Читать книгу A Stranger on the Beach - Michele Campbell, Michele Campbell - Страница 22

The bar was crowded and noisy, and all the booths were taken. I was lucky to find an empty barstool at the far end, near the bathrooms. The bathroom doors kept opening and closing, letting out powerful blasts of air freshener. The place was a dive, with kitschy beach décor—all anchors and ropes and fake lobster traps. I’d just taken off my coat, and I was already tempted to put it back on and leave. But then the bartender came over. I remembered him from the beach. I remembered thinking he’d seemed dangerous at first, then deciding I was wrong. But that moment was when I noticed him for real. I noticed that he had one of those perfect, lazy smiles that make the world seem warmer and more welcoming. There was even a dimple in one cheek. He was wearing this deep-blue chambray shirt that matched his eyes, and khaki pants. His hair was brushed. He didn’t look thuggish tonight. He looked like a college guy, the one in your dorm that all the girls had a crush on.

“Hey, you. I was hoping you’d come back,” he said.

I practically looked over my shoulder to see if he was talking to someone else.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. You ran off last time, before we got a chance to talk.”

“Um. Well. Doesn’t look like we’ll get much chance to talk tonight. Busy in here for a Wednesday.”

Stupid line. But I was feeling self-conscious. I’m not generally the sort of woman who goes to bars alone, and to have the hot bartender start flirting me up right away—it threw me.

“We have our two-for-one happy hour on Wednesdays. Everybody likes a cheap drink,” he said.

“I could use a cheap drink myself tonight. I’m Caroline, by the way.”

“I know your name. You told me on the beach, and then I tended bar at your party. I wouldn’t forget a woman like you.”

He had a sexy voice, gravelly, a little rough. I extended my hand. He gripped it for half a second too long, gazing into my eyes. He was extremely handsome. Sandy hair gone blond at the ends, blue eyes that crinkled at the edges from staring into the sun, tall and broad-shouldered, perfect white teeth. Like a surfer from a beach movie, or an underwear model. I should have gotten up and walked out right then. But things were so messed up, and I needed to dull the pain. So instead, I asked his name.

God, was I stupid.

“You forgot my name?”

He actually looked hurt. I told myself he was probably pretending, and anyway, I secretly liked it. His reaction should’ve been a warning sign. Instead, it gave me a cheap thrill.

“I’m sorry. I’m not good with names.”

He nodded. “Aidan Callahan. Nice to meet for real this time, Caroline—?”

“Stark.”

“Can I get you a Moscow mule, Caroline Stark?”

“Oh. No. Those were just for the party. I’ll take a vodka and soda, if you don’t mind. That’s my drink.”

“Good to know. Be right back.”

But he didn’t come right back. A lot of the customers seemed to know one another, and they all knew him. I liked that. I like a guy who’s outgoing. Jason’s reserved, even sullen sometimes. I can’t always tell what he’s thinking. But I watched Aidan glad-handing the cops at the other end of the bar and thought, That’s a simple, down-home, easygoing guy. And easy on the eyes. If only I were ten years younger, or not married, I’d … No. I’d better stop thinking like that, or I’d end up acting on it when I shouldn’t. I absolutely shouldn’t.

They were teasing him as he poured another round, calling his name. Aidan. Aidan Callahan. An Irishman, obviously; we had that in common.

Aidan came back smiling, carrying two drinks and a dish of mixed nuts.

“Are those both for me? Do I look like that much of a lush?” I said.

I gave him a seductive laugh, and thought, Where the hell did that come from? It had been a long time since I flirted. I wasn’t sure I’d remember how, but apparently it was like riding a bicycle. As he slid one of the drinks closer, his hand brushed mine, and I got this thrill. He was looking at me with—I have to say it—lust in his eyes. It was blatant. And I’m thinking, this could be my chance for revenge on Jason. Not to murder him, okay? To sleep with the hot bartender, like any red-blooded betrayed American wife would do in similar circumstances.

“Nope, one of ’em’s for me,” Aidan said. “You don’t mind if I drink with you, do you? Or would you rather not associate with the riffraff?”

