Page 49 of Finders Keepers
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The universe isclearly not done trying to punish me for some unknown offense. Because according to the sign outside Flow State’s front door, this isn’t just any fundraiser they’re throwing. It’s athemedone.Nostalgia Nightthe sign reads. Capri-Sun and Hi-C cocktails. Fifteen percent off for anyone dressed as a Spice Girl or wearing JNCOs. Pog tournament at eight. And a DJ spinning the greatest hits of the ’90s and early 2000s.
It’s like the past heard I’m trying to avoid it and decided to come along and smack me in the face in retaliation.
I turn to Quentin. “Did you know about this?”
“About what?” His innocent look is not nearly as persuasive as that practiced smile he flashes so often. I glare in response until he confesses, “Hanako may have mentioned it when I texted her.”
“Why didn’t you warn me?”
“And miss out on this wonderful conversation?” He grins.“Come on. What’s the big deal? I seem to remember you really liking *NSYNC back in the day. We can ask the DJ to play ‘Bye Bye Bye.’ ” He opens the door and gestures for me to go inside.
For a second, I consider turning around and walking home alone without another word. But that’s a little more dramatic than the circumstances call for.
Plus, it’s 6:40. I’m not sure Mom has left for her drawing class yet. If I get home too early she’ll want to know what happened, promptly followed by an excited pronouncement that now I can come with her after all. As tempting as it is to put space between me and my youth, and me and Quentin, and me and Quentininour youth, I fully recognize that this doesn’t actually warrant a tantrum. Especially when he didn’t have to come out with me tonight at all. He’s doing me a favor, helping me not be a complete liar to my mother. The least I can do is not be a jerk in return.
“Are we sure we want to go here?” I ask instead. “We could just Venmo Hanako some money, grab something from that taco truck, and call it a night.”
Quentin releases the door and lets it close. “Nina,” he says. “What’s up?”
I sigh. “Nothing. Nothing’s up.”
“You can tell me, you know,” he says softly. “Anything you’re feeling—it’s always safe with me.”You are always safe with megoes unspoken but seems to linger in the air between us until one side of his mouth lifts. “Like, clearly right now you’re worried I’m going to demolish you in Pogs like the old days. But I promise I’ll take it easy on you.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, telling myself I don’tneedto engage. But just because I don’t need to doesn’t mean part of me doesn’t want to.
So I reach past him, open the door, and head inside Flow State. The space is unexpected. I figured an old brick warehouse would be industrial and sleek. Instead it’s sumptuous—plum and hot pink, velvet and silk and tassels and fringe everywhere. Jutting into the center of the space is a large, antique U-shaped mahogany bar. A long booth stretches along the right wall, tables and chairs lined up with it to create more intimate seating.
It’s almost Fountain-esque, really, both in its richness and the way it seems to play with the concept of power clashing. Not just in the patterns of the throw pillows scattered along the banquette and the heavy drapery on the wall behind it, but in the crowd. There’s a guy in a smart suit looking like he just came from an accounting firm in DC sitting at the bar beside someone dressed like the guy in the “Virtual Insanity” video. It’s admittedly pretty cool.
“Sweet place,” Quentin says as we head toward the bar. “Cozier than I thought it would be.”
“Let’s get our drinks and go out to the patio,” I say, remembering the friendly-looking space outside that’s likely less packed with tipsy women screeching along to Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful.”
Quentin raises one eyebrow at me and the side of his mouth quirks again. “And miss out on all this nostalgic fun?”
“Exactly,” I say grouchily.
“Nina! Quentin!” Hanako calls from behind the bar at the same time one of the tipsy women shrieks near my ear.
Once I’ve recovered from the auditory assault, I manage to paste on a smile. “Hey!”
Quentin leans over the bar and gives Hanako a kiss on the cheek like they see each other all the time. Maybe they do, for all I know. “Thanks again for inviting us,” he says. “This is great.”
“Of course! I’m so glad you could stop by,” she replies, then slides us a menu. “Like I said, first round’s on the house.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. It feels sort of counterproductive to not charge us when this is supposed to be a fundraiser.
“Definitely sure. I have a soft spot for the two of you.” She winks at Quentin. God, could the flirting be any more obvious?
I peruse the options and settle on a yuzu paloma, while Quentin gets one of the specials. As Hanako mixes our cocktails, Quentin leans casually against the bar with his arms folded atop it.
“So, Nostalgia Night, huh?” he asks, voice gaining in volume to be heard over the DJ’s introduction of the next song.
“Yeah, it was my partner, Kell’s, idea.” Hanako flashes a smile as her eyes search the room and land on a tall, slender figure with bronze skin and a shaved head gesturing enthusiastically while talking to a group of three Scary Spices. “They’re in charge of getting people in the door, and I’m in charge of making sure everyone has a good time once here.”
“Definitely seems like mission accomplished on both counts,” I say as someone accidentally brushes against my butt as they navigate the crowd. I’m not sure he’s even fully conscious of it, but Quentin repositions himself behind me, protecting me from further inadvertent touching. Thoughtful.
