4. Charlie
“More shots!”
“Yes!” Mellie yells back. “Another round, barkeep!”
Should we be ordering more shots? No. Absolutely not.
Are we? Abso-fucking-lutely.
I need to push past this depressing stage of drunk that I’m currently in. I think I’m at shot six. Maybe. I’ve lost count. Six-drink Charlie is sad.
I bet Seven-drink Charlie is a lot of fun.
“Here,” the hot bartender says. “But only if you drink all this water right after.”
I force a wink, except I think I do it with both eyes, as the bartender walks away. I was going for sexy. It was not sexy.
“He’s hot,” I mumble.
“He is,” Mellie says as we lick, shoot, then suck the tequila back. “I wonder if he’s single.”
“Probably,” I say, swaying to the background music of Bar 615, the swanky bar off Broadway we like to go to when we’re feeling fancy. We tried going to the honkytonks, but there were too many people. And as much as I wanted a fun night on a rooftop bar, I wasn’t feeling it. I was in a shitty mood.
Thanks, Simon…
“Are we going to talk about it?”
I look over to Mellie, who is giving me a very sad look. I think. There’s two of her right now.
I shake my head, which was a bad idea. “Nope. Not talking about it.”
“I think you need to,” she says. “When I find my best friend crying in the alley, and all she can ask is if ‘he’s’ gone, I think we need to talk about it.”
“We don’t. Everything is fine.”
Everything is not fine. I thought running into Simon four months ago at the wedding was going to be a one-time thing. So what if it was confirmed we were a few degrees of separation away from each other? That didn’t matter. I live in Nashville. I since found out from Whitley that he lives in Rolling Hills. That’s a forty-five mile separation. Plenty of space between me and the man who broke my heart and gave me trust issues a mile high.
But when I saw him today, it hit me—Simon Banks is back in my life whether I like it or not. He now knows where I work. It won’t take him long to figure out where I live. The man will annoy me and pester me and do whatever it takes to get what he wants—the reason why I left.
Which is hilarious. Like he doesn’t know.
“Yoo-hoo!” I wave for the hottie bartender, who comes back toward me, carrying now two glasses of what I hope are tequilas but I’m pretty sure are waters.
“Yes, darlin’?”
Goodness gracious, can I record this man saying “darlin’” and have it as my ringtone? “What’s your name, hot bartender man?”
He chuckles. “Max.”
“Hi, Max. I’m Charlie. This is Mellie.”
“Hi!” she yells with a big wave.
“Can I ask you a question, Max?”
He chuckles. “Sure.”
I know I need to talk, but if I could listen to his thick drawl all day, I wouldn’t be mad. “Would you ever tell a girl you like them and then go and hook up with another girl hours later?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Does she like me?”
I nod as he slides me over another water. “She does.”
“Does he know that?”
“Yes. He does.”
“Then no,” he says, taking a glance down toward the end of the bar then back to me. “If I was into her, and she was into me, then everyone else would disappear.”
I point to Max aggressively, which almost makes me fall off my barstool. “This man has it figured out!”
He laughs then points an accusing finger at my untouched glass of water.
He’s nice. And hot. I bet he isn’t cocky and doesn’t call people by stupid nicknames.
“Is that what Simon did?” Mellie asks.
“Huh?”
She nods toward Max. “What you just asked Max. Is that what Simon did?”
Well, shit. I forgot she could hear me.
“He broke my heart,” I say, choosing to not go into details. Mellie doesn’t know much about Simon, except that I hate him.
“I’m sorry,” she says, patting my back. “That sucks.”
“He asked me out for months,” I begin. “I always said no because I thought he was a sexed-up frat boy who just wanted another notch on his bedpost. Wait, do people actually put notches on bedposts?”
This makes Mellie think for a second. “I bet they did back in the day. I can Google it?” She shakes her head in annoyance. “No. No Goog-ing. Back to the story.”
“Yes. Sorry. So we actually became friends. Good friends. Like I think at one point he was my best friend, but I never told him that because his head was already big enough.”