“Are you the riffraff in that scenario?”

“The help.”

To be honest, on any other night, I might have been above having a drink with him. Not because I’m a snob, but because it’s pretty low to walk into a bar and start drinking with some random guy you barely know. But that night, I was willing to lower my standards of behavior. That night, I was not proud.

“If you’re the help, then count me in,” I said, and raised my glass.

He clinked his glass against mine.

“Sláinte,” he said.

“Cin cin.”

We both took a swig. He’d made the drink powerful. I liked feeling it burn going down. I liked feeling the room fade away and start swaying. I needed to forget, and this guy was helping me do it.

He leaned down and put his elbows on the slick wooden surface, his face a foot from mine. Even in the dim light, his eyes were very blue.

“Cin cin? That’s Italian, right?” he asked.

“My mom’s side. And boy, did she like to drink. I get that from both sides actually.”

“The other side—?”

“Irish.”

“Ah, that explains the freckles,” he said, and traced a finger gently across the bridge of my nose.

Wow. His touch was so unexpected, so forward, it made me squirm on my barstool.

“Drat, thought I covered those with makeup,” I said, and my voice came out several octaves lower than normal. My breathing was quicker. I flashed on this movie I’d seen years ago. A woman picks up a guy in a bar and within minutes they’re screwing like animals up against the fence in the alley. I told myself, That’s crazy, stop this, calm down, act your age. I picked up my glass and downed the rest of it in one gulp. Then I held it against my cheek, and my neck, hoping the icy coldness of the glass would still the throbbing in my blood and make me behave. But no.

“Never cover those freckles. They’re perfect. Irish and Italian together is the most beautiful combination. But I bet you’ve heard that all your life.”

I was not entirely certain whether he was flirting with me for real, like he truly found me attractive. Or whether he was joke-flirting with an older woman, to get a tip or something. Not that I cared. But I was conscious of the gap between us—age-wise, class-wise, whatever-you-want-to-call-it-wise. I wasn’t taking myself too seriously, and I wasn’t sure yet that I’d be taking Aidan home. In fact, I was still telling myself not to go there. But I hadn’t thought about Jason and the crash-and-burn disaster of my marriage in at least three minutes, which had to be some kind of miracle.

“Your glass is empty. Hold on, let me get you another.”

He went away and came right back with a fresh vodka. If nothing else, I’d be giving him one helluva tip for the drinks. But thinking about cash reminded me about the missing money, and I got upset all over again.

Then he started asking me about myself, and that distracted me.

“So, do you live here full-time, or are you a weekender, like everybody else in town these days?”

“It was supposed to be just weekends. But … I don’t know. My life is up in the air right now. I’m taking things one day at a time.”

“Yeah? That doesn’t sound good. Anything you want to talk about?”

He sounded so sincere that it’s possible I teared up. I was very vulnerable right then.

“No. Thank you. My life is a mess, but I shouldn’t impose. We barely know each other.”

“It’s fine, really. Listen, I’ve been there. I’ve had troubles of my own. The temptation is to keep everything in and go through it alone. But it can help to talk. It can especially help to talk to the bartender.”

That got a laugh out of me.

“No joke,” Aidan said. “We’re like priests. We hear confessions, and we give our own special absolution. It comes in a bottle, though.”

“I like that. Sounds like more fun than the kind the church doles out.”

“For sure. Freshen your drink?”

My glass was empty already. I handed it to him, and he walked away. I started wondering how much he knew about me. He claimed he’d tended bar at my party. I didn’t recall seeing him that night, but the party had been crowded, and the catering staff large. If he was there, did he hear about Jason and the Russian woman? Were the other guests gossiping about me, about the epic fail of my marriage, in front of him? Did he think that’s why I was here, flirting him up? I thought I was being all sexy and mysterious, but instead I was a pathetic old cougar, dumped by her husband for another woman, hitting on a guy young enough to be my son. No, wait—I wasn’t that old. My much younger brother.

He came back with fresh drinks for both of us.

“So,” I said. “Are you from around here?”

