Page 7 of Fake Dark Vows

The bartender has been lingering over the customer closest to us, following our interaction with a lopsided smile on his face. All around us, eager faces are turned our way, sensing the argument brewing.

“Hey, guys.” Mindy, looking utterly gorgeous, appears next to Jess. “What’s going on? What did I miss?”

“We’re leaving,” Jess says. “This bar is a little overcrowded.”

“But I just got here.” Mindy is still talking and glancing over her shoulder at Mr. Weiss as Jess leads her away.

I chance one final look at him before I follow them. Our eyes meet, only it isn’t anger I see in them, it’s something else. Pity perhaps? I walk away and I don’t look back.

CHAPTER 3

Brandon

“Courtesy of the lady at the other end of the bar.” The bartender slides a shot glass toward me and gestures with a nod at a young woman sitting alone on a bar stool, a small, beveled glass filled with the same amber liquid in front of her.

I raise my glass and down it in one. The alcohol burns as it goes down; I loosen my tie and unfasten the top couple of buttons of my shirt. My ruined jacket is tossed over the back of the stool. I don’t care about the suit—I’ve an entire walk-in closet full of them at home—it’s the mental images of the janitor’s daughter I can’t shake.

The city is filled with women like her, women who assume that their beauty will excuse their behavior and open doors for them. It wouldn’t surprise me if the whole meet-cute with the kid was planned from the outset. She probably saw me exit the elevator and whispered in the child’s ear to run over and grab my attention as a precursor to her own introduction.

Earlier, I’d compared her to Kelly because of the honey-blonde hair and the dazzling smile, but that’s where the resemblance ends. Kelly is more discreet for starters. She would never have caused a scene in a crowded bar to prove a point because she always hated attention.

That isn’t it though. The janitor’s daughter—two near-misses and I still don’t know her name—doesn’t strike me as someone who enjoys attention either. She’s not what I’d call striking. The woman hugging the shot glass at the other end of the bar is more striking, but instantly forgettable.

I accept a refill from the bartender and knock it back.

The table behind me erupts with laughter. Their conversation has meandered from a recent vacation in Mexico to an upcoming Knicks game to one of the women not being able to release the fuel cap on her car at a station outside of town.

“The guy looked at me like I shouldn’t have been in control of an Audi,” she says, her voice rising above the laughter.

The kind of banal topics Kelly would’ve followed with avid interest.

I stare at the bottom of the empty glass, at a smear of amber, attracting the spotlights behind the bar, and wait for their voices to fade.

It’s the way she didn’t back down. She knew who I was, and she still looked me in the eye and chose not to apologize, perhaps because she knew her friend would back her up.

“Bad day?”

The voice belongs to shot-glass woman who has taken advantage of the empty seat next to me.

“I’ve had better,” I say, appealing to her maternal instinct. Seems to work every time; women can’t get enough of a guy who’s not afraid to reveal some emotions.

I order two more shots with a nod at the bartender.

“My sister works for you.”

As chat-up lines go, it’s original. Not one I’ve heard before.

“Julia?” she says, waiting for me to connect the dots. “I’m Wren, J’s little sister.”

I study her face, the familiar smile and wide gray eyes.

It’s strange how in some people, features seem to meld together to create an attractive image, while in others, there appears to be something lacking. The features work on Wren. Her dark hair is loose, framing her face with perfect bangs, her makeup is smoky and in complete contrast to Julia’s natural, fresh-faced look that she wears to work.

“Wren.” I repeat the name, getting a feel for it on my tongue, and clink my glass against hers. “Are you here alone?”

“Julia isn’t with me if that’s what you’re asking.”

It’s good enough for me. “You want to get out of here?”

---