21. Garrett
21
Garrett
I’m thirsty!: Friday, 9 p.m. - 11 p.m. @ The Gas Station
I wish Evelyn didn’t look so good bent over a table. The stars on the ass of her tight jeans are the first thing I see when I walk into The Gas Station, and it’s damn hard to look away from how the denim hugs her hips.
I’m not surprised she beat me here. I ended up getting a call from Wes, then Alina wanted me to run through a new arrangement for the festival with her.
“I’ll have to kick you out for being a creep if you keep staring at her. I suggest you stop looking and grab the beer I have waiting for you,” Pat says. I turn to meet her sly smile. She pushes the opened bottle in my direction and I reach for it.
Evelyn and I have only been at this for a week and if my timer hadn’t gone off, I would have kissed her. Hell, might have even with the timer if she hadn’t jumped away from me. At least one of us seems to have some sense of self preservation. But I’m not sure how much longer I’ll last, especially after tonight.
“What? Not going to deny you were staring?” Pat says, prying for more information.
“No denying something plain as day.” I walk away before Pat can tell me off. Anyway, there’s someone else I’d rather be talking to.
She’s breathtaking. But that’s not why; it’s never been why. Making music with her has only allowed me to wrangle my thoughts and understand them. I feel like myself around her.
Not the boy who did his best to be useful enough to keep around.
Not the bassist for Fool’s Gambit.
Not a man itching to work.
Just me.
The crack of billiard balls colliding welcomes me as Evelyn hits them with the intentionality of a sniper. Her lips curl with satisfaction as a red ball neatly falls into a corner pocket.
“Impressive,” I say.
She whirls and her gaze trips over me, cataloging my sweater and jeans before it reaches my eyes. “Damn. I was hoping to catch you when you came in so I could scam you.”
“You already have my time; you want my money too?”
“I want everything I can get out of you,” she says, ignorant of what that would entail. If she had all of me, everything I want to give her, it would scare her off in a heartbeat. Then I’d lose her, and that’s exactly why what almost happened earlier can’t happen.
“I doubt that,” I mutter under my breath.
Evelyn puts up the pool cue then shuffles to reset the table. “I do have a gift for you. I was going to wait until tomorrow to give it to you, but I thought it would pair well with celebratory drinks.” Anxiety and excitement battle for dominance in her tone. “Come on.”
Before I know it, she’s pulling me behind her to one of the red upholstered booths in the corner. A white bakery box rests on the table next to a mismatched set of festive paper plates and napkins I assume she’s gotten from Pat.
She releases my hand to fling open the box. “Tada!”
“You set your expectations really low,” I say, reading the overly ornate red icing script.
We didn’t kill each other!
“The trick with men is keeping the bar in hell so you’ll never be disappointed,” she explains as she grabs a knife and moves to cut us slices. “You know, I checked three bakeries and none of them had pre-made options. I had to get it special ordered.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“I know, right?” she says, acting appalled. “It must be a regional thing. I can usually find them so easily.”
“It’s nice,” I tell her.
“You’re only saying that because I have a weapon,” she says.
The cake has a strawberry filling that, in addition to the red icing, makes the blade look menacing. She continues to cut pieces and put them on plates. Instead of keeping the cake to ourselves, we hand out pieces to Pat and the handful of other bargoers before sliding into the booth.
As we adjust, our legs brush against each other. I expect her to pull away again, but her calf presses against mine. Like if we can’t see it we don’t have to acknowledge that it’s happening.
“You really made it feel like a party in here,” I say, cocking my head toward the room full of people.
“If this is the type of party you’ve been going to recently, I need to get you out more. When we’re back in the city I’ll take you with me,” Evelyn offers then takes a bite.
Back in the city. It’s been just under a week since Holt told me I had to stay and I’ve barely thought of work, barely thought of what this dynamic will look like when we return.
“You’re the expert, so if you invite me I won’t miss it.”
“The other day, why did you bring up that party, I mean, when we were talking to the Barlowes?”
“It’s a version of the truth, I thought it would be better than lying,” I say, my mouth goes dry, so I take a sip of my beer. “Why?”
“I don’t ever really know how to feel about that night. Somehow hearing your version made me like it more.” Her eyes dip down to her plate where she’s started to absentmindedly push around frosting. “We were celebrating my third album that night. Well, Avery wanted to and I showed up because I’m terrible at saying no, even though I didn’t really want to be there. I was supposed to be happy that night. I was supposed to pour champagne to the brim of the plastic flutes we bought to be practical yet celebratory. I was supposed to dance and smile and be on top of the world. I tried but I just really didn’t want to. Not that night.” She heaves a breath and wriggles her shoulders, as if to simply shake off her discomfort. “It was so weird. All these people didn’t even know why they were there. I was so relieved when someone spilled their drink on me because then I could take a break.”
“Sorry I brought it up,” I say, but I’m not sure I am.
“It’s not like you knew.” She shrugs. “Anyway, I usually like parties.”
“I’m glad, or I would have gone my entire life without celebrating not murdering you.”
“Despite the cake industry's best efforts to dissuade me.” Her lips curl into a half-hearted shadow of a smile. “But parties celebrating me? I can’t do it. I’ve always had a hard time with birthdays, especially. I hate it when the attention is on me, I feel like I’m being watched and then will inevitably screw up, like when people are singing ‘Happy Birthday’ and you’re just standing there trying to look thankful while not being sure what to do with your hands.”
“I promise not to sing happy birthday to you,” I say, then make sure to add, “Assuming I’d be invited.”
“After what we pulled off with the Barlowes? I can’t not invite my partner in crime.”
“I’m not sure if pretending to be in a relationship to fool local farmers counts as a crime.”
“We have to carry the secret forever or we might ruin the Love Letter Festival’s chances of getting donated wine.”
“Very high stakes.”
“Oh yes. We’re permanently bonded.” Her features soften, spring-green eyes glimmering. “Seriously, though, after this, if you see me on a street corner, will you look the other way?”
“Never,” I say, knowing that if I saw her, a glimpse alone would disrupt my every thought for the rest of the day.
She looks down and a deep flush colors her tan skin. “Good to know.” Her eyes dart to the bar and she says, “I’m going to grab water. I’ll be right back.”
I give in and watch her as she goes up to Pat and they talk cheerily as Pat finishes using a bottle opener to pop off two bottle caps in quick succession. Because I already have my eyes on her, I see Evelyn turn to stone as the door chimes and two frazzled tourists walk in. Their eyes turn to saucers when they spot her. A second later, I’m on my feet closing the distance between us.