Page 36 of Meet Me at the Metro

The bar has a rustic feel to it, holding a unique charm with its burgundy brick walls and weathered, darkly stained wood panel floors. Sweaty bodies occupy the limited spaces along the walls and the tall, circular tables spread throughout the building. Evie grips my hand and weaves us through the swaying crowd gathered here tonight as classic rock music echoes from the small stage, attracting attention at the rear end of the establishment. Crimson and sapphire lights dance through the smoke billowing above everyone’s heads as we move toward the bar.

“Let’s get some drinks,” Evie insists.

“Yeah,” I nod eagerly, trailing behind her as she elbows through the sea of bodies congested around the bartop. It’s absolute chaos over here, various voices overlapping one another as they shout their drink requests over the music to the several bartenders behind the counter.

Evie manages to squeeze us into one of the far corners, and it isn’t until she shouts,“Theo!”that I remember the nauseating truth that he works here.

I immediately mumble a curse under my breath. “Mother fucker.”

“Huh?”Evie squints. “You say something?”

“N-no. It’s nothing,” I lie, forcing a smile to my face despite how wreckless my nerves have suddenly become.

My eyes catch sight of him at the other end of the bar. His back is to us as he works, and he moves swiftly, mixing drinks and filling beer glasses. I hate myself for how long I allow myself to watch him, examining how nicely his black t-shirt fits along the ridges of his muscular back. The short sleeves of his top put the tattoos running down the lengths of his arms on full display, and I use the ink to excuse the way my stare lingers on him for so long.

His dark-blonde hair—so perfectly disheveled—falls against his brow as he works, and his biceps and forearms look so powerful and strong as he mixes the cocktail shaker in his large hands.

It stirs an awful flutter in my stomach.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” Evie says flatly.

I jerk my head toward her. “No, I-I was—”

“Staring. Hard. Yeah, I know,” she retorts with a saccharine smile. Her playful, chestnut eyes remain on me for several seconds, studying me. “And so you saynothingis going on between you two?”

“Nothing is going on between us. I swear.”

“Hmm,” she huffs, returning her eyes to Theo, who still hasn’t managed to notice the two of us. Against my internal wishes, she shouts to him again,“THEO!”

His head turns at that, but I quickly dart my eyes away, feeling intensely timid and apprehensive about the idea of him seeing me—especially in this dress.

“Ellie, he’s not going to bite. Stop looking so scared of him.”

Stop looking so scared of him.

I shouldn’t let the remark get under my skin so much, but it does, and it scalds my ego in more ways than I would like to admit. Besides, it couldn’t be further from the truth because it’s not Theo himself I’mscared of… it’s how my body reacts whenever he’s around that scares me. It’s the way it always seems to want to gravitate toward him, even in the instances where our tense encounters should make me feel deterred.

“What can I get for you guys?” I’m so relieved at the sound of that voice, feminine and soft, and everything opposite of what Theo’s would have been.

“Negroni for me,” Evie tells the ginger-haired bartender. “What do you want, Ellie? I can open a tab, and you can Venmo me for your drinks later or something.”

I debate what I want as my eyes involuntarily sweep past the woman before me toward the tall bartender lingering several feet away. I quickly force my gaze away from him and decide, “Could I get a shot of—well, actually, two shots—of whiskey, please?”

“You got it.”

“Blimey, Ellie!” Evie smiles. “Starting the night off strong, are we?”

“You know what they say,” I shrug. “Liquor is quicker.”

“Trying to take the edge off?” She throws a side-long glance at the person my eyes are intentionally avoiding and informs, “He’s looking over here, you know?”

“I don’t care,” I scoff, even though I’m certain that she and I both know I’m absolutely full of shit. My heart feels like a butterfly in my chest, but I keep my composure as calm and collected as possible. “I just wanna have some fun tonight, Evie. No grumpy men. No cares.Just fun.”

With perfect timing, the lady returns with our drinks and hands them to us. “Can I go ahead and get two more of these, please?” I quickly ask the bartender before she stalks away.

Evie gapes at me. “Oh, this is such a pleasant surprise.” My friend lifts her drink up high and toasts,“Here’s to a fun-ass night, Miss Mattice!”

“To a fun-ass night,” I repeat, gulping back my two drinks right after the other. The next two shots are slid across the bartop, and I don’t give myself time to anticipate how bitter the alcohol tastes before I quickly throw them back.

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