“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?”
I take a deep breath and say with more conviction than I feel, “I will be.”
“Exactly. We always will be. Eventually. And you know what helps?”
I tilt my head. “What?”
“Time,” she says.
I nod in agreement. I learned that when Nanna died. Time didn’t take away the pain, but it made it more bearable.
“Time and tequila,” Daisy says with a wicked grin.
“No tequila. Besides, I have a drink.” I look down at the glass in my hand and realize with surprise that it’s empty. I was thirstier than I thought.
“You were saying? Come on. Being good at tequila takes practice,” she wheedles.
In the end, she wears down my resolve by reminding me that Nanna would want me to take risks. And knowing Nanna, she would probably approve of tequila.
Daisy skips back to the bar for a few minutes, then appears with two tequila shots rimmed with salt and a wedge of lemon. I eye it warily. The truth is, I rarely do shots. I skipped over the whole turning twenty-one and drinking till I puked part of my youth. I’d had a drink here or there, but my birthday was the first time I’d ever been tipsy or drunk. My mother’s history with alcohol has made me wary of it.
But I screw up the courage to lick the salt, throw back the tequila that burns its way down my throat, and bite the lemon. My face puckers, though it isn’t terrible.
“Yasss, girl!” Daisy encourages. She finishes hers like the pro she is.
A Latin song with a strong beat comes on. Daisy grins, doing a twirl, her skirt flaring out. “And dancing! Dancing helps.”
In spite of my self-consciousness, I sway my hips to the intoxicating rhythm.
My shake and shimmy are hesitant, but they must be somewhat effective because a tall, dark-haired guy standing near me who’d been watching as we did our shots meets my eye and grins. He’s no Chase James, but he’s kind of cute.