Page 113 of Only in Your Dreams

“Let’s make this a winning streak, you hear? Do us proud, Porter.”

Oakley’s is loud. The bar has dimmed the lights so that it’s just a soft orange glow lighting up the place. And true to its role as the only watering hole in town, it’s packed to the brim. Every mahogany table occupied, crowds surrounding the bar, and a live folk band taking requests up on a small stage toward the back, where tables were cleared for a makeshift dancefloor.

I smile tightly at Jim, owner of Oakley’s and frequent bartender, whenever the place gets rowdy like it is tonight. It’s funny how quick things shift around here. Just last week, I got pelted with sour looks whenever I showed my face on the main strip. One win in, and it’s like they’ve loved me all along—I haven’t been able to walk around this bar without a round of celebratory howls going off.

On top of that, I’m the designated cocktail mule tonight.

I should have seen it coming. I don’t know how I thought I was going to get away with buying all of Brooks’s drinks as a thank you for fake dating the love of my life—on top of buying drinks for myself and the aforementioned love of my life—without offering to get them for Parker and Summer, too. Tomorrow’s hangovers are all apparently sponsored by my credit card.

Back at the table, Brooks throws me a shit-eating grin over the rim of his fresh beer. Beside him, Melody sneaks me a smile as she helps herself to hers.

Tonight’s been… absolute torture.

I hate this. The pretending we’re barely acquaintances. Sitting with a whole table between us, after last night.

Acting like I’m not desperate to touch her, kiss her, play fucking footsies under the table with her. But she’s right. Despite my insistence that I don’t care what Parker thinks, if the weird way he’s been eyeing them all night is any indication, he’s disturbed enough by the idea of Mel with Brooks.

If he knew the truth, that it was me and her making a racket across the hall last night, all hell would break loose.

It did once before.

Parker reaches for his drink, nodding his thanks before turning back to Summer. “Maybe it’s the app you’re using, Sum. I’ve never heard of someone with such a rich history of bad first dates.”

“Or maybe it’s me,” Summer says, taking a sip of her cocktail. “Actually, no. It’s definitely not me. Remember spaghetti guy? Someone failed him way earlier in life than I did.”

“Who’s spaghetti guy?” Melody asks.

The sound of her voice sends a rolling wave of longing through me. Like she can read my mind, Mel leans forward in her chair, shifting around like she’s adjusting her outfit. But her knee brushes mine under the table and apparently the room’s been upside down this whole time because it rights on its axis the second we touch. I settle more comfortably in my seat.

“Oh my God,” Parker sits back in his chair, closing his eyes as Brooks lapses into laughter. “Spaghetti guy. How could I have ever let myself stop thinking about spaghetti guy?”

“Oh, you’ll die, Mels. This was what? Two months ago? Three?”

“Last year,” I correct.

“Really? That long ago?” Summer turns to me, her face screwed up in thought. “Well, spaghetti guy didn’t know how to eat spaghetti. And he decided his first date with me was the right time to learn.”

Melody frowns. “What do you mean, he didn’t know how to eat spaghetti?”

“He ordered it all confident. Spaghetti Bolognese, totally normal stuff. And then he picked up his fork and tried to sort of… stab at the noodles to pick them up. He didn’t know to twirl his fork. So of course, that didn’t work.”

“Picture it, Mels,” Brooks says, nudging her. “Our Summer, here, dressed to the nines for her date—”

Summer grins. “Trying not to choke from the force of holding back laughter as—I kid you not—I watch this guy then eat his spaghetti by hand. A couple of strands at a time because otherwise it would all slither from his fingers.” She pauses thoughtfully. “Honestly, maybe I was too hard on the guy. In hindsight, his confidence might’ve been a little charming.”

“I think you can hold out for someone who knows how to handle his spaghetti, Sum,” Parker tells her, patting her arm.

Melody’s shoulders shake in a laugh. The bar is so loud I can’t make out the sound of it, and I actually have to stop myself from turning to the people standing by our table to bark at them to pipe down.

Don’t they realize what’s happening? Melody Woods is gracing the place with the rare, precious sound of her laugh, and they’re all letting it pass them by without a care in the world.

It’s more egregious than hearing there’s a once-in-a-century comet lighting up the sky, only to close your curtains.

Someone kicks me under the table. This time, I look up to find Brooks staring at me, eyes wide as though to say,reel it in, man.

I realize I’m sitting frozen with my glass held up at my mouth, smiling stupidly at Melody. Thankfully, everyone else is still focused on Summer. I wipe the grin off my face. Replace it with a scowl.

Brooks blinks. “So much worse,” he mouths.

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