Chapter Five
Jane
“I can’t imagine how loud it must get in here when there’s a live band playing.” I take a sip of my vodka and cranberry juice and look around the bar area, where a handful of people are talking and enjoying their drinks.
“I like the vibe,” Chloe says. “It’s not full of a bunch of posers or hipsters or worse: aging frat boys.”
I laugh, and it eases some of the tension in my stomach. I’m glad that she didn’t drag me to a club full of people from work who would feel obligated to get to know me. After the day I had, Chloe’s about all I can handle.
“That’s good.” My hands tighten around my glass as I search for something to say. “I like the music.”
Her eyes light up. “You do? I love jazz. I can’t play any instruments, but I’ve always wanted to learn. I can’t quite force myself to do the work that comes with it, and what’s the point of doing it if you’re not great, right?”
“I like it better than a lot of current stuff,” I admit with a smile, “but I don’t know much about it.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to educate you. I know all the best places in the city. I dated a jazz musician once. Great hands.” She signals the bartender for another drink as I blush, but I shake my head when she looks at me. I have to seriously kick ass in the morning to make up for my horrendous day today, and it doesn’t take much to get me drunk.
“Do you mind if I admit something embarrassing?” She shakes her head, then takes a drink from her fresh glass. I feel silly, but I make myself say, “I’m just flattered that you would take an interest in me at all.”
“Why? What’s so bad about you?” She looks so honestly clueless that it makes it easier to answer her questions.
“I’ve never had a lot of friends.”
“You?” She looks me up and down. “How come?”
I take a deep breath and prepare myself for whatever reaction I get. “I grew up in foster care.”
There’s sympathy on her face, but no pity. I sense she wants to know more. She’s the sort of girl who always wants to know more, curious about everything and everybody. I give her what I can.
“My mom died giving birth to me, and there’s no father named on the birth certificate. At least that’s what my social worker always told me.”
I can’t bring myself to meet Chloe’s eyes. It’s better to get this out of the way now, I tell myself, before it becomes the sort of embarrassing conversation we have when the holidays are approaching, and I have to say that I don’t have any family to go to. No family I want to see, anyway.
“I have a couple distant relatives, but none of them could take care of me, so I went into the system. I moved from home to home, always wearing hand-me-downs, and being labeled as one of ‘those’ kids by everyone.” I run the tip of my pinky around the rim of my glass. “The county didn’t have a lot of families looking to take in random kids, so we were usually stuck in the sort of places where there were always too many of us.”
When I finally risk a glance, I see that she’s smiling, and it isn’t the sort of cruel smile I usually get when people hear my story.
“Well, we have one thing in common. We grew up in homes with a ton of kids. I have seven brothers and sisters, and I’m the youngest. Everybody’s always up in everybody else’s business.” She rolls her eyes. “It can be a real pain, especially when you don’t necessarily want everybody knowing everything. I mean, what girl wants all of her siblings knowing when she gets her first kiss? Especially when the boys all want to go beat the guy up, and the girls want to give you advice on your technique.”
I can only smile in return. I can’t help thinking that it would be nice to have a family who cared enough to be nosy. Nobody who grew up that way could really understand how lucky they are, because they’ve never known anything else. I’d give just about anything to have a family like that.
Her hand covers mine. “Are you okay?”
“Sorry.” I force a smile. “My thoughts wandered.”
She looks at my empty glass and shakes her head. “That’s not doing it. You need something else.”
I blink, confused. “Not doing what? What do I need?”
“Something else to get you out of this funk.” She looks around. “I’m gonna get you laid tonight, girlfriend.”
My heart nearly stops, and I squeeze my glass so hard that I worry it might break. “Um, no. That’s okay.”
She doesn’t hear me. “I’ll send one your way.”
“Please, don’t do this!”
But it’s too late. She’s already started trolling. There are hardly any guys even close to our age at the bar, and I hope that’s going to be enough to dissuade her. I start sweating bullets at the thought of strangers coming up to me, trying to pick me up. I’ve never picked up a guy in a bar in my life. How will I even react to them? What do I say? I’m not like her, with a mom and sisters to offer advice.
It only takes a minute for the first prospect to approach. He’s cute in an offbeat way, sort of dorky and shy. Is that who Chloe sees me with? I give him a shaky smile and feel pathetic for needing help scoring a man. I don’t even want to score one, but that doesn’t seem to matter. My discomfort clashes with his, and ultimately, it’s a wash. After an awkward minute, I smile and tell him to have a good night, and he goes back to his friends, looking relieved enough that I know he didn’t want to talk to me either. I catch Chloe’s eye and try to look as forbidding as possible, but she’s oblivious.
A few minutes later, guy number 2 comes over. He’s a little more handsome...and a lot more aggressive. He sits close to me.
“What are you drinking?”
My nose wrinkles as his cheap cologne envelopes me. “Oh, I’m okay. Thanks.” I take pains to sound polite in spite of my irritation. It isn’t his fault that Chloe’s on a mission. And I can’t really be rude to someone for wearing too much cologne, can I?
“I insist. Let me buy you a drink.”
He flashes a too-bright smile, and I feel myself withering a little under it. Damn that Chloe for putting me here.
“No, thank you. I’m all right.” I slide off my stool and decide to tell Chloe, in no uncertain terms, that I don’t need her to set me up. I don’t want her to get me laid. I like her a lot, but I don’t appreciate being embarrassed.
Only some guys can’t take no for an answer. “What’s your problem?” he asks as he follows me.
The bar is getting more crowded, and I elbow my way through the newcomers, hoping to reach my friend before Mr. Cologne Bath catches me. I tried being polite, but if he can’t let it go, we’re going to have a problem.
He’s still going as he trails behind. “I asked what your problem is! A guy offers to buy you a drink, and you think you’re too good for him? Who the hell ever told you you’re so special?”
By this time, we’re attracting attention and my face is burning. I should have just let him buy me a drink and leave it at that. Except guys like him, the ones who’ll follow a girl across a bar because she doesn’t want a drink, they think that once they buy a woman something, she owes them.
He steps in front of me, blocking my way.
“You’re not that hot, you know,” he snaps. “Ungrateful bitch.”
I’m shocked into silence. I have literally no idea what to say to that attack.
As it turns out, I don’t need to say anything. I hear a deep, resonant voice just over my shoulder. “There you are, honey.”
I turn and can’t believe my eyes. Anthony James is standing there, smiling down at me. That can’t be real. Just like he can’t be taking me into his arms like I belong to him, pulling me tight against his hard, unyielding chest. I don’t even have time to gasp before he presses his mouth to mine and gives me the sexiest, most toe-curling kiss of my life.