Page 150 of Rush of Jealousy

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“Well, damn,” I mutter, staring at the revised sign when we get to the front of the line.

“Shit,” Claire commiserates at my side, with a hiss of solidarity.

“I guess it is Ladies’ NightandOpen Mic Night,” I sigh. The poster has an add-on strip of paper with the dual night posted with scribbled Sharpie lettering. Very classy.

“Doesn’t mean he’ll be here.”

“Except that he hasn’t missed one of these nights in the past four years.”

“Ugh. This night was supposed to be relaxing. Now it’s going to be a race to get drunk the fastest.”

My head moves up and down as the realization hits me. “Yup, pretty much.”

We have been waiting outside in the cold for twenty minutes with black dresses on, made of the thinnest material. Despite being more modest than our typical going-out attire, it is only forty degrees, and I regret not sucking it up and wearing a coat. It’s too late now. My knees are banging together, and I am bouncing about on my heels just to stay warm. We are just a few people away from entering The Shack. I am sure the volume of people stuffed inside the wooden box will bring on the sweat, so I should savor this moment. But I don’t.

Claire and I squeeze through the side entrance and push through the barricade of people to find the bar. Two male bartenders are moving quickly behind the counter, mixing up drinks and swiping cards.

“Half-price night ladies, what’ll it be?” one asks us—serving us before a few other customers waiting longer.

“Two Irish car bombs,” Claire responds, “but make them doubles.”

“Waters too,” I add. I stick my tongue out at Claire’s disapproving expression. “Your liver will thank me later.” One of us needs to be responsible.

Our drinks arrive, and a pang of guilt stabs at me.

“Now’s not the time to be health conscious. Now’s the time to make stupid decisions. And think about the consequences—”

“Later,” I interject.

“Never,” she corrects. “Cheers to no regrets.”

“Cheers.”

A guy around our age plops down on the stool beside me. He has a five o’clock shadow, gray ball cap, and navy hoodie on. He appears single. I hold on to my drink, knowing that bad things can happen if I let down my guard. Claire may be living the carefree life right now, but the drugging and near rape has made me more cautious. More self-aware.

“Can I buy you ladies a drink?”

“No,” Claire and I say in unison, then look at each other and burst out laughing. The car bomb takes effect fast, and I already feel lighter than I did five minutes ago. I drink my water and try to make some better choices tonight.

“Come on, not even one drink?” He has a southern drawl to his voice, and while I may have found it sexy at one time in my life, right now I only have one man on my brain.

“No,” we say again.

Claire leans over my lap to make eye contact with the stranger. “This is our girls’ night. We are not on the prowl. We have men. They are jackasses most of the time. But they are still ours.”

He nods his head but handles the rejection well. He takes a long swig of his beer and goes back to playing on his phone.

The opening act makes an announcement about what Open Mic Night is about for those who are here for the first time. Then he jams out to some Papa Roach song with his bandmates.

Claire and I listen to several acts and relax, thinking we are in the clear. And then I see the wavy blond hair and the thrift shop T-shirt from the side of the stage and know it is Zander before ever seeing his face. He turns, pushes his hair back from his forehead, and spots me at the bar. I give him a lopsided smile and a wave. But he just ignores me with a sad frown.

I miss him. I miss my best friend. The guy who would make me laugh, sneak me contraband candy, and tease me for breaking my computer for the umpteenth time. I miss things being easy between us. When I could talk to him about almost anything and never be met with judgment. Who could blame me for wanting to preserve that type of friendship and never let it get damaged?

The current act finishes up, and Zander walks onto the stage solo. He is a bit of a celebrity here on nights like this. He always performs but never by himself. Tonight he is alone. And my heart hurts from the symbolism.

I think back to our duet and how he brought me out of my shell. That’s Zander, though. He gives those he cares about the confidence to be themselves and to flourish while still stepping outside comfort zones.

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