Halston

“About damn time. Guys, Halston is here!” Courtney loops her arm around my shoulders and pulls me into her apartment in downtown Rosefield Friday night. Vic and Tab think I’m sleeping over at Emily’s tonight, and she’s covering for me. I should be in the clear. “Look at you!”

She points at my outfit, a skimpy tank top and short shorts I wore underneath my other outfit, changing in the bathroom of a nearby gas station on my way over. I shoved my other clothes in my bag, touched up my makeup, changed into some heels, and trekked over to the Mayflower Apartments on Hillside Drive.

Courtney’s place is nice—which I guess she can afford since she “makes the big bucks” at Big Boulders. It’s a two-bedroom on the ground level overlooking the complex’s sparkling pool, and everything is new. The carpet. The cabinets. The building itself.

“Guys, this is Halston.” Courtney leans on me, her words slurring. “She works with me.”

About twenty unfamiliar faces fill the place, but I don’t let it rattle me.

When Court gets distracted by the newest guest, I head to the kitchen, rummaging through the bottles on the counter.

“I can make you a drink.” I glance up. A tall drink of water with sandy brown hair and pale brown eyes stands on the other side of the granite island.

“I’m good.” I force a smile. He looks at me the way the customers at Big Boulders do, like I’m on display for their personal enjoyment.

“You don’t recognize me, do you?” he asks.

I study his face. “Should I?”

“I work at Big Boulders. I’m the weekend bartender.” He starts clearing out the empty bottles and cans, tossing them in Courtney’s trash. “I’m always coming when you’re going. You’ve probably never noticed me before.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I haven’t. I’m sorry.”

We both reach for a bottle at the same time, an open bottle of whiskey.

“You can have it,” he says, turning to grab me a red plastic cup. “Would probably taste better with Coke. That’s the cheap stuff. It’s going to burn going down. And you want ice. This has been sitting out for hours.”

“You’re the expert.”

“Just let me.” Within thirty seconds, the tall drink of water mixes my drink and hands it over. I take a small sip, a trick I learned years ago. If you drink too much at one time, it could make you sick or send you into a coughing fit. “You like it?”

I nod. “Not bad … what’s your name? I’m sorry.”

“Gage,” he says. “And you’re Halston. Is it weird that I know that?”

“Yeah.” I take another sip, fighting my smile. He’s cute. But I’m not in the market for trouble. “Kind of.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “I just heard them talking about you, that’s all. You don’t forget a name like that. Or those green eyes.”

“Talking about me?” I ignore his flattery. “Hope it was juicy, whatever they were saying.”

Gage laughs. “It was nothing bad. They were just saying that you could be very good for business and they hope you didn’t quit.”

“Good for business …”

“Look, sometimes we scrape the bottom of the barrel when it comes to servers,” he says. “Not a lot of, uh, beautiful women, aspire to work at Big Boulders. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but, like, you’re one of the prettiest ones we’ve had in a long time.”

I take a bigger drink this time, willing myself not to cough. “Can you please stop saying I’m pretty?”

His expression falls. “I’m sorry. I thought girls liked to hear that kind of thing.”

“Let’s cut the bullshit, all right? You want to fuck me tonight,” I say. “And it’s not going to happen.”

Gage freezes, saying nothing for a second. I’ve sucked the words right out of his mouth, but that’s the only thing I’ll be sucking tonight.

“Look, you’re cute. And you’re nice. But you’re still not getting laid,” I say. “What kind of girl would I be if I gave it up to the first guy who approached me?”

He’s still silent, but at least he’s blinking.

“I’m on the money, aren’t I?” I laugh, eyes scanning the room, and I find myself wondering what Kerouac’s up to tonight.

The alcohol turns warm in my veins and suddenly my cares drift away on a cloud of nothingness.

Gage mutters something under his breath before shaking his head and walking away. I don’t ‘do’ the nice ones anyway. I have standards, damn it.

Standing alone in the kitchen, I watch people come and go, grabbing drinks and making messes. Checking my phone a few minutes later, I press the Karma app.

Congratulations! You’ve reached thirty Karma points! You may now communicate with Kerouac using our Karma-issued phone numbers! Press here to make your first call!

My heart pounds in my ears, whooshing and rushing the way it does when I’m about to do something I know I shouldn’t be doing. With heated skin and wicked intentions, I push my way through the partygoers and end up on the patio outside. The air is chilly for an evening in July, but I’m too distracted by what I’m about to do to care.

Pressing the flashing green button, I take a seat when the line begins to ring.

I cross my legs, ankle bouncing as I bite my thumbnail.

“Hello?”

Holy shit he sounds hot.

“Kerouac,” I say, my voice low and breathy.

He’s quiet.

“Absinthe.”

“Hi.” I chuckle. This is weird.

“Hey. What are you doing?”

I check the time. It’s almost ten o’clock. “Hope it’s okay I’m calling so late.”

“It’s fine. I’m in bed.”

“On a Friday night?” I ask.

“Family’s still in town,” he says.

“And if they weren’t, where would you be tonight?” I ask.

“I feel like you’re looking for an exciting answer, but I don’t have one for you.” Kerouac sighs. “I just moved to a new place. Don’t really know anyone yet. I’d probably be drinking a glass of Macallan 18, enjoying the fuck out of a Cuban cigar, and reading James Joyce.”

“Sounds magical.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not.” I sit up, chin resting on my hand. I could listen to him talk forever, his voice worldly, experienced, confident. It’s deep but not too deep, relaxed yet cadenced. “It’s exactly the kind of answer I hoped you were going to give.”

“What are you doing tonight?” he asks.

“I’m at a party.”

“Having fun?”

“Not really. It’s a bunch of work people and people they know. Not sure why I thought it sounded like a good idea. Really not in the mood to be social.” I take another sip of my drink. It’s almost gone. There’s not an ice cube’s chance in hell I can get Gage to hook me up with another. “Kind of want to leave.”

Maybe in another version of our lives, he’d ask me to meet him somewhere. We’d walk around at night, under the cover of a moonless sky, discussing literature and basking in our insane chemistry. He’d kiss me. Then he’d take me home. Fuck my brains out—but not break my heart—and in the morning, I’d make him pancakes before going for round two.

In a perfect world, I suppose …

“Why don’t you want to be there?” he asks.

Dragging in a lungful of heavy, night air, I contemplate my response. “I don’t even have an answer for you. Didn’t feel like hanging out at home tonight but now that I’m here, it’s kind of lame.”

“Do you need a ride?” he asks.

My heart gallops. I was thinking of calling Emily a second ago.

“Why? You offering?” My response sounds more eager than I intended.

“I’m offering to call you a Lyft.” He chuckles. “I feel the need to remind you that we’re never going to meet. I have this idea of you, and it’s perfection. I want to keep it that way. Now get back to your party, Absinthe. Make some bad decisions for me. Try to have some fun. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Such a fucking tease,” I say with a smirk before hanging up.