-7-
KAYLA
When I came into the house after midnight, I was surprised to see Cooper was still up. My younger brother sat at the tiny kitchen table, leafing through the “College Football Preview” issue of Sports Illustrated while inhaling a bowl of Froot Loops.
“Oh my God,” I said, peering at the bowl and breathing in a whiff of the colorful sugary goodness. “I’m starving. Gimme.”
Cooper’s gaze swept over my bridesmaid dress critically, and he cradled his bowl of cereal closer, knowing it was in danger. “No way. Get your own, freak. How was the wedding?”
Our kitchen was what our mother called a “step-saver” which was a nice way of saying it was microscopic, but the house had been in our family since my grandparents bought it. I went to a cabinet, pulled down a bowl, then opened the silverware drawer and dug out a spoon. I struggled to put the evening into words. “It was nice. Marcy looked beautiful.” I moved toward the pantry, on a mission to put food in my stomach. “Mom and Dad in bed already?”
He nodded his head of golden-brown hair and turned the page in his magazine.
“Holy crap, Coop.” I stared into the pantry. “How much Froot Loops do you go through in a week? There are three jumbo-size boxes in here.”
“I like ’em.”
I grabbed the box in front, shook it, and realized it was mostly gone. “Apparently.”
The cereal rattled as I poured it into the bowl. I snatched the gallon of milk from the fridge, made my way to the well-worn table, and dropped down across from him. He seemed far more interested in studying the pre-season predictions than talking to me, but I couldn’t help myself.
“I met a guy.”
His gaze didn’t waver from the print before him. “Yay for you.”
What was I thinking, trying to talk to him? Cooper was about to be a senior in high school. He was at the pinnacle of self-absorption. Yet, I pressed on. “His name’s Jay.”
“Okay.” My brother couldn’t have sounded less interested if he’d tried. He turned another page, and the only sound was me crunching on my Froot Loops. He must have sensed my heavy gaze on him, because Cooper finally turned his attention to me. “You know,” he said, “I love all this bonding and shit, but why are you telling me?”
I frowned. Normally I went to my best friend Chuck for advice, but he was still in Europe with his family. “I don’t have anyone else to talk to about it tonight. I need—” Dear God, was I actually doing this? “I’m looking for some advice.”
Cooper glanced around, searching for who I was speaking to, because there was no way it could be him. “Advice from me?” His tone was pure disbelief. “About a guy?”
I skewed my mouth to one side. “My options are limited.”
He leaned back in his seat, considering. “All right, hit me. You met a guy named Jay . . .”
“Yeah. He was one of the groomsmen. I was into him and it seemed like he was into me.” My brother’s eyes glazed over. I was already losing him. “Except he left the reception early and didn’t say goodbye.”
Right after Marcy had demanded details about my “walk” with Jay, she’d asked my help using the restroom, and we spent a good five minutes trying to get her and her dress into the stall before deciding the safest bet was for her to get out of the dress altogether. It was no easy feat. Marcy had been secured inside the gown with buttons, hooks, and an invisible zipper Satan himself had designed.
Cooper looked indifferent. “Sounds like he wasn’t that into you.”
“No, he had to leave, I guess. I heard someone got wasted and Jay had to drive the guy home.”
“Did you give him your number?”
I pressed my lips together. “No. I got some of his.”
“Some?”
“He put his number in my phone, but it’s only six digits long.”
Cooper laughed. “Damn, Kayla. How is that not a clear signal?”
Annoyance flared in me, but I was trying to stay hopeful. “Maybe he just hit delete by accident when he went to save.”
“Sounds like he hit ‘delete’ on the idea of seeing you again, and did that on purpose.”
“Yeah? Well, the way he kissed me said otherwise.”
My brother grimaced. “I don’t want to hear about that.”
For a long moment, we just stared at each other as a silent battle waged between us. Finally, Cooper sighed, and I felt I had an opening to continue. “So, what do I do?”
“Forget about him?” That was not the answer I wanted, and my face must have announced it, so he added, “Get his number from Marcy.”
“She’ll ask too many questions.”
“Then what about the guy she married? If super dreamy Jay was in the wedding, they must be friends.”
“I tried. Dave said ‘super dreamy’ Jay has a strict policy where nobody’s allowed to give out his number.”
It was like the magazine was calling to my brother. His focus shifted back to it. “Then, go with the first thing I suggested and forget him.”
Cooper might have been right, but I refused to accept it. There’d been a connection between Jay and me. A spark. I was confident I wasn’t the only one who’d felt it. “You know what Dad says.” My voice was flat. “God hates a quitter.”
He gave me a plain look. I was nothing if not stubborn, and everyone in my family knew it. “Track him down some other way, then. You know his last name?”
“Uh . . .” I wrinkled my nose. “He left early, remember? I don’t know that much about him.”
My brother shook his head. “Except he’s super dreamy.”
I had to admit, I wasn’t coming off great in this conversation. “You suck at girl talk.”
“Side effect of having a penis.”
The idea popped into my head and stopped me mid-chew. I hurried to my phone and thumbed out a message.
“What are you doing?” Cooper asked.
“Texting Dave.”
“The groom? On his wedding night?” His expression was full of judgement.
