Page 140 of The Hot Shot
It really sucks when your conscience starts to hate you.
I would have whispered sweet dick jokes in your ear, too,Finn’s voice says in my head.
I know you would have. You never could pass up an opportunity to talk about your junk.
Neither could you, Chester. I’m pretty sure you’re obsessed with my junk.
It really, really sucks when you start having conversations with a man who isn’t there.
The waitress comes up to take our order. “We’re having a special on Guinness tonight. The chef’s specialty of the evening is steak and kidney pie.”
“I’ll have a Harp and a pie,” I tell her.
“Guinness for me,” James says. “And the fish and chips.”
“I’ll have the pie, too,” Jamie orders. “Oh, and a white wine.”
What did I tell you?Finn’s ghost whispers in my ear.Women like to order white wine. Even when they’re in a pub.
Isn’t there a lamp you could go haunt?
I’m a quarterback, Chess, not a genie.
“What’s that smile about?” James asks me, cutting into the ridiculous and probably unhealthy conversation going on in my head.
“The impending promise of hot food,” I lie.
He looks at me as if he knows better, but thankfully he doesn’t say anything.
Our drinks arrive and, while we wait for our food, a band comes out and begins to play. It’s a full Irish band, complete with a flute player, two fiddlers, and even an accordionist. And they’re good.
Soon, the bar is filled with lively music and people clapping along. The singer is a young woman with curly hair and a voice like a pixie. We eat our food as they play.
It’s almost perfect, soaking up good music and good food with good friends. I can see myself in the future, having more nights like this. I will have a good life. I know it. I can feel it in my bones. A sense of peace comes over me. I’ll be okay.
No matter what I do, I’ll be okay. But isokayenough?
The band finishes a song, and the singer accepts a pint of Guinness from a waitress. She takes a long drink before setting it down on a stool by her side. “I love the filmSome Kind of Wonderful,” she says in the mic.
The crowd whistles their approval.
She nods, her curls bouncing. “The end is especially lovely. You remember it? ‘You look good’—”
“‘Wearing my future!’?” people in the crowd shout.
Laughter rings through the small space.
“Aye, so romantic.” The singer grabs her tambourine. “We’re going to play a little homage toSome Kind of Wonderfuland Lick the Tins, who did a brilliant cover for the flick.”
I’m smiling, but a niggling feeling begins to start up around the edges of my heart. The band begins to play a lively Celtic version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” and my heart clenches. Oh, God, I truly am haunted.
Around me, people start to sing along, an utter wall of sound rolling over me, insisting that some things were meant to be. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand that Finn isn’t right here with me, laughing in my ear, demanding that I take his hand, that we could be fools together.
He’d been doing that since the beginning. He’d always known. He’d been trying to tell me what we were to each other all along. I just hadn’t listened. He might be stubborn, and his refusal to give in a little still pisses me off. But he is mine.
A sob breaks free. I’m stuck between laughter and crying.
James looks at me sharply. “What’s wrong?”