That line was corny as hell. I started thinking maybe I was a pathetic drunken cougar coming on to a hot young guy after all. But the nice thing about Aidan was, he didn’t seem to mind. He took a swig of his drink and gave me that slow, sexy grin.

“Born and raised, never made it out. Prob’ly gonna die here.”

“You could do a lot worse than this place. It’s beautiful. The water, the sky. The town is adorable.”

“The part you go to, maybe. Guys like me, we’re on the outside looking in. I meet a woman like you. Beautiful, sophisticated. I can imagine what your life is like, but I can never really touch it, you know.”

“I’m not sure what you mean. Here we are right now, having a conversation.”

He shrugged. “I think you do know what I mean. We could have this conversation. We could even have chemistry. But you’re out of my league. And I know that, so I would never take it further.”

I was thinking about telling him to give it a try and see what happened. But before I could decide to, somebody called his name, and he stood up. The rush of disappointment I felt was intense, and I was drunk enough to give it voice.

“Don’t go,” I said.

Aidan’s eyes widened.

“Hey, hold your horses. I’m busy here,” he said, over his shoulder, to whoever’d called him.

He leaned back down to me, his face inches from mine. I was looking at his mouth, and then he smiled again. His smile was killer.

“Hey, see those guys at the other end of the bar?”

“The cops?”

“Yeah. The chief there, sitting near the door—he’s my brother. He’s gonna order another round and expect me to put it on the house. Then he’s gonna want me to stand there and entertain him, even though I’d rather stay here talking to you.”

“That bum.”

“I know, family’s a bitch, right? Would you consider doing me a favor?”

“Anything. Name it.”

Yes, all right, I was down to do whatever he asked. Already.

“Let’s make Chief Callahan wait for his next round. I’m gonna go over there, and you call me right back.”

“You mean, like, order another drink?”

“No, it should be more than that, or I’ll have to top them up first. Pretend like you and me are close, and you don’t want to let me out of your sight. Can you do that?”

“Aidan, get your ass over here,” the big cop called out.

The summons was almost nasty, and I felt for Aidan, the kid brother to this jerk of a cop who obviously ruled the roost. I didn’t stop to think. I took Aidan’s side.

“Go. I’ve got your back,” I said.

He winked at me as he retreated. I waited until Aidan was right in front of his brother, then raised my hand and waved.

“Aidan? Aidan!”

My voice vanished into the din, and Aidan didn’t turn around. Why not? He’d asked me to call him. Did he want a bigger show? I hesitated, but what the hell, I’d agreed to play the game. He was taking my mind off my pain, anyway.

I walked over to where the brother sat and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, Chief, but I need Aidan to come back and talk to me. I need him, badly.”

I leaned on the word “need,” so it sounded sexy as hell, and got a kick out of the shocked look on the brother’s face. This was so much fun that I decided to run with it.

“Aidan, please, come back. I have to talk to you, baby. It’s so important.”

The brother looked so flummoxed that I started to think I’d gone too far. But, c’mon. He couldn’t possibly believe there was something between us. Right? That was so implausible.

“I’m coming, baby,” Aidan said, and turned to his brother. “Tommy, give me a minute here. Caroline needs me.”

I went back to my barstool, and Aidan followed, convulsing with laughter. His dimple was showing, his eyes were crinkling, and I was tingling down to my toes.

“Hah, did you get a load of the expression on his face? Hilarious.”

“Did he know I was joking?” I asked.

“Who knows? Tommy’s not too bright,” Aidan said.

I felt a little uneasy about the practical joke. But Aidan soon distracted me, regaling me with gossip about the people in the bar. To hear him tell it, half of them were degenerates, and the other half were fools. They were constantly beefing with each other, trashing each other’s cars, falling off the dock, and generally causing mischief. We drank and laughed like old friends. He fetched another round, and then another. (Somehow, the drinks kept vanishing.) And I … relaxed. I let go. He had this laid-back, adorable, stoner cowboy vibe about him. Like he didn’t take the world too seriously, so I shouldn’t either. God, did I need that right then. Meanwhile, the brother and his fellow cops were looking on, scandalized.

