Right now, I’m in the passenger seat of Dad’s car. We reach the bar, and he pulls into the parking lot. Outside, there are a bunch of parked cars and motorbikes, but the street looks mostly empty. It pretty much always does after sundown in this part of town.
The skyline is deep purple. I’d take a photo for my Instagram, if Dad wasn’t right here.
He pulls on the hand brake, then turns to face me.
“Are you wearing cologne?” he asks.
I am, in fact. I snuck into his room and stole some of his. I picked Bleu de Chanel. I didn’t think he’d notice.
“Yeah, I hope that’s cool?”
“It’s fine. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you might’ve put on too much.”
Did I?
Oh God, I did.
I feel totally sick. The whole point of doing this is so I’ll smell good. For Jason. And everyone on earth hates people who wear too much cologne or perfume. One of my aunts always wears too much, and it makes me dread being near her. It’s like being thwacked in the face with a bouquet of flowers over and over.
“Next time, just use two sprays, one on each wrist, then hold them to your neck for a few seconds,” says Dad, showing me how it’s done. “That’s all you need.”
“Noted.”
I used literally four times that.
“But I do like the enthusiasm,” he says. “You wearing cologne, coming along. It’s a good look for you.”
I smile weakly. “Thanks.”
We get out of the car and go down the street. Around us are low white buildings. A few thin, sad-looking palm trees are dotted around the place, along with power lines, and overflowing dumpsters. We’re far enough away from the city that there’s no flowing traffic, so the whole place is really still.
The exterior of Jimmy’s is nothing special, to be honest. It’s just a big off-white rectangle, with the name of the bar in red and green neon on the front. The alley runs down its left, and there’s a red pop-out awning above the door. Underneath it is a bouncer, a big guy wearing all black. He has a tattoo of a scorpion snaking up his neck.
He recognizes Dad, so he waves us through.
Inside, I peer around.
My cousin Ethan is playing pool with Vince. They both nod at Dad and ignore me. Cassidy is standing by the jukebox.
I can’t see him.
Phew.
I mean, I do want to see him. Just not yet. Not until I’ve washed the cologne off and Dad’s gone upstairs.
“Are you okay to entertain yourself for a few hours?” asks Dad, who is looking at his watch. It’s an heirloom Rolex, one handed down to him from his father. If anything happens to Dad, Luke’ll get it, for sure.
“Yeah, ’course. Have a good night.”
“You too.”
He turns to walk up the stairs.
“And, um,” I say, calling him back. “I might, like, Uber home. So if I’m gone, like, don’t stress.”
“That’s fine. Just text me your plans.”
“Will do.”
I know he has no trouble leaving me, because I’m surrounded by family. There’s not much trouble I can get into, seeing as half the crowd here are blood relatives. My grandma is even here. She’s sitting in a booth with a few of my aunts.
Maybe this plan is dumb.
What will even happen if I do see Jason? I can’t leave with him again. If I do, people will talk. I go into the bathroom and half expect him to be standing there, washing his hands, like last time.
But it’s empty.
I wash my hands in the sink and then wet a paper towel and wipe the sides of my neck. I scrub a bit, until my skin turns slightly pink. Then I do the same on the back of my wrists. I think that should get rid of most of it. Once I’m done, I look up at my reflection.
What are you doing?
Why are you here?
I leave the bathroom, head to the bar, and sit down on one of the stools. I spin and look around.
He’s not here.
Now I feel stupid.
I came here for him. I hate this place, and yet I came here, on the off chance that he might show up again. What else could I do? I couldn’t find his social media, and I wasn’t just going to let it drop. My stupid brain is too curious about him.
Now I need to spend the night here. By myself. Ugh.
It’s times like this that make me wish I liked drinking.
I don’t, though. For one, it tastes bad. And two, I hate the thought of not being in total control of myself, especially around my family.
I kick my shoe against the bar. It’s made of dark wood and varnished so it’s shiny. Like always, bluesy, small-town rock is playing on the speakers. I breathe in, and the air smells like Scotch. And still faintly like Dad’s cologne.
Maybe I should just leave. Call it a night, cut my losses.
Maybe …
I hear the front door open.
I’m too nervous to look.
Then a dark shape slides into the space beside me.
“Hey, you,” Jason says.
My heart starts thudding.
“Oh, hi,” I say.
He leans against the bar. “Waiting for someone?”
Um. I mean, yes, I was waiting for him, but I don’t want to admit it.
“Um, no, I’m not waiting for anybody. Dad’s in a meeting upstairs. I’m just killing time. You know, the usual.”
I glance back at him. He’s wearing a gray shirt this time, neatly tucked into black slacks. The top two buttons are undone again, and he’s wearing the same shoes as last time. I can’t believe I noticed that, but you know.
They’re great shoes.
His hair is gently tussled and styled with product.
I glance at Vince. He’s busy playing pool.
“Too bad,” says Jason. “I was hoping you might be waiting for me.”
“I don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Wait for people.”
He smirks. “That’s smart. I totally came here hoping I’d see you.” He taps his knuckles on the bar.
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. It’s everything I want to hear. But it feels so dangerous. I’m not ready for anyone to know about me yet. Not even a stranger. But this boy … he’s making me feel all sorts of things.
He’s turned his body to the side now, so he’s fully facing me. My stare goes down his neck, to the smooth skin visible between the halves of his shirt. It’s so captivating. I imagine brushing my fingers along it, then immediately push the thought away.
“Wanna sneak out again?” he asks.
Hell yes.
But I feel like I shouldn’t. People might see.
He leans closer. I feel like I can’t move. Like I’m rooted to the spot, all my focus on him. I can smell his cologne, which is perfect, and the mint on his breath. His lips are nicely arched and look really soft.
It makes me think about kissing.
He leans down and whispers in my ear: “Outside, five minutes.”
He pats my chest, his hand lingering against me for a second, and then walks away.
Okay, fuck.
I turn, and watch as he leaves the bar. Then I scan the crowd.
Nobody is even looking my way. Everyone is too wrapped up in their own conversations, their own drama. Vince sinks a ball and then grins. It looks like a close game, and Ethan’s face is set in concentration.