“I bet other things were big…”
“Mellie!” I yell. “He’s the enemy.”
She shrugs. “You have to admit, he’s a hot enemy. At least from what I saw today.”
“I’m not admitting anything,” I say in defiance, even though that’s a lie. I’m just a liar-liar- pants-on-fire tonight. Because Simon is hot, and he’s only gotten better with age. Which is a shame because he’s an asshole. Those crystal blue eyes shouldn’t be wasted on Satan.
“I wonder what his beard would feel like?” Mellie says, her eyes staring out, unfocused.
“Stop it!” I say. “We aren’t talking about his hotness. Or his beard. Or his body in a suit.”
“I didn’t say anything about a suit.” Mellie wags her eyebrows. “Just admit he’s hot.”
I groan. “Fine. He’s hot. He always has been and apparently always will be.”
Mellie smiles. “I’m glad you admit that. Now you can tell me what Hot Satan did to you.”
I shake my head. I don’t like talking about it. That day began the shitstorm of my life. “Let’s just say I thought things were going somewhere, because I, once again, believed the words a man said.”
“Men suck.”
“Yeah, they do,” I say. “Why do they lie?”
“Yeah!” Mellie says. “And why do they say words that aren’t true?”
“Yes!” I yell. “They suck.”
“Fucking suck bags.”
We both raise our glasses of water, because I’m guessing we’ve been cut off, and cheer to men sucking. Does some spill? Yes. Do we care? Not even a little.
“Wait! Isn’t toasting with water bad luck?”
I waive her off. “I’ve been bad luck most of my life, today included. I didn’t need water for that.”
And that’s no lie. Between having a dad who took off, a single mom who passed away too soon in life, and living paycheck to paycheck, things haven’t been a walk in the park. And every time I think something good is about to happen—BAM!—life sends me the equivalent of a bird shitting on my head.
I go to set the glass of water down when I see my cell phone light up with an incoming call. That’s not what shocks me. It’s the name flashing on the screen.
Speaking of bird shit…
“What the fuck!” I yell, grabbing my phone and holding it closer so I can read it better. Maybe I’m seeing things. How drunk am I that I’m seeing the name “Asshole Banks” flashing on the screen?
“What is it?”
I don’t answer Mellie because I’m stabbing the red button and rejecting the call.
“It was him.”
Mellie gives me a confused look, clearly not realizing who I’m talking about.
“Him!”
“Who’s him?
“Simon!” I scream, waving Max over to get me another shot. I know I shouldn’t, but Simon called me, and I don’t know how to feel about that.
“Why is he calling?”
“I don’t know! It doesn’t make sense. I thought I had him blocked. How did he break through my phone fortress?”
I plead with Max to get me a shot, which he agrees to, before I let my head fall into the bar.
How? Why? What? Huh?
Those are the immediate questions that run through my foggy, tequila-soaked brain.
Is he trying to fuck with me? Make me cry even more? Fight again? He has to have better things to do with his time than mess with me. Then again, annoying the hell out of me used to be his favorite hobby.
“Oh!” Mellie chirps, making me raise my head. “He left a voicemail.”
I stare at the notification on my phone and don’t move. Granted, the room is spinning, but I don’t think I’m moving. I’m just staring at the word “Voicemail,” which looks like it’s in 3-D.
“What did he say?” Mellie tries to grab the phone, but I quickly slap my hand on top of it.
“How would I know?”
“Aren’t we going to listen to it?”
“No. We’re not.”
“What do you mean no? Aren’t you curious?”
Of course I want to know. I want to know why he’s calling. I want to know why he did what he did fifteen years ago. I want to know why that beard looks so good on him.
’Cause it does, and I hate that.
“You’re thinking about it,” Mellie singsongs.
“Thinking about what?”
“Listening.”
I shake my head. “I’m not.”
“Liar,” she says. “I don’t know exactly what he did to you, but I know it hurt you deeply. You need closure. You can’t move on because something is still holding you back. If you listen, maybe that will help.”
