“It was nice to meet you,” I say to Stacey. I get to my feet and walk through the crowd. I’ve left the beer on the table. Harper stands beside a table near the back and the restrooms where she’s serving a table of four guys. Two of them are telling her something and she smiles at them.
Her smile. She always looks pretty, but there’s a transformation that takes place when she gives you that genuine smile—a stamp of approval for whatever you’ve said or done. It gives me a buzz to think about that feeling.
Now, some strangers are the recipients of her smile and my chest burns. I tell myself to get over it and go home because tonight isn’t working out.
Instead of leaving, I find a spot along the wall where I can watch the band and keep an eye on her. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I check the display.
Josie: What r u doing dork?
Me: Dastardlys
Josie: Yes. I know that. What u doing holding up that wall?
I scan the room. Josie waves at me from the bar where she sits on a stool.
Me: When did Harper start working here?
Josie: Last week
Me: Why didn’t you tell me?
Josie: Did you ask me about Harper and I forgot?
I roll my head in a circle, stretching the tense muscles of my neck.
Me: It’s too dangerous for her to work here.
Josie closes her eyes and shakes her head. She bends her head to continue texting.
Josie: She’s a big girl
Me: What about drunks hitting on her?
Josie hops from her seat and pushes her way through the crowd until she reaches me. She flings one arm across my shoulders. “You can’t have it both ways. You’re either dating her or not.” She yells above the music near my head.
I roll my eyes. “She doesn’t have anyone to look out for her.”
“Who was your friend over there?” Josie drinks from her beer bottle and uses it to point to the table I left.
“Her name is Stacey and I don’t really know her. Tell Harper I don’t know that chic.”
Josie laughs. “Oh no you don’t. Tell her yourself. We’re not in fifth grade. Besides, why do you care what Harper thinks?”
I shrug as if it’s no big deal even though I can’t seem to quit searching the room for her. “I don’t want her to think I hook-up with random girls in bars.”
“She won’t.” Josie waves at someone entering and I follow her gaze.
“Do I know that guy?”
“Yeah. You saw him the other night when you dragged Harper away. See you later.”
I squint at the guy, trying to place him. There were no guys at that birthday party. There was a room full of women. Except for one guy.
I stare across the room at Josie as she talks to him. He’s tall, thickly built like he spends an inordinate amount of time in the gym. He turns and then I’m certain of his identity. It’s Navy, without the flashing lights and music and white pants.
Josie looks around for a moment and points at someone. I look where she might be pointing.
Harper. Harper who isn’t paying attention as she takes a drink order from a guy. The customer is old enough to be her father, but he’s looking at her in an un-fatherly way.
My sister is trying to kill me.
I force myself to watch the band for as long as I can to remove my focus from Harper. From the corner of my eye, I glimpse her at the table near me. She’s good. I don’t remember her saying if she’s even waited tables before, but she’s quick to buzz around the room delivering drinks. I silently scold myself when I realize I’m still watching her.
At some point, Gunner and the two girls leave their table. I’ve searched the room for Aiden, but assume he’s left for some other entertainment for the night. It’s after midnight and the place is still crammed with customers.
There’s a small area in front of the band for dancing. Several partiers are doing a version of line dancing.
My sister still sits at the bar with Navy. His back has been to me most of the time while he talks to Josie. Suddenly, Harper appears and she’s changed clothes. Her shift must’ve ended and she’s ready to leave.
I push off from the wall, prepared to offer a walk to her car. Before I can make it more than a couple of steps, Josie, Navy, and Harper walk to the small dance floor. The three of them begin to dance.
It’s all harmless. No touching or grinding. A small favor for my already tortured emotions.
Returning to my spot on the wall, I can’t help but seethe. My skin warms with anger directed only at myself. I want to be out there dancing with Harper and receiving her bubbly smile.
She laughs, her head thrown back in pure delight from something said. I don’t know if my sister or Navy makes that happen, but I can’t watch anymore. I weave my way through the crowd quickly.
Outside on the sidewalk, I can finally breathe.
Jesus. I’m a fool. I don’t want her. I want her. I want her so much I can taste the salt of her skin from the last time we made love.
When I arrive home, I sit at my desk with a goal in mind. I have one particular scene in my novel that I’m in the mood to write. It’s several chapters ahead and although I write in a linear fashion, I open the file in my writing software.
The characters in The Incident meet for a rendezvous in a hotel room. It’s a gritty scene. No flower petals strewn across the floor. No champagne chilