Page 13 of The Backtrack
Sam stood, put a hand on Pearl’s shoulder and readied herself to walk back into the house. “We’ll see what I can find.”
What she found was a hair crimper, cucumber melon Bath & Body Works hand cream and about two dozen half-empty bottles of Urban Decay nail polish. And that was just in one bathroom drawer. Sam grabbed the coffee mug she’d filled with water and three cocktail-size ice cubes and drank the whole thing down in one luxurious gulp.
The little rush of cold fluid fueled her on to the next drawer, but when she pulled it open there was a tube of roll-on body glitter. She picked it up and the shiny blue looked suspiciously similar to the one she’d seen Alt-Sam wearing while making out with Damon.
Her jaw clenched and she dropped the glitter into an open trash bag. It was so ridiculous that she’d had an exhaustion-induced dream in the first place, but even sillier that she’d noticed the body glitter. She was an aughts cliché of a person, clearly.
She stared at the tube in the trash and tapped her foot. She should just go to the brewery. Damon told her to come check it out, so that was a perfectly reasonable and friendly thing to do. Only, the brewery was Damon’s territory—a place where everyone would know him. She’d be the odd person out, the way she always had been in Tybee. But maybe she’d have to accept that when she was here, that was the role she’d play.
“I can casually pop by to see him,” she said as she looked through the open drawer. She pulled out black hair mascara, Proactiv toner, Herbal Essences shampoo and a mood ring, all of which she threw into the trash. In some ways it felt like a nostalgia crime, but also if her CD player was making her hallucinate, who knew what an ancient mood ring could do.
“We’ll be old friends, catching up,” Sam said to herself in the mirror. “We can do that.”
“Are you talking to me?” Pearl called out.
Sam rolled her eyes. “No, just myself.”
“Knock it off and get back to work,” Pearl said.
Sam brushed some dust from her fingertips. She’d finish cleaning out the bathroom and then get ready to see Damon. She could do that.
She opened the next drawer and grimaced as she pulled out a scrunchie covered in fake blond hair. “Fashion was really something back then.”
“What’s that?” Pearl called out again.
Sam bit her lip as she threw the scrunchie in the trash and got back to work.
As Sam drove down the stretch of sandy road that served as a kind of beachy thoroughfare—with the water unobscured on her right, and restaurants and shops on her left—she rolled down her window. The cars in front of her drove the twenty-mile-an-hour speed limit but the crosswalk blinked her to a stop. A gaggle of teen surfers in board shorts ambled across the road carrying bodyboards, with one even stopping to tie a lace on his sneakers. As a soft breeze blew into the car the light changed, and Sam drove along the path. The sign for Band Practice Brews came into view, lit up in neon with a massive guitar dangling from the corner.
She pulled into the crowded parking lot and past an actual line out the door. There were groups of people in cutoffs and tank tops, cargo board shorts and floral print button-ups. Which made Sam realize that she’d maybe overdressed. Trying too hard to impress someone shedidn’thave feelings for. But it was too late now—no time to change. She’d just have to own her heels, silky slip dress and blow-dried hair.
When she walked in, there was the bar itself, which was a rich mahogany with a mirrored back, and bar stools that swiveled. High-top tables lined the walls, and a few corner booths with sleek leather were particularly inviting. There was a wall accented with shiny hanging guitars, while the other walls displayed a few photos of Damon and his family. The photos ranged from fairly normal to borderline absurd: a photo of him fishing with a beer in hand was next to one of his sister, Farrah, in a hospital gown, cradling her newborn while Damon handed her a beer. Though she had to admit, the guy photographed well. She stopped at a particularly enticing photo of Damon as he leaned against an open truck bed with his triceps bulging. A firm hand landed on her shoulder.
She turned and there was Damon in black semifitted jeans, a dark gray tee and a leather jacket. His hair was styled so it spiked up a bit in the front, and his beard had been trimmed from the day before into a respectable shadow. He hadn’t overdressed, but anyone could see that he was a step up from the guy just behind him in camo shorts and flip-flops. And why was the sight of his shirt tucked in just in the front making her want to untuck it with her teeth?
“Hey.” He wrapped her in a hug so warm and tight that if she’d been a stick of butter, she’d have melted. “Didn’t think I’d see you so soon.”
“I probably should’ve called.” Sam attempted to make a joke but, as she said the words, she realized shereallyshould have.
“I actuallyonlyaccept calls.” He pressed a palm into the bar, then handed her the nearly full beer in his hand. “Here, give this a try. It’s a sour beer we’re testing. You’ll either love it or hate it, but I’ll enjoy the look on your face either way.”
“Oh, I don’t really drink beer.” She still held the bottle, though, not sure what the hell to do with it. “I’m more of a wine gal.”
Damon squinted, as if unable to process what she’d said. “I’ve met your type, but do me a favor and take a sip.”
Sam’s level of enthusiasm must’ve shown on her face, as Damon laughed and said, “You never were all that good at hiding how youreallyfelt.”
He lifted his own beer and she lifted hers in solidarity before taking a sip. She braced for the impact of hops and bitterness but found there was a tart cherry and peach that lit up her whole tongue and fizzled on the way down.
Her eyes widened as she swallowed. The label on the bottle readSour Good,and she had to admit it was. “I like it,” she eventually said.
“Phew, I was worried your jet-setting lifestyle had turned you against some of the finer offerings we have here in Georgia. Come on, let me give you a tour.” Then Damon’s hand landed on the small of her back and she stiffened as if she’d never been touched by another human being before. Damon pulled his hand back. “Oh, sorry,” he said.
Sam had never thought it possible to die of humiliation but well, her cheeks were so hot that she was certain she might explode. She shook the stiffness off. “No, I’m sorry. I’m not used to that.” Maybe the beer was already hitting—she’d had a day of cleaning out half-used body glitter tubes—but the goose bumps trailing up her arms gave her pause.
Coming here wasn’t a good idea, not only because she found herself leaning into Damon as he led them outside, but also because she just couldn’t ignore the way her body reacted to him.
And that draw caused her to slightly trip as they stepped out the back doors. Damon caught her so she was tucked into his side. When she looked up, he was backlit by the bistro lights strung in careful waves above them and highlighted like an otherworldly being. She stared for probably a beat too long.