She’s right. I hate when I’m not right, but I’ll admit this one.
“Okay,” I say. “Max! You better hurry with those shots because I’m going to need it after this.”
The bar is a little loud, so I doubt I can hear it just on speaker phone. Luckily, I always have my ear buds in my purse.
“I can’t do this on my own.” I hand Mellie one of the ear buds. She just nods as I hit play.
Here goes nothing…
“Bug! It’s me. Simon.”
“Aww!” Mellie says. “He calls you Bug? How sweet.”
“Shh!” I whisper-scream. I can barely hear him. Though what I am hearing sounds a lot like gibberish. Is he drunk too?
“Wait. No. You’re not cute. Well, you are. You’re beautiful. You still are. I know you never believed me when I told you that years ago, but I was telling the truth then and I’m telling you it now, you’re beautiful.”
Well, fuck. No! Stay strong!
“But that’s not why I’m calling. I need to yell at you. And apologize. But mostly yell. So buckle up, buttercup, this is about to be a journey. Also if I say hold on it’s because my drunk food is here.”
“What?” I scream, hitting pause. “He’s going to yell at me?”
“Calm down,” Mellie says. “Just hear what he has to say. Then appropriately react.”
I roll my eyes but do as she says.
Which is hard, because the next part of the voicemail goes on and on about me not saying goodbye and him looking for me and why I went off the grid. Which is hilarious considering his actions are the reason why he’s asking all of this. But he’s not admitting to any of that.
“But the question remains, why didn’t you say goodbye? Who does that? Especially after we kissed. I thought it was a good kiss. A great kiss. Wasn’t it a good kiss? I’m a good kisser, dammit. And so are you. We kissed good. I wanted to kiss you the night of the wedding even though I yelled at you. And today. I wanted to kiss you today.”
I don’t hit pause, hoping Mellie slides over that one. She doesn’t.
“He wanted to kiss you today!” she squeals.
I shake my head. “Don’t fall for his shit. It’s easy to do. But he’s a liar.”
“Oh, yeah, did you know I don’t like coffee?” Simon continues. “Nope. Never did. I went in every day to that fucking coffee shop and bought coffee I didn’t like because I wanted to see you. Yes, you. No other reason.”
I point to the phone. “See? Liar.”
I might say that, but as the next part comes out, I find it hard to remind myself of that.
“What I said was mean and cruel and not very nice. Because I saw you, Bug, and it brought up fifteen years of hurt and pain and sadness, and I fucking miss you. I stopped dancing in the kitchen, even though kitchens were made for dancing. And you want to know the worst thing? I haven’t been able to watch wrestling since you left. The Rock is back, and I can’t watch it and it’s all your fault!”
I can’t help but laugh even as I feel the tears starting to form.
“So, Bug, this is it. This is the end. You clearly don’t want to see me, and you know what? I don’t want to see you, either. Okay, that’s a lie. I do. I want to see you really bad. I’m in Nashville tonight. The Omni. Room 1614. If you’re in Nashville, I want to see you. I want to say I’m sorry for being mean today. And to see your pretty face. But you probably don’t want to see me, which I understand. Not really. I miss you, Bug. Okay, I’m going to hang?—”
The message abruptly stops and I look up to Mellie, completely speechless.
“Charlie…”
I shake my head. “No. He said some nice things, but he doesn’t mean them.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because Simon Banks is the same asshole today he was fifteen years ago. He says some nice shit, but in the end, he doesn’t mean any of it. You even heard at the beginning of the message. He lied. He said he lied. And he’s blaming me for leaving and not admitting to his part at all.”
“Then go confront him.”
Excuse me, what did she say?
“You want me to what?”
“Go to his hotel. He just said in the message he’s in town. And the Omni is only two blocks away. Go and see him. Get your answers. Shut the door on this chapter forever.”
I start to protest, but I don’t.
Can I? Can I just walk into this man’s hotel and demand answers as to why he did what he did? Part of me says I can’t. But the tequila says I can. And when has tequila ever caused someone to make a bad decision?