“Your brother and his friends are staring at us,” I said.

“He’s shocked a woman like you would be with me.”

“He thinks I’m with you?” I giggled. The vodka had gone to my head.

“Why you laughing?” Aidan said, looking almost hurt.

“Honey, I’m way too old for you.”

“What are you talking about? You’re hot as hell. Trust me, if I was gonna get with one woman in this bar tonight, it would be you. You blow everybody else away.”

The boy knew how to sweet-talk, and he was getting in my head. I looked around the bar and decided, Hell yeah, I am the best-looking woman in here tonight. If I was the woman in the bar he most wanted to sleep with, then he should have me, right? He’d made his choice, and I was flattered enough that I wanted to honor it. It made sense, in that crazy moment. The room was warm and pulsating with light. I was feeling no pain. Jason was somewhere in Brighton Beach, screwing his Russian whore, and I didn’t care, because I had Aidan to distract me. I wasn’t thinking about my declined credit cards, my empty bank accounts, the silent house awaiting me. I was flying, and I wanted it to last forever.

Time passed. I can’t count how many vodkas I drank. A bunch of people got up to leave, and Aidan went to settle their tabs. I followed him with my eyes as he worked the crowd. He had a lot of fans. The women in the bar lit up under his attention, poor saps. It never occurred to me that I was one of them.

I watched him taking people’s money, and it came rushing back for the umpteenth time that I had no money to pay my tab. Just then, Aidan returned, carrying two more drinks and an antipasti plate—which I couldn’t pay for.

“Something wrong? You look upset,” he said, his face full of sweet concern.

“I forgot my wallet.”

“No worries. I know you’re good for it. Here, eat something or I’ll have to carry you out of here.”

He smiled at me, then took a toothpick, speared an olive, and held it up for me to eat. And I ate out of his hand. In the bar. In front of people. What the hell was I thinking?

The din had died down. When Aidan’s brother called his name, the sound carried across the empty room. The cops were standing up to leave, waving money at Aidan. He went over to take it and shook hands all around. I drained what was left in my glass—vodka-flavored melted ice. My body felt loose; my face felt numb. My vision was doubled. Bands of light reflected off the mirror behind the bar and seemed to vibrate in the air. I knew I was drunk, and I didn’t give a shit. The booze held Jason at bay, at the edge of my consciousness where I could tolerate him. I got up and went to the bathroom and peed for a really long time. I thought about sticking my finger down my throat to get rid of the liquor but decided not to. My face in the bathroom mirror was puffy, and my eyes were too bright. I didn’t recognize myself, so I redid my lipstick as fast as I could and got the hell out of there.

When I got back to my seat, the bar was nearly empty, and people were talking about me.

“—your lady friend?” one of the cops said to Aidan.

“She’s waiting for me to close up shop,” Aidan said.

That made no sense, since I was not actually waiting for him. Well, I was waiting, in my own mind, but he’d be pretty full of himself to assume that. We had no understanding. It hadn’t remotely been discussed. For all he knew I was about to stiff him for a night’s worth of drinks and run out the door. But I didn’t say anything to contradict him in front of his brother.

I should’ve, probably. I realize that now.

I looked at my phone. It was almost midnight. How had that happened? Aidan wiped down the bar, took the money from the cash register and placed it in a light-colored fabric envelope. The people on either side of me had left. Aidan looked my way.

“You okay, Caroline?”

“I think so.”

“I have to give the till to my manager. I’ll be right back. Stay there. Okay?”

“Okay.”

I closed my eyes, letting the room spin around me. It seemed like he was gone for a long time.

“Hey. You okay?”

I opened my eyes to see that Aidan had returned. He was pulling on a beat-up leather bomber jacket. It must be time to go. I tried to stand, and nearly fell off the stool. Magically, he was behind me. He caught me as I tumbled. His arms were like iron around my waist.

“Whoa, easy there. Let me drive you home, sweetheart,” he said.

I thought, What the hell, I’ve got nothing to lose.

Wrong.