Page 17 of Forget Me Not

“Sorry, but no,” Polar Bear Hair pipes up. “We’re saving that for a friend.”

Ah. Another gossiper, I imagine. Regardless, I sit down anyway.

“Dear,” her friend says, bending forward until her necklace dangles on the bar. “Did you not hear Karen? We’re waiting on someone.”

Her name is Karen? Why am I not surprised?

“How lovely,” I respond coyly. “It’s a shame that the bar is filling up quickly. Guess she’ll have to sit somewhere else.”

The ladies share a look of annoyance while I eyeball the purse hanging from a hook beneath the bar. I slide my leg over, bumping it with my knee, testing the waters. When she doesn’t take notice, I know I’m golden.

When Karen turns her entire body to face her friend, specifically so she can avoid me, I dig inside her purse. My fingers graze over a soft leather wallet and I slowly drag the zipper down until I feel cash. Without hesitation, I pluck it out and slide it between my foot and my shoe. I’m not sure how much I got, and it’s in no way enough to pay rent, but I’m almost certain it’ll aid in me having a hell of a good time tonight.

I slide to the left and peel my sticky ass off the pleather stool before getting to my feet. With my own purse draped over my shoulder, I bump slightly against Karen, getting her attention. “My bad.” My words are laced with sarcasm and I know I’m being a bitch, but how dare they judge me. With a wave over my shoulder, I say, “Enjoy your night, ladies.” They scoff and tsk, then return to their conversation. My voice drops to an under-the-breath mumble as I widen the space between us. “I know I will.”

I make my way to the corner of the bar and scope out the scene before crouching down and taking the cash out of my shoe. Still lowered, I flip through the folded bills and realize they’re all ones. Six one-dollar bills. What the fuck am I going to do with six bucks?

Blowing out a breath of frustration, I stand back up, only to be met with familiar eyes across the room. Sitting at a table, all alone, is the mysterious hottie that was in here during my last shift. He’s adorned in all black. It’s fitting because the vibe I get from this man is pure darkness. The sleeves of his button-up shirt are, once again, rolled up, exposing the tattoos on his arms. I deepen my gaze on them, wondering what sort of artwork it is. With this guy’s demeanor, I’d guess something like skulls or crows.

My eyes slide up to find his sultry blue eyes staring vacantly at me. A rush of heat shoots through my core and my knees weaken. No man has ever made me feel so miniscule with just a glance, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t look away out of fear of losing his attention.

So instead of trying, I cross the room toward him, really emphasizing the click-clack of my heels against the hardwood floor—even if the sound is drowned out by the band’s music blasting through the speakers.

I keep walking, with zero intention of stopping at his table. If I know men like I think I do, he won’t let me pass. He’ll acknowledge me. Maybe ask if I’d like to join him at the table, or perhaps offer to buy me a drink.

I allow my hips to alternate an evident rise and fall. With a stoic expression, he raises a short glass of caramel-colored liquid and brings it to his mouth while never taking his eyes off me. Fuck. His lips look delicious. What I wouldn’t give to be that glass.

And right about now he should speak up. Grab by arm. Something. Anything.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he just lets me walk right on by.

Talk about a fucking ego deflater.

Damn. He didn’t even blink.

My shoulder’s slump in defeat and I slow my steps. Once I’m behind him, I turn around and steal a glance at his left hand. He has to be married. There’s no other reason why he’d watch me like that without making a move. Besides, I did the fucking catwalk for this man.

No ring. Un-be-lievable.

He has to be gay. Either that, or that vodka and Red Bull really went to my head and I’m just feeling too damn confident right now.

But hey, I’ve got six bucks, so I might as well get another and see how much more disappointment I can handle tonight.

ChapterSeven

RHEA

“Hey, Rhea.”I jolt at the sound of my name. My eyes lift from the money in my hand to the bartender who’s got his palms pressed to the bar in front of me. “We haven’t had a chance to meet yet.” He stretches a hand out. “I’m Tyler.”

I return the gesture and place my hand in his. “Oh, yes. Taryn mentioned you. You go to college and work here on the weekends, right?”

Tyler takes a step back, grabs a beige bar rag, and starts wiping the crumbs and spills off the surface in front of me. “That’s right.” He smiles widely, exposing his perfectly straight, white teeth. He’s even better-looking up close. “How about you? Are you in school or anything?”

“No. Not yet, anyways.” I hate that there’s a bite of shame in my tone when I say that. As if I’m not valuable just because I have zero intentions of going to college. It’s not that I haven’t considered it, but I need to make sure wherever I go is a place I plan to stay for a while. So far, Lockhaven is feeling pretty comfortable, but things can change in the blink of an eye. I need more time before I can fully trust myself not to flee at the first mishap. Dexter seems to think I won’t last a month, and I have every intention of proving him wrong.

Tyler drops the dirty rag in the sink behind the bar. "Nothing wrong with that." He leans as if he's ready to share some big secret. "Between you and me, I don't even know why the hell I'm going."

"Isn’t getting a degree the whole purpose of going to college?" There's a bite of sarcasm in my tone, but I'm actually being serious. Why else would someone go to college?

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