Page 50 of Unhinged

Tanner’s smile is golden. “Another round for us, and if you’re not seeing anyone, your number?”

I gasp, truly surprised. “Um, yeah.”

His face falls, and it confuses me. “Well, shit. All the good ones are taken.”

I shake my head, realizing what I did. “Oh! Yeah, I’ll get you another round, but no, I’m not seeing anyone…so yeah, you can have my number.” I laugh, feeling almost like myself again.

Removing a pen and notepad from my apron, I write my number, along with my name and a smiley face. He grins as Shinedown’s Devil fills the room when I hand Tanner the paper.

Candi comes from my other side and grabs me as I say, “We’ll return with your drinks.”

She yells, “After we dance!” As we walk away, Candi says, “I heard him asking you about a boyfriend.”

I laugh. “He asked for my number.”

“Damn. He’s hot. Do him in the parking lot.”

I frown, but I’m almost that desperate to be wanted. “We’ll see,” I mutter. I don’t want to be that girl, but I don’t even know who I am anymore.

Dragging me to a table of older women, she steps onto an empty chair and beckons me to follow. Holy jeez. Two women at the table motion for me to join Candi. They don’t look creepy, but with my boys blasting over the speakers and playing to my varying emotions, I jump up there with Candi, past caring.

Candi grabs my hand and twirls me around with her. She’s wearing a short skirt, but I’m glad I’m wearing jeans, though my boobs are the stars. Since the music is loud, I sing along with it, loving how they always make me feel better.

I whip my hair around as I dance. It’s not as long as it used to be, but it still swings in my face. By the middle of the song, Candi is even singing along. And when it ends, Shinedown’s Enemies plays, and I’m lost in myself, even falling to my knees as Candi and I writhe to the driving beat. Dollar bills land on the table, proving Candi right.

Some country song starts when the song ends, and Candi yanks me up for a hug filled with giggles. We gather our bounty of probably twenty dollars. The women surrounding the table help us down, offering kudos for our antics.

As we make our way through our audience on our way back to the bar, Candi squeals, “That was so fucking fun! I’m glad I found them on the jukebox! I never saw them there before! I’m now a fan!”

“God, I needed them! Thank you!” I clutch her arm, happy to have found a friend here.

I laugh as I look around, seeing Tanner’s eyes huge as he talks to the guy next to him—Leo, I think.

Behind the bar, Milt is fielding refills alone. Candi scoffs, “Where’s Greg?”

“I don’t know. He apparently didn’t like the table show because he threw two glasses and stormed off.” Milt motions to the floor. “There’s broken glass all over the floor back here.”

One man at the counter says, “I guess he wasn’t a fan of the music or pretty girls.” Or me.

Candi grabs the beers Milt shoves toward her for Tanner’s table and says, “Greg needs to grow up. Seriously, he either hates you or loves you.”

“Um, it’s hate. I promise.”

“Don’t they say there’s a fine line between them?”

“Not for me. It’s a mile wide.”

She turns to me. “He was never like this before you showed up here today.”

“I guess you don’t know the real Greg Rodwell.”

We make more rounds, receiving more genuine compliments for our performance, making me smile again.

Candi says, “I try to avoid certain tables after dancing until they calm down. The ladies whose table we danced on are some of Amy’s friends. They’re safe.”

“Good to know.” At least some people are.

Risking a look at the bar, I see Greg dragging a broom fast and angrily. He then stoops, disappearing behind the counter before stomping to the trash can, I believe. He shoves the broom into a corner and tosses the dustpan with it. I watch his gripping anger from a distance, but I see glimpses of his warped sense of humor, sweet smile, impatient eye rolls, and contagious giggles. I miss the real Greg Rodwell.

---