Page 6 of Venus
Schooner’s is the only bar in town, and judging by the crowd, it’s also the epicenter of every bad decision ever made in Terracotta, Georgia. You could probably carbon date the bar stools and find DNA from every high school reunion in the past thirty years. You never know what you’re going to find in here, even if I was sipping beer just a few days ago.
I step inside and immediately feel the heat and noise settle into my bones. There’s that low thrum of country rock vibrating the floorboards, pool balls cracking in the back corner, and the subtle, but unmistakable, whiff of spilled Fireball and cheap cologne. Every booth is full. Every stool is sticky. It’s like nothing ever changes here.
Trevor and Jackson are already at our usual spot near the pool table. Trevor’s halfway into a story, motioning to his pants and singing‘here comes the planeeeee’.
I don’t even want to know what the context is.
“Cooter!” Trevor shouts, lifting his drink like a Viking. “You showed! Jackson owes me ten bucks!”
“Didn’t think you’d actually come,” Jackson says with a smirk. “Thought you might be off writing sad poetry about your mystery girl.”
I give him a deadpan look. “Only on Tuesdays.”
I drop onto a worn-out stool, the vinyl cracking under my weight, and sip my beer while my eyes sweep the room. I know it’s stupid. There’s no real reason to believe she’ll be here. But I look anyway. Every time the door opens, my heart kicks up a notch.
The first few times, it’s just wind. A few college kids. A woman I definitely went on a date with two years ago who still glares at me like I stole her dog.
No sign ofher.
Jackson elbows me. “You sure she’s not a ghost? Did we all just agree to your collective hallucination to protect your fragile man-heart?”
I ignore him. Mostly. But part of me does wonder.
Did I imagine the connection? The look in her eyes? Did I see what I wanted to see in that moment? Am I so desperate to find the one that I put that hope on the shoulders of the first girl who caught my eye?
The jukebox switches tracks. Something slower, heavier. The crowd shifts with the rhythm. I take another sip, just as the door creaks open again. At first, it’s just a blur of movement. Then… her.
Yeah. That’s her. No mistaking it.
She slips in behind a cluster of girls and doesn’t immediately scan the room. Her hair is down this time—loose waves with streaks of gold that catch every pulse of neon light. She’s not in scrubs tonight. Instead, she’s wearing faded denim shorts and a pale yellow crop top knotted at her waist, the sleeves rolled high enough to show the freckles on her forearms.
Her boots thud against the floor like they’ve danced here before.
Trevor follows my line of sight and whistles low. “There’s your girl,” he says, as if my eyes aren’t already glued to her.
I can’t look away. She’s got a different energy tonight. Last time, she was wilted. Hollow.
Tonight, she walks like she knows exactly where she is and who she’s about to make nervous.
Me. She’s about to makemenervous.
Jackson smirks. “Well, are you gonna talk to her or just drool like a feral golden retriever?”
I stand, brushing my hand over my shirt. “I’m going.”
“Smooth like sandpaper,” Trevor calls after me.
The crowd parts just enough to let me cross toward the bar. She’s just ordered two drinks, one in each hand, and when she turns around, she spots me instantly. Her gaze doesn’t flinch.
She gives me a smile. Teasing. Almost suspicious.
I lean over the bar like I did that night and try to mirror her smile. “Can I buy you that drink tonight?”
She arches a brow. “Vulva, right?”
“Vulcan,” I correct with a grin. “Still hoping to hear your name.”
“I don’t give that out to strangers.”
