“Dear God,” a voice cuts in, from the other side of the bar. “I knew this place was known for has-been clichés, but I didn’t realize they’d all be quite this obvious.”
“’Scuse me?” The drunken business creep spins around, sloshing half the beer I just refilled all over his shoes as he does.
“My apologies, did I use too many big words for you?” The guy who spoke is a lot younger—around my age, I would guess—but he also stands a head taller than the creep. He’s thin, but not in a scrawny way. Just long, lean muscles. And the kind of glare that looks like it could kill a man at ten paces. “Leave the lady alone.”
The creep glances from the guy to me and back again, sputtering. “I didn’t even say anything—”
“And yet, we could all tell exactly what you were thinking. This poor girl most of all, bless her.” The guy shoulders past the drunk, which leads to more beer sloshing. But he doesn’t even seem to notice. He turns his back with the casual ease of someone who’s used to getting into fights. Or used to ending them, anyway. He doesn’t even view the older man as a threat, clearly.
Something about that move clues the older man in, too. I expect him to keep arguing—I’ve seen enough borderline blackout drunks like him in my day to know that once the testosterone spikes, they are ready to throw down no matter what. But instead, he turns around and retreats back to his cluster of friends in the corner, cowed.
My eyebrows rise. “Wow. That was impressive.”
The guy snorts. “Please. That was nothing. You should see me in an actual negotiation.” He scans the shelf behind me. “What’s the least poisonous thing on the menu?” he asks.
But I don’t reply. Because suddenly, my voice has frozen in my throat, choking me.
I didn’t notice until he was leaning right up against the bar. But I see it now, clear as day, and I wonder how I’d missed it earlier. The guy is wearing a jacket with the Tanglewood University crest emblazoned on the pocket. I’ve seen coats like this—the upperclassmen all wear them. I’ve heard rumors about the crests each meaning something, different levels of academic success. This guy’s is embroidered in gold, which I’m pretty sure means top marks.
But that doesn’t matter, because the much bigger problem is he cannot know I work here.
“S-sorry,” I stammer, backing away from the counter. “I, um, I forgot something…” I’m about to flee toward the back and beg Henry to cover this half of the bar, when the guy peers at me more closely, his forehead bunched with concern.
“Are you all right?” he asks quietly. “That guy didn’t freak you out, did he? Because I know where he works; if he did anything to you, say the word and I’ll make sure he’s out on his ass by Monday.”
Who is this guy?
My stomach tightens, and I manage to shake my head, just once, hard. “N-no. Thank you. I mean, he’s fine. It’s not that.”
“Okay, because you’re acting like you just saw a ghost or something, so…” The guy trails off. Something about his stare, its intensity, makes it impossible to look away. His eyes are so dark that in the dim light of the bar, they almost seem black. I can’t tell where the pupils end and the irises begin.
And now I’ve been staring for way too long, especially to judge by the little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth…
I’m considering possible escape routes, the best way to recuse myself from this situation without anyone catching on, when Henry shuffles into view.
“Keanen.” He extends a hand, and the guy reaches out to accept the handshake, although still without taking his gaze from mine. “Long time no see. I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten all about me.”
“The man who served me my first beer at the ripe old age of fifteen? Never.” Keanen grins, and my heart sinks.
In that one motion, I can see the resemblance, clear as day. At the same time, I remember Bette’s words, clear as day. Keanen Kross, my older brother… The quarterback of the Jaguars.
Shit. I take a slow, sliding step back from the bar while Henry chuckles at Keanen, hoping both of them will somehow forget I’m here, allow me to melt into the background.
But then Henry glances at me, still grinning. “Keanen here attends Tanglewood too. He’s a good one to know actually, Missy. Senior this year, so he’ll be leaving soon, but he can introduce you to all the right people. Loves to make connections, that boy, just like his father.”
“You go to Tanglewood?” Keanen’s gaze sharpens, focused right back on me.
I wish I could disappear. Melt into the floorboards, never to be heard from again. Barring that, I force a weak smile. “Uh… yeah. Freshman. Just started this year.”
Keanen nods. “My sister did too.”
“Bette?” I blurt, before I realize how that makes me sound. Like some kind of crazy stalker who knows all about his life already. “Um, I mean, yeah, I met her, actually. She mentioned you. Not that I recognized you, when you came in, or anything, but I…” My face feels so red I’m afraid it’s going to set off the smoke alarm in the bar soon. I glance at Henry, wild-eyed, desperate for help.
Henry just smirks and retreats back toward his side of the bar. “Go easy on Missy here, Keanen,” he says as he leaves. “It’s hard enough to find good help these days.”
Keanen watches Henry go, and then leans against the bar, studying me more closely now. “So, Missy,” he says, his smile sharpening at the edges, “about that drink.”
The entire night, I can feel Keanen’s gaze on me. Boring into me. He’s sitting in the corner with an older guy, someone I don’t recognize—and someone who looks too old to be a student at Tanglewood, thank God. But one person knowing my secret is bad enough.
Especially when that someone doesn’t seem like he’ll be quick to forget it. Every time I manage to forget Keanen’s sitting there, I catch him out of the corner of my eye or in the mirror behind the bar, his dark eyes zeroed in on me. Once, I turn to look at him pointedly, wondering if he’ll break eye contact or at least pretend he wasn’t staring.
Instead he raises one hand and waves, just once. Subtly enough that his conversation partner doesn’t notice. Then he smirks, and turns back to the guy he’s sitting with.
Shit.
The whole time, my heart hammers in my eardrums. I can’t stop thinking about how screwed I am. Less than one week at college, and I’ve already blown my mother’s advice—done the one thing she warned me not to do. She told me to fit in, to pretend I belong here. But no self-respecting highbrow Tanglewood student would be caught dead working in a dive like this.
Keanen’s going to tell Bette now, who’s going to spread it all around school, and there goes any hope I ever had of a social life before it even got off the ground. I am so screwed.
The whole night, I keep checking over my shoulder, as if he’s going to sprint off to spread the news to his friends already. But he doesn’t do anything, aside from chat with the guy he’s sitting with, and occasional steal glances my way. When it comes time for them to settle up the bill, he approaches me again and my heart leaps into my throat.