Page 15 of The Friend Scheme
I mean, I do want to see him. Just not yet. Not until I’ve washed the cologne off and Dad’s gone upstairs.
“Are you okay to entertain yourself for a few hours?” asks Dad, who is looking at his watch. It’s an heirloom Rolex, one handed down to him from his father. If anything happens to Dad, Luke’ll get it, for sure.
“Yeah, ’course. Have a good night.”
“You too.”
He turns to walk up the stairs.
“And, um,” I say, calling him back. “I might, like, Uber home. So if I’m gone, like, don’t stress.”
“That’s fine. Just text me your plans.”
“Will do.”
I know he has no trouble leaving me, because I’m surrounded by family. There’s not much trouble I can get into, seeing as half the crowd here are blood relatives. My grandma is even here. She’s sitting in a booth with a few of my aunts.
Maybe this plan is dumb.
What will even happen if I do see Jason? I can’t leave with him again. If I do, people will talk. I go into the bathroom and half expect him to be standing there, washing his hands, like last time.
But it’s empty.
I wash my hands in the sink and then wet a paper towel and wipe the sides of my neck. I scrub a bit, until my skin turns slightly pink. Then I do the same on the back of my wrists. I think that should get rid of most of it. Once I’m done, I look up at my reflection.
What are you doing?
Why are you here?
I leave the bathroom, head to the bar, and sit down on one of the stools. I spin and look around.
He’s not here.
Now I feel stupid.
I came here for him. I hate this place, and yet I came here, on the off chance that he might show up again. What else could I do? I couldn’t find his social media, and I wasn’t just going to let it drop. My stupid brain is too curious about him.
Now I need to spend the night here. By myself. Ugh.
It’s times like this that make me wish I liked drinking.
I don’t, though. For one, it tastes bad. And two, I hate the thought of not being in total control of myself, especially around my family.
I kick my shoe against the bar. It’s made of dark wood and varnished so it’s shiny. Like always, bluesy, small-town rock is playing on the speakers. I breathe in, and the air smells like Scotch. And still faintly like Dad’s cologne.
Maybe I should just leave. Call it a night, cut my losses.
Maybe…
I hear the front door open.
I’m too nervous to look.
Then a dark shape slides into the space beside me.
“Hey, you,” Jason says.
My heart starts thudding.
