Star-Crossed Letters (Falling for Famous #1)(26)

“Any friend of Daisy’s is a friend of mine.”

He waves away our money for the cover and unfastens the rope to let us through. There are a few grumblings from the people at the front of the line, but Juan glares them into silent submission.

My excitement for the night fizzles as we step through the door to the first floor that houses the crowded main bar. Bodies are piled in together, people shouting to be heard against grating electronic beats. Male gazes creep over me, eyeing my expansive cleavage and exposed legs.

Now I remember why I hate going out.

“Okay, it’s been super fun. Time to go home now!” I shout to Daisy.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Daisy catches my arm as I try to turn around to head back through the door. “You’ll have at least one drink and dance with me.”

“Everyone is staring,” I hiss.

“We’re fucking stunning, which is why everyone’s staring.”

I pull at my dress again. I don’t have the wardrobe for clubbing. I favor neutral and dark colors, comfortable fit, and cozy fabrics. Daisy calls my style goth homesteader, so she convinced me to borrow one of the vintage dresses from her shop.

It’s so lovely I couldn’t resist. It’s a swinging sheath of a dress that’s low and tight across the chest and falls mid-thigh. Except when I’m walking or moving. Then, it falls higher. With my curves, I didn’t think the style would work for me, but it’s surprisingly flattering, if a little skimpy.

Maybe I should have more fun and take more risks with my wardrobe. I never had much time or money to spend on clothes and finding my personal style. But this summer is supposed to be about stepping out of my comfort zone.

Daisy pushes her way toward the front of the crowd.

She doesn’t let go of my hand as she does her maneuvering, so I try my best to sidestep through the crowd with her. Wispy, delicate Daisy can breeze through tight spaces that my curves can’t, while I feel like I’m molesting total strangers with my ass and boobs. The male strangers don’t seem to mind.

When we finally make it to the bar, she catches the bartender’s attention, calling, “Two old fashioneds!”

The bartender, a man with way too many tattoos for one person, stares her down.

“Lychee martinis?” she asks, twirling her hair.

“You need to go to the top floor if you want a froufrou drink. We only have the basics here,” he growls, then folds his arms, waiting.

Daisy laughs. “Fine. How about two Red Bulls and vodka? But only the top-shelf vodka.”

“Wait, no. I’ll be up all night if I have an energy drink this late,” I say.

The bartender thrums his fingers on the bar impatiently.

“Um. A gin and tonic?” I ask. “Really light on the gin.” It seems like a safe choice.

The bartender just grunts and turns to make the drinks.

“Damn, I love a bad boy. And a challenge.” Daisy eyes the disinterested bartender. She whips out her credit card. “I’m getting him tonight,” she vows.

“Does he know that?”

“He will,” she retorts with breezy confidence.

I try to hand her money for my drink, but she shakes her head.

“You can buy the next round.”

“If there is another round,” I mutter.

A few minutes later, we have our drinks, and after Daisy’s done a little more flirting with the grumpy bartender, we clink our glasses.

“Cheers!” She takes a big gulp.

I wince at the strong alcohol taste. So much for light on the gin.

“So what happened to the bartender from Jack’s?” Jack’s is a dive bar two blocks down from my house. Daisy used to have a crush on the guy who worked Tuesdays and Thursdays, so she’d make Audrey and me go to their wing night specials. The wings were good; the warm beer was not.

“It was nice while it lasted.” She shrugs. “Don’t you just love a hot bartender? I think it’s because they’re so busy working, they mostly ignore me. I like a guy with an avoidant personality. It’s like a personal challenge.” Daisy winks at the bartender, who furrows his eyebrows and turns away. “See? He couldn’t care less about me. It’s a total aphrodisiac. He’s probably madly in love with a girl who died. Or maybe he’s working his way through seminary school, and he wants to give his heart to God.”

I snort. “Maybe he’s an asshole. Or just not that into you.”

She shakes her head. “Hmm. Possible on the asshole part. But not that into me? Nah. He wants me even if he doesn’t realize it yet. The main reason we’re here, though, is because you need to find a man.”

She hasn’t said it, but I get the feeling that Daisy thinks my zoned-out behavior this week is because I’m missing Remington. I mean, I am. I do. I miss my friend so much it hurts, and every time I think of the way I put myself out there and he turned me down, I’m gutted.

Still, meeting Chase James helped. I realize that it’s possible to feel a Remington-level crush on someone besides my pen pal. Sure, it’s with another unavailable male, this time a ridiculously hot celebrity, but it’s a start. Now, I just need to put myself out there with a non-famous, real-life guy.

Could that real-life guy be in this bar tonight? Doubtful.

“Hey.” Daisy gives me a concerned look. “Are you okay?”