Page 5 of Somewhere in the Sunset

Adam stretches up to point over the heads of those around us. We follow the direction of his pointed finger, all the way to the VIP booths on the edge of the dance floor. Some of them are occupied by groups of guys in expensive shirts and designer watches, but most of them are full of women. And they probably all look like supermodels, because it’salwaysthe gorgeous girls who have bottle service, but every girl’s face in this place is a blur to me. I don’t notice the detail of their eyes, the shape of their nose, the color painted on their lips. Every face is nondescript. I don’t see supermodels, I only see people whoaren’tCharlotte.

“We find some girls to invite us into their booth and we use their bottle service,” Adam explains. “We get chicksandbooze. Win-win. Brooks, don’t mention you’re wifed-up already. Cameron, flex your biceps. Weston, make it known you own handcuffs. Some girls like that.”

I cock my head to the side. “And what about you?”

“I’ll use my charm, obviously.”

Cameron rolls his eyes. “What charm?”

“You think it’s this nose of mine that gets me all the girls? It’s my endearing charm that does the hard work.” He bats his eyelashes romantically at the three of us in turn, and I do laugh. I’ll give it to him, heishilarious. He hasn’t cut his hair in months, his nose is crooked from when he broke it during a fist fight in high school, and he’s about ten pounds underweight. But his confidence is through the roof, and that makes all the difference. He has the most game out of all of us.

“Whatever. I’m sick of standing here, so let’s try it your way,” Brooks says, anxiously rubbing his neck. I’m not sure his girlfriend will like the idea of him spending his night in the company of other women.

Charlotte never did.

I spent more time being Adam’s wingman than I did treating her right. I should have stepped up and been a man, put her first before even myself, and loved her harder than she ever thought possible. A few weeks ago, she was passed up on for a promotion at work. She was upset that night, and Iknewshe was upset, yet I still went out because Adam had no one else to hit up the bars with. I’m kicking myself for that now. Charlotte needed consolation and reassurance and I was the one who was meant to give it to her. I was never there for her in all the ways she was always there for me.

Her words echo inside my head:I know you love me, Weston, but you don’t make me feel loved.

My throat feels dry, whether from dehydration or guilt, I don’t know. But I do know I could really do with another beer right about now.

Adam leads the way through the dance floor because he’s the only one who has no qualms when it comes to shoving people out of his path. Cameron, Brooks and I squeeze along behind him, our apologies going unheard beneath the thumping of the music as we bump into countless strangers.

A group of hostesses approaches one of the VIP booths closest to the stage, some carrying large signs that say “Happy Birthday”, some waving dazzling sparklers, and one has an ice bucket on their shoulder with a huge bottle of Cîroc vodka inside. The women in the booth cheer and dance, the flashlights on their phones shining like a dozen spotlights as they take videos. Must be nice, not being stuck on this sweaty dance floor, unable to even buy a drink at the bar.

Adam abruptly halts. “Her,” he says. “Look ather.Holy shit.”

He doesn’t have to point her out. As the hostesses leave, a petite brunette within the booth hugs the bottle of Cîroc to her chest and poses for a photo, her tongue out. I can sense Adam twitching in anticipation.

“Let me talk to them first,” Cameron says, nudging Adam to the side. “You’ll freak them out if you go over there drooling like that. Weston, back me up.”

God, I wish I had a drink. What am I supposed to do with my hands and why am I so aware of my every movement? I follow Cameron up to the barrier around the booth, but there are already other guys hovering, probably with the same intentions as us. This is so stupid. I wonder how much longer I have to show face for before I can slip out unnoticed? Maybe if the club wasn’t so packed tonight, I may have found some enjoyment in it.

There are around eight girls partying in the booth together. I gloss over them and acknowledge they’re all attractive, but there’s no fighting my disinterest. No one can ever compare to Charlotte, and my chest tightens as I realize I may never kiss those lips of hers again.

My hand automatically reaches for my phone, but Cameron nudges my shoulder hard before I can act on that urge.

“Weston, did you hear her? Her name is Elena,” Cameron says, fixing me with a stern look for being so blatantly rude and distant. When did he even get her attention? It’s the little brunette Adam has his eye on. “Sorry about him. He’s got a lot going on right now.”

“Sorry. Hey,” I say. And because I can’t think of a single thing to say to this blur of a girl leaning over the barrier toward us, I default into wingman mode. “You see that guy over there? Busted nose, curly hair? You are totally his type. I promise his jokes make up for that shitty shirt he’s wearing.”

Elena laughs, but the sound of any girl’s laugh other than Charlotte’s makes me feel a little sick. “Why don’t you invite your busted-nosed, curly-haired, shitty-shirt-wearing friend over here then?”

I turn around and signal for Adam and Brooks to join, and they are straight over here without hesitation. The four of us stand on the other side of the barrier at the mercy of this girl’s drunk decisions. Will she let us join them or will she kick us to the curb for pathetically trying to enter their booth?

“Your friends tell me you have good jokes,” she tells Adam, crossing her arms against the barrier and smiling down at the four of us.

Adam leans up against the barrier and narrows his eyes challengingly. “Let us join you and maybe you’ll hear some.”

And clearly there is something about a cocky guy that must be right up Elena’s street, because that’s all the convincing it takes for her to invite us into the booth. The other girls exchange confused looks with one another as we plant ourselves down next to them all, but quickly warm up to the idea of having some male company. They offer us some of their vodka and mixers, but we already have the privilege of taking up their VIP space and we aren’t going to use up their booze too. It’s just their expedited bar service we want. We call over a hostess and order a bucket of beers.

“This isn’t good,” Brooks mutters, pulling at the collar of his shirt, feeling the pressure of being in such close proximity to eight beautiful women. He sits between Cameron and me so that he only risks brushing his hand againstourthighs, and he locks his eyes on the stage, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. He really is all in when it comes to his girlfriend. My guilt pierces even deeper.

As Adam and Elena hover around the drinks table and chat, a red-haired girl sits down next to Cameron and asks him if we’re visiting from out of town. She seems a little too happy when he tells her that we are local (they are too), and he seems even happier to entertain the conversation. Girls always gravitate toward him – he’s all muscle. And when they find out he’s a personal trainer at a gym downtown, oh boy. They die every time.

The hostess arrives with our bucket of beers and sets them down on the table. I get up to fetch a bottle and as I’m popping the cap, I hear the tail end of Adam’s conversation with Elena.

“Oh, he’s a cop. He has handcuffs. Are any of your friends into that kinky stuff? He needs to get under someone new to get over his ex. Preferably immediately. He’s not usually this boring.”

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