the dance floor smelling like sweat and cheap perfume as Revolver pounds through the speakers. This was my mom’s favorite band when she was a kid. She used to play their records all the time, in the house, on road trips, you name it.
The song reaches its peak, and just as I’m losing myself in the crescendoing rhythm, someone crashes into me. My drink tumbles from my hand and spills all down the front of my dress, soaking me completely.
“What the fuck?!”
Dammit, I’ve even got ice in my bra.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”
I can feel my temper rising, but funnily enough I can’t stay mad when I get a good look at him, his soft hazel eyes slightly obscured by unruly dark blond hair, and a clearly apologetic smile on his face. He’s dressed in black, everything except for his tie, which I’m almost certain is a pattern of the cover of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.
The man holds out both hands, his thick brows knit together as he starts to stammer.
“I’m— I— I’m so, so sorry! I was looking for my friend, and…”
I’d definitely put him over six feet, despite the fact that he’s hunched over, looking like he wants to run far away from me but just a bit too intrigued to do it.
“It’s okay,” I laugh, as what’s left of my anger slips away. “It’s just a dress, right?”
With everything that’s happened lately, I’ve been trying to be someone who looks on the bright side of things. Sure, my $13 cocktail just got spilled down my tits, and I’ll smell like Smirnoff for the rest of the night, but at least the guy who did it’s really hot.
“Can I at least buy you another one?” He asks sheepishly.
Even in the dim light I can see the red in his cheeks. He looks so frazzled that I’m starting to feel sorry for him.
“You can watch the bartender make it and everything, I promise! I just… I feel awful. That’s a really nice dress and I totally ruined it.”
Anything can be dry-cleaned, but I kind of want to keep talking to him; he gives me butterflies. I glance over at my friend Kat who’s noticed something’s up. She raises a brow alongside a little smirk, and I can tell exactly what she’s thinking:
Go get him.
And I know I shouldn’t. I should be focusing on me, not some random guy, and work on my own recovery before getting back on that horse. Then again, how does that old saying go?
The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.
“That sounds great.”
He claps his hands together, flashing me a charmingly confident smile, and I notice he’s suddenly standing up much straighter.
“Perfect! I’ll ask the bartender for some paper towels, too.” He guides me toward the bar, and I watch him bob his head along to the music. “Gosh, I can’t tell you how sorry I am!”
“It’s really okay,” I chuckle. “It’s a black dress, so it’s not like it’s totally ruined.”
It’s a little quieter away from the dancefloor, and we manage to wedge ourselves in between a small crowd of people.
“Can I get an extra dry martini, and—” He turns to me with a prince charming grin that makes my knees a little weak. “For you?”
“Vodka diet coke.”
“A vodka diet coke, for the mysterious woman in black!”
The bartender starts making our drinks, flashing the two of us a bemused look while my new friend takes the opportunity to offer me a handshake, along with his hopeful expression. I’m a little surprised by how much he’s got going on just with his hands, catching sight of a gold pinky ring, black nail polish, and A, D, and I tattooed on his knuckles.
“I’m Logan.”
“Abi,” I laugh, gently taking his hand with a brief shake. “Cool nail polish! And I love your tattoos!”
“Oh, thanks!” He chirps. “They’re for my family.”
He gives me a little awkward smile before pointing directly at my face.
“I like your lipstick! Is that a weird thing to say?”
“No,” I giggle. “I mean, it wasn’t cheap, so thank you.”
“How much?”
“About $65.”
He whistles, shaking his head as he begins to worry at his lip with his teeth.
“Well, it looks great!” He pauses for a moment, starting to seem a little unsure of himself all over again. “So, are you, uh… are you from here?”
“I’m actually from Blackburn Falls.”
“Oh, cool!” He nods sagely. “I have no idea where that is!”
I let out a laugh, much louder than I intended. Normally I’d feel humiliated, but somehow I don’t care.
“It’s about two hours from here.”
