Ben is already sitting at the bar, wearing a blue button-up shirt with sleeves pushed to his elbows. It’s a date shirt, I note. One that’s too warm for this weather. I try not to read too much into it.
He smiles when he spots me. I slide onto the stool next to him.
“Hey. Thanks for coming.”
I glance at his drink, which is pink. “Is that a cosmo?”
“Why do you say it like that? Cosmos are delicious. And they’re the happy hour special.”
“I didn’t say it like anything.”
The bartender, a pretty woman with dark hair cut into an angled bob, approaches and looks at me expectantly.
“I’ll have one too.” I point to his drink. I don’t drink hard liquor often, and I ignore the voice in the back of my head that says I should take this purple dress home.
“You got it.” She walks away to make the drink.
Savvy is on the other side of the bar in her place suddenly. I want to look away, but she looks so real. I have to remind myself that she’s a product of my twisted, damaged brain.
She leans closer to me. Even in my hallucination, she smells a little like smoke. She only smoked when she drank, but, well, she drank a lot.
“You know what I would do,” she says with a grin.
I shift on my barstool.
“I’d let him fuck me in the bathroom.” She has a wistful look in her eye. “And then probably out back behind the bar too. Remember that time you found me in the parking lot of the Charles? That guy had me bent over the hood of his car, my naked ass in the air, and you rushed over because you thought he was raping me? And I had to be like, oh no, honey, this was my idea.”
Ben takes a sip of his drink. “Why do people judge men for ordering pink drinks? It’s weird to gender drinks.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re not wearing a bra under that dress, are you?” Savvy asks. “I approve.” She winks at me and disappears. I let out a long breath.
“Men are lying when they say they don’t like fruity drinks. That guy over there with a beer wishes he had my cosmo.”
I laugh, which makes his face brighten. The bartender returns with my drink and I take a sip. It’s strong, thank god.
A burst of laughter explodes from behind me, and I look to see a group of women at a corner booth, many empty margarita glasses in front of them. A waiter is putting new ones down.
A dark-haired woman on the end of the booth is draining the last of her margarita, and she barely takes a breath before she grabs the new one and takes a long sip. It’s Nina.
She chugs half the margarita down in two gulps, and the other women explode into giggles again.
“You better go ahead and bring another one,” she says to the waiter. He laughs and nods.
For someone who said she doesn’t drink much, she sure is putting away those margaritas.
Our eyes meet as she puts the glass down, and she quickly looks away, like she hoped I hadn’t noticed her. She hastily recovers, turning in the booth and waving at me.
She stands and walks to us. She’s wearing skinny jeans that hug her curves, and no fewer than three men check out her ass as she passes them. I give them disapproving looks that not one of them notices.
“Hey, Lucy.”
Ben turns around then, and Nina actually stumbles back in surprise. She blinks twice, and I swear she almost turns around and bolts. I can actually see the thought cross her face.
If Ben sees it, he pretends not to. He smiles and says, “Hi, Nina.”
“Hi?” It comes out as a question, directed at me. “Is … everything okay?”
“Fine. How about you?”
She squints. “Uhh…” Her cheeks are pink, and I can almost see that huge gulp of margarita hitting her. “Good. Yeah. Good.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. You seriously hang out with this guy?”
Ben laughs. “Tell us how you really feel, Nina.”
Nina casts an irritated look at him. She sounded friendly on the podcast, but that look in her eyes is anything but. Something happened between her interviews and now.
“If you can’t be friendly with the podcaster who’s trying to prove you killed your best friend, who can you be friendly with?” I say it in an effort to lighten the mood, but both Ben and Nina look at me like I’ve grown a second head. Shit. That’s not something an innocent person would say.
“I’m going to go back to my friends.” Nina doesn’t look at me as she turns. “Nice seeing you guys.”