Page 29 of Foul Territory
She hates it when I speak up about what she should or shouldn’t be wearing. If you want to set Sydney off, tell her to change clothes.
The thing is, if I don’t get mad and demand she wear something else, I’ll slip up and tell her how fucking gorgeous she is. It isn’t fair to her and I know she doesn’t deserveit. It’s not her fault that it’s my coping mechanism and default mode with her now.
How would she react if she knew how bad I still want her? Would she be willing to give me a chance after everything? I’m nervous about what Nash would say too. He’s adamant about his ban on his sister. I don’t want to lose his friendship but there isn’t a day that passes when I don’t think of what it would be like to truly be hers.
It’s gotten even worse seeing all of my friends pair off with their girlfriends. I’m happy for them but damn I want that with Sydney too.
The parking lot is full when I pull up to Ray’s. For being hidden off the highway, they get a steady stream of customers. I like to think it’s the cheap beer that lures them here but I know better than that.
It’s the entertainment. Every hour the bartenders take over the dance floor and put on a show. Some even dance on top of the bar.
Walking past the dance floor full of couples spinning around to a classic country song, I find a seat at one of my favorite tables. It’s far enough in the back I can easily blend in with the crowd but close enough I have a decent view of the bar.
The waitress, Margo, brings me a beer without being prompted. She gives me a knowing smile. After my tenth visit, she put together why I sat here for hours nursing a beer until it was half empty. She said her boyfriend did the same thing when she first started working at Ray’s.
I didn’t correct her that I wasn’t Sydney’s boyfriend. I wasn’t much of her anything anymore. It guts me to even think about how much our relationship has changed. It went from fucking to perfect to absolute disaster in a blink of an eye.
I am trying to be better. Baseball keeps me away some nights. Something I’m sure Sydney is happy about. I also don’t stay her entire shift anymore. I usually show up the last hour or so to make sure she gets home okay.
It may seem like I’m possessive, or borderline psychotic. I like to think I’m being a good friend. That I’m looking out for her safety. I don’t talk to her or bother her while she’s working. It’s like I’m not even here.
Sydney’s smile widens as she places a mixed drink in front of a customer. Her hair is down and secured on one side with one of her handmade clips, and tight ringlets of black curls cover her forehead and bounce slightly when she laughs.
I used to be the one making her laugh.
I pick up my phone and check the time. One more hour, give or take, and I’ll be back home talking to her online. When I lift my gaze to search for her behind the bar, I catch her watching me. She quickly looks away and busies herself clearing glasses off the bar.
When Margo comes by to check on me, I go ahead and pay my tab. I’m done drinking for the night. I usually don’t even finish the one I order. I only get something to blend in, which clearly I’m failing at with the way Sydney keeps glancing over at me.
She’s writing something on a piece of paper and talking to one of her fellow bartenders. Any minute the music will turn to a familiar one that will have everyone up on their feet.
I’ve learned there is only a few routines that Sydney participates in. Any time I hear one of the songs, it puts me on edge. It has nothing to do with the men who watch her and everything to do with the images I have burned into my brain.
She moves around the bar along with Lauren and another bartender clearing glasses and plates out of the way in preparation for what’s about to come.
The guy in the DJ booth—if you can call it that since it’s essentially a table on a small raised platform that mimics a stage—signals to the girls he’s about to switch to their song.
On the third eight count they walk up steps that are built into the bar in sync with each other. They are clapping their hands, stomping their boots, and dropping down to a low squat to tease the customers lucky enough to have front row seats.
Colorful lights flash across the room catching every now and then on Sydney, highlighting various parts of her silhouette. I would never admit this but as much as I hate her working here, I’m glad she said yes to doing it.
Dancing on top of the bar—working here at Ray’s—offers her the opportunity to be carefree and happy which is something she hasn’t been for a long time. On the surface, maybe. But deep down? No.
She can try and tell me differently but I would never believe her. That is a story I would neverbuy.
The song ends and the girls work their way back down the stairs to start serving drinks again. Before Syd gets too far, a hand shoots out and grabs the back of her calf.
I stand so fast I have to catch my chair to keep it from toppling over. Her eyes connect with mine over the guy’s head. She shakes her head slightly telling me to stand down.
Her mouth curves in a salacious smile and her eyes narrow slightly. One could assume this is Syd being sultry, but I know better. This is her getting angry. I’ve been fooled by this look myself.
She dips low, balancing on the balls of her feet. Then palms his forearm with both hands. Her grip tightens which again could be mistaken for her reciprocating the advance of this guy.
Twisting her hands in opposite directions, she sneers at the guy. I can’t hear her but reading her perfectly shaped lips she tells him to let go. He doesn’t hesitate after the way she almost peeled the skin off his arm.
I’ve been on the receiving end of one of Sydney’s forearm twists before and they hurt like a bitch. I would do whatever she wanted if it would get her to stop her torture.
After Syd hops off the bar, she grabs the piece of paper she was writing on earlier and flashes it in front of Lauren. She nods in acknowledgment as Sydney passes her, walking toward the dark hallway to the left of the bar.
