4. This Could Be Bad
This Could Be Bad
I think I hated everything about this. It was way too much for a stay-at-home-on-a-Saturday-night librarian.
"This is amazing," she announced, practically vibrating with excitement.
"We haven't even gone inside," I muttered.
"I can already tell."
I sighed, staring at the entrance. There was still time to leave. A sensible woman would leave. A sensible woman would return to the hotel, order room service, read a book, and be asleep by ten. Unfortunately, I was with Claire, which meant sensible had left the building several hours ago.
The hostess greeted us with a bright smile, and Claire practically skipped past. Immediately, the music slammed into me.
The place was absolutely packed. Colored lights swept wildly across the room as women crowded around tables, laughing and cheering.
A large stage occupied the center of the venue, making the atmosphere feel less like a club and more like a giant party.
Claire grabbed my wrist, tugging hard. "Look."
"I don't want to."
"Look!"
Against my better judgment, I did. The show had already started, and several dancers were performing on stage while the crowd screamed their frantic approval. I immediately looked away, my face burning. Claire laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink.
"Oh my God," she wheezed.
"I hate you," I muttered.
A server appeared and placed a cocktail in front of me, which I accepted without hesitation. Mostly because I needed something to do with my hands, but also because alcohol suddenly felt strictly necessary.
"Relax," Claire said, leaning in.
"I'm relaxed."
"You look like you're being held hostage."
I glanced around the room. Okay, maybe I looked slightly uncomfortable. Possibly. But the drink helped. By the time I finished half of it, the noise felt a little less overwhelming, the music wasn't quite so loud, and the embarrassment began to lose its sharp edge.
In fact, I was beginning to realize something surprising, nobody was paying attention to me at all.
Everyone was too busy having fun. The realization loosened a knot tight inside my chest. For years, I’d worried about looking foolish, too old, too boring, too awkward, too much of one thing and too little of another.
Tonight, none of that seemed to matter. I was just another woman on vacation, another face in the crowd.
Just Jennifer. Not a fiancée, not a librarian, not someone's future wife. Just me.
The thought was unexpectedly freeing.
"See?" Claire said, catching the change in my expression.
I rolled my eyes. "Don't get excited."
She grinned. Too late.
An hour later, I was actually laughing, which felt like a betrayal of everything I stood for.
The music had changed, and the atmosphere remained entirely ridiculous, but somehow, I was having fun.
It wasn't because of the dancers; it was because of the people.
I watched the women celebrating birthdays, a group from Texas singing every song at the top of their lungs, and a sixty-year-old grandmother dancing like she owned the place.
There was something strangely comforting about watching people enjoy themselves with no expectations and no responsibilities.
When and why had I stopped doing that?
A server approached our table. "Need anything else?"
Claire immediately ordered another round. I should have stopped her, but instead, I said nothing. That probably counted as my fourth mistake of the weekend. Maybe my fifth; I was losing track.
As the server walked away, a movement near the bar caught my attention.
A man stood talking to another employee.
He was tall, with broad shoulders, dark hair, and a simple black t-shirt.
Unlike the performers, he wasn't trying to attract attention.
In fact, he looked almost annoyed to be there. For some reason, I found that funny.
The man said something to his coworker, who burst out laughing. He didn't laugh, his expression remaining perfectly serious, but then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
The entire room seemed to shift. It wasn't just because he was handsome, no, it was something about the smile itself. It was the kind of smile that made you want to know exactly what had caused it.
I quickly looked away, reprimanding myself. I was forty-three years old, engaged, and absolutely not checking out a stranger. Nope. Not happening.
Claire followed my gaze anyway. "Oh."
I groaned. "No."
"Oh, he's cute."
I picked up my drink, keeping my eyes glued to the liquid. "He is approximately twelve years old."
Claire laughed. "He is definitely not twelve."
"Close enough."
The man glanced in our direction, and I immediately stared deeper into my glass. Mature. Very mature.
"You're blushing," Claire taunted.
"I am not."
"You are."
I hated that she was right.
A while later, Claire disappeared into the crowd, which probably should have worried me.
Instead, I enjoyed the rare silence. I pulled out my phone to check my messages and found three from Mark.
One was asking about the trip, one was reminding me to wear sunscreen, and the last one ended with a heart.
I typed a quick response: Having fun. Still alive.
The three dots appeared almost immediately: Good. Miss you.
I stared at the screen as a familiar guilt crept back into my chest. Why did I feel guilty? I wasn't doing anything wrong. I was on vacation with my sister, drinking overpriced cocktails, and that was it. Nothing more.
I slipped the phone back into my purse. When I looked up again, someone was standing right beside my table. It was the same dark-haired man from the bar.
For a moment, I stared, because up close, he was even more attractive, which felt deeply unfair.
"Sorry," he said. His voice was warm and easy, not flirtatious or arrogant, just genuinely nice. "I think your friend stole my chair."
I blinked. "What?"
He pointed across the room. Sure enough, Claire was currently sitting in a chair that quite clearly belonged to a staff station. I covered my face with both hands. "Oh, my God. And, that’s my sister, Claire."
He laughed, and the sound sent a strange, unexpected flutter through my stomach. "Don't worry about it. She seems happy."
I looked over. Claire was somehow leading an entire table of complete strangers in an enthusiastic drinking game. I sighed. "Unfortunately, that's usually the first warning sign."
He laughed again, and that annoying flutter returned.
"I'll survive," he said.
"You're remarkably calm about this."
"I work here."
That explained a lot. I smiled despite myself. "You've probably seen worse."
His grin widened. "Much worse."
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The conversation should have ended there, and it probably would have, except he remained standing by the table and I didn't seem particularly eager for him to leave. It was an interesting development, and slightly concerning.
"I'm Tyler, by the way," he said, breaking the silence.
There it was. A name. A simple thing, yet somehow it changed everything. Strangers were easy, but names made people real.
"Jennifer," I replied.
His eyes met mine, and something unexpected passed between us. Curiosity. It was that strange awareness that sometimes appears when you meet someone and immediately know the conversation isn't over.
"Nice to meet you, Jennifer."
I smiled. Against my better judgment, against every sensible instinct I possessed, I smiled back at him. And for reasons I couldn't possibly explain, it felt like the absolute beginning of something. I just didn't know what it was yet.