Chapter 37
How was that even possible?
During their time at Shark Bait, the bar had filled out a bit, but most of the other patrons ignored the bridal party. The few guys who dared to venture closer, trying to get in on the action, had been quickly kicked to the curb. “Sorry, fellas,” Amanda had shouted, her voice suddenly loud when the song on the jukebox ended. “Ladies only. It’s ride or die, bitches! Am I right? Who’s with me?”
A resounding cry had gone up from her friends. Tara ducked her head and hoped no one thought she was with them. Tomorrow night I’m going back up to the boardwalk, she promised herself. She’d hoped to ask Amanda to join her but after this mess? Hell, she’d rather go alone.
She finished off the pretzels and pushed the bowl aside. Should’ve brought a book with her or downloaded something to read on her phone. How sad would that look, though? Sitting in a bar, reading? Am I that bad? But a look around at the crowd showed no one she was interested in talking to or getting to know better. The only women in the place were Amanda’s drunk friends. If Tara was reallyhard up, she could probably get with one of them easily enough—or insert herself into the couple already taking things to the next level on the dance floor over there—but she wasn’t interested. She wanted the beach and the sea, damn it. The boardwalk. Not some random hook up in an anonymous bar.
The pretzels did their job and she drained the last of her drink, but the busy dance floor kept the waitress from noticing her empty glass. She waited a bit, swirling around the ice in the bottom and growing more peeved by the minute. Pitbull ended and Andy Grammer came on. Amanda yelled out, “This my song! Where my girls at?”
Right in front of you, Tara thought sourly. Where’s my goddamn refill?
Finally she had to admit one wasn’t coming. Shoving back her chair, she edged around the others and avoided getting snagged by Amanda when her cousin tried to pull her onto the dance floor. Instead, she held up her glass as if to ward off anyone who might try to dissuade her and hollered, “I need another Coke!”
“Lightweight!” Amanda yelled back.
Under her breath, Tara muttered, “Yeah, I’d like to see youtry to drive us all home tonight.”
Somehow she managed to make it through the dancers, then weaved her way around the tables up to the bar. A couple guys sat at one end, where they could watch Amanda and her friends dance without having to turn around and be too obvious about it, but the rest of the bar was an empty stretch that looked too inviting for Tara to turn down. Easing onto a barstool, she set her glass onto the countertop and sighed. Even the music seemed quieter over here. This might be where she stayed for the rest of the night.
Behind the bar, rows of amber-filled bottles lined a mirror that reflected the interior of the building. Off to one side was a pair of swinging bat-wing doors, like in an old western saloon. As Tara fiddled with her hair in the reflection, a woman pushed through the doors and grabbed a hand towel from under the register, then came over to where she sat. “Hey, honey,” she said, a bit of the Bronx in her voice. “What’ll it be?”
“Another Coke, please.” Tara spared a glance at the woman before returning to the mirror, then did a double-take.
Sweet Lord, she was gorgeous. Short, dark auburn curls tied up in a retro headband wrap, complete with bow, framed a round, tanned face. Eyes like pools of melted chocolate. A beauty mark on the bridge of her nose, though Tara couldn’t tell if it was real or drawn on, but it was arresting nonetheless. A stud earring in her lower lip, like another beauty mark, this one a tiny garnet as red as her hair. The deep color matched the matte lipstick she wore.
Softly, Tara said, “Hey. Where have you been hiding all night?”
When the woman smiled, her lips pursed into a perfect bow. As she filled Tara’s glass from the soda gun, she asked, “Are you here with Bridezilla?”
“What’s the correct way to answer that?” Tara countered.
The woman gave her a questioning smirk. “What do you mean?”
Tara shrugged. “If you think they’re silly and immature—and they soare—and I say yes, then you’ll think I’m the same way.”
“But you’re not.” The woman leaned on the bar as she wiped it down. “You aren’t drunk off your ass and acting like an idiot, for starters. So maybe you aren’t with them.”
“Then I’d be lying.” Tara took a sip of her soda, never breaking eye contact with the sexy barmaid. “And I don’t want to things to start off on the wrong foot between us. Because—can I just say you’re beautiful? I want to put that out there.”
The woman laughed. Was that a thin blush coloring her cheeks? It only made her prettier.