Page 22 of Falling Backwards
Then it flicks to me and catches me watching her.
Before I can react, she narrows her eyes.
I narrow mine back as if to ask,‘What?’
Now she raises her eyebrows and cuts a quick look along me.
Well, I’m no mind-reader, but if you ask me, that’s a,‘You started it,’sort of expression.
Apparently I’m not allowed to look at her any more today.
Pardon me, Princess Maggie.I beg thee not to order my execution over this grievous insult.
I stifle the urge to roll my eyes again as I turn away.
I don’t even know why she was so bothered by me staring at her earlier at the hostess stand.I do it pretty frequently.What was different about then?
Guess it could’ve been that she was already unhappy about whatever was going on with her boyfriend.Or ex-boyfriend.Or whoever he is to her anymore.I was looking in her direction when he showed up, and I saw how her face fell at the sight of him.
I don’t understand it.That dude is bland.She never even looked truly happy with him.
I happen to know he wasn’t a big fan of going to Merritt’s with her and her friends, so his absence there has been business as usual, but I also haven’t noticed him dropping by Lucent to see her lately.Earlier, I was initially deeply displeased by the notion of him cheating—be a real man and end your relationship properly, you know?—but I think now that they probably broke up recently.Maggie wouldn’t have remained so calm if she’d caught him stepping out on her.
Seems like he was trying to make her jealous by flaunting his new girl in her face; I saw the whole ass-grabbing thing.Which means he’s officially even more lame than I already thought he was.
And such flaunting is a waste of time on his part because as far as appearances go, in my opinion, the new girl is only okay.Maggie has no reason at all to be jealous.Hell, Maggie looks so much better even in her work-appropriate clothes that my silent comparisons had me zoning out of half the stuff she was saying to me.
‘So super rude,’that overdramatic voice silently mocks again.
I clear my throat and focus on finishing up with my patrons before I can think too long on how quickly our conversation turned down the rough road that is Memory Lane.
Soon, I’ve returned cash change to the couple and a weighty credit card to the quiet man.It isn’t much longer before barstools are being vacated and wishes for great days are being exchanged.I stack dirty dishes and tote them off to the kitchen.
When I come back, I crouch down for the cleaning supplies under the bar, but, “Luke?”makes me pause.
I blink at the spray bottles and clean rags.A familiar voice, butnota familiar tone—it’s almost calm rather than disdainful.
I straighten out of my crouch to see if that’s really Maggie or if I’m imagining things.
She’s standing between two nearby stools, one hand resting on the edge of the bar and the other holding the credit card she’s inspecting.After a moment, she looks at me and holds the card out.
“I just found this over here on the floor.Do you think it belongs to someone you were serving?”
I step over to her.Even before I check the name on the silver card, the heft of it in my fingers jogs my memory.
“Yep,” I confirm, “the man whojustleft.”I start hurrying down the length of the bar.Maybe I can catch the guy outside before he’s gone for good.
Yellow shirt,I’m recalling now.Gray suit.Thick black glasses.
Someone comes breezing through the front door just as I’m about to walk out of it.I feel a second of hope that it’s the man returning, but nope, I promptly see it’s a girl.Kind of familiar—a coworker’s girlfriend or wife?She doesn’t seem to hear my courteous greeting, though, much less recognize me to any degree.So I hasten along.
Out in the cold sunshine, I look around and around for the figure I need.
Gray suit, yellow shirt, thick black glasses.
No one matches the description.
No one at all is in sight.