“Yeah, I know. But they’re leaving for a week-long cruise early tomorrow morning. It’s just one quick question and then I’ll leave them alone.”
“What are you asking him?”
“There’s a bar Jay said he hangs out at all the time. I’m asking Dave if he knows about it.”
Cooper fake-coughed. “Stalker.”
“Shut up.”
I set the phone down, only for it vibrate instantly. I stared at the screen and confusion drew my eyebrows together.
“What?” my brother asked. “Is it in Iraq or something?”
“No, the address looks legit.” It was the last sentence that gave me pause. “He said I’m ‘going to love that place.’”
I gripped the steering wheel and stared out the windshield of my car. Biff’s bar was a freestanding brick building, and the only windows were on the front side facing the street. They’d been glowing with neon beer logos when I’d turned into the parking lot and parked on the side. The place didn’t look busy, but it was a Monday night.
I’d sat here for more than a few minutes, trying to work up the nerve to go inside. Driving ninety minutes north from my apartment in Columbus on the gamble Jay might be inside this bar was crazy. There was no arguing that. I just couldn’t decide what kind of crazy it was. Cute? Desperate? Run-screaming-for-the-hills creepy? I almost turned around twice on the drive up, but pushed onward. I hated regret, and if Jay was in there—wouldn’t it be worth it?
I’d do my best to convince him showing up at his favorite bar wasn’t as stalker-ish as it sounded. Because it sounded really stalker-ish. Okay. Maybe I had to convince myself one more time to get off my butt and go inside. I grabbed my phone and called Chuck.
He answered on the first ring and didn’t bother with a greeting. “Is he there?”
I’d known my best friend and roommate since the dawn of time. We lived on the same cul-de-sac, were the same age and wound up playing together since we had no other options in the neighborhood. By the time we entered high school, our friendship had solidified into the “friends for life” category, and we had a hive mind about most things.
I was happy to have my friend back.
I’d missed him when he’d been on a month-long vacation in Europe, and he’d just gotten home on Sunday. I wasted no time filling him in on the Jay situation.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I haven’t gone in yet. Tell me again this isn’t going to come off as crazy.”
“Nah,” he said. “Guys like a girl who takes initiative. Hey, I wish I had balls like you.” His sarcastic voice rang in my ear. “Maybe Beth would be interested in me, then.”
My friend had a one-track mind. It was wall-to-wall coverage, all Beth, all the time. His massive crush on the girl was cute, but he suffered from crippling shyness. “You have to exist for her first. You guys really need to have, like, a conversation. One conversation, Chuck, about anything. Get on her radar. Then you can worry about your balls.” I made a face. “Why are we talking about your balls?”
His laugh was punctuated by beeping, which had to be the microwave at our place. Most college kids ate ramen noodles because they were cheap and fast. Not Chuck. He freaking loved them. I’d seen him pace in front of the microwave, twitchy and jonesing for his next fix.
I went serious. “What if he’s not in there, and I drove ninety minutes for nothing?”
Not only would it be embarrassing, but my car wasn’t in the best of shape, and every time I got behind the wheel, I was playing roulette. Eventually, my ancient Kia Rio was going to need to go live on a farm where it could frolic and play with other Kia Rios.
“Well,” Chuck said, “if he’s not there, I get to make fun of you.” He paused. “I’m sure he is, though. Positive thinking, right?”
Ever the optimist, my friend. He kept me bubbly and hopeful. “Yeah.”
The microwave issued a long beep, and I pictured the thrilled look on his face. “Gotta go, my gourmet meal is finally ready. Good luck!”
“Thanks.”
I hung up, put my phone in my purse, and pushed my door open, determined to march into Biff’s before I started to waffle again.
It was nearing the end of summer, but the heat was still in full force, and the air outside felt sticky. I walked across the broken pavement of the lot, my heels crunching on the gravel. Wearing heels had been a no-brainer. If Jay was in there, I wanted the extra three inches, and the simple sandals made my legs look longer, and less like I’d spent years climbing to the top of human pyramids.
I rounded the side of the building and ran my sweaty palms over the pockets of my jean shorts, then placed them on the large wooden door.
Please let him be inside.
I pushed it open and stepped across the threshold. I scanned the wide room quickly. My initial impression said it was like any other bar. Dimly lit, over-decorated with sports stuff on the walls. The large plasma TV over the bartender’s head cut to commercial the moment I focused on it, but I’d caught the green field and men in helmets.
My skin tingled with pin-pricks. Something was wrong.
In the center of the room, there was a glass display case. From the lighting, size, and placement, it was clear how proud the bar’s owner was of it. Confusion constricted my brain. What the hell was the furry thing inside?
It was a skunk that wasn’t black and white. It stood upright, its paws displaying the long, scary-looking claws protruding outward, and a wicked snarl on its muzzle—
“Oh. My. God,” I muttered.
It was a wolverine. The plaque on the display case read “Biff. Official Mascot of the University of Michigan, 1927.”
My muscles locked into place. The door slammed shut behind me and my startled gasp drew the gazes of the few customers sitting at the bar. One of whom had striking eyes. The color matched the navy blue of the flag hanging over the display case, decorated with an ugly yellow M.
No. No, no, no!
Jay’s after-work hangout was a Michigan-fan bar.