“That’s awesome! I’m from Washington— well, originally New York and I moved—” He stops himself, shaking his head. “Sorry, you probably just want the drink without my autobiography.”
“I don’t mind, it’s always nice to meet new people.” I’m starting to wish we were someplace quieter, maybe a little more private. “Are you liking Toronto?”
“Yeah, it’s great! From what I’ve been able to see of it, at least. I’m here for a work thing. This is actually the first time I’ve gotten out in a couple of days.”
The bartender slides my new vodka diet coke across the countertop, and a martini for Logan. We clink glasses, each of us taking a quick initial sip before his face twists up in disgust.
“Oh Jesus, that’s awful!” He coughs into his elbow. “I thought I was gonna look so cool sipping this.”
He shakes his head and sets it down on the counter, struggling not to gag.
“I’m guessing you don’t like martinis?”
Even under the dim lights it’s clear that he’s blushing.
“Apparently not,” he laughs. “I’ll choke it down, though.”
“But… why did you order it?”
He shrugs, sucking in a deep breath.
“I wanted to look suave, debonair, you know? Sure, I could get whiskey, but I’m just not a whiskey girl.”
I don’t know what it is, but everything about this guy puts me at ease.
“Me neither,” I laugh, gently resting my hand on his forearm. “I think you’re at least a little suave, by the way. Not quite sold on the debonair part yet.”
I sip my drink as an awkward silence nestles between us, and suddenly I feel myself wanting to sink back into the crowd. Was telling him he’s cool too forward? Before now I’d been with one guy since I was 17 so it’s hard for me to gauge this whole flirting thing.
“Would you want to dance?” Logan asks, his eyes quickly flooding with worry. “Or am I reading our whole serendipitous meeting wrong?”
“Ooh, good word! Invented by Horace Walpole who wrote?—“
“Castle of Otranto!” He finishes, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I love that book.”
“Me too!”
There’s a bit more awkward silence as we grin like idiots, but he breaks it up by motioning toward the dance floor with a goofy little wiggle of his shoulders.
“So, um… is that a yes?”
I look around at all the bodies writhing beneath the flashing lights, covered in glitter and sweat. After what Brendan did to me, I think I deserve a little bit of freedom. After all, tonight was supposed to be a celebration.
I drain my drink, setting it down on the counter.
“I’d love to.”
“Cool.” He dips his head so that his lips just barely brush against my ear. “You’re really beautiful, by the way.”
Logan leads me to the dance floor, Revolver still pouring out of the speakers, and the two of us bounce along with the beat, laughing and trying to mimic each other’s dorky dance moves. Flailing arms, the chicken dance, the twist, we do it all while struggling not to double over with laughter. Every time I look at him, I’m hit with a kind of buzz the booze can’t provide, like when you first step out into the sunshine on a beautiful summer day.
As the song slows down, I wind my arms around his neck.
His hands hover over my waist, slightly unsure.
“You can touch me,” I breathe.
He grabs me by the waist, the look in his eyes shifting from warmth to desire. My heart pounds and I lick my lips. He mirrors me, his eyes fixed on my mouth as we begin to sway to the next song. I never do stuff like this— obviously. I’m not the kind of girl a guy picks out of a crowd.
“My fiancé just dumped me!”
Logan stares at me in shock.
Oh god, why the fuck did I say that?
It feels like all of the air just got sucked out of my lungs.
I wish I could snatch the words up and shove them back into my mouth.
But it’s only a moment before his smile returns.
“Well, then he’s an idiot.” His eyes darken. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
Relief fills me up, and I try to regain my composure as quickly as I can.
“You’re a little shameless.”
Logan dips his head, one of his hands sliding around my body to rest on my lower back. His mouth hovers over mine and I can feel my heart thumping violently, threatening to run out of control.
“Is that going to be a deal breaker for you?”
I give in, those big doe eyes nearly bringing me to my knees.
“Not at all. I think shame’s overrated these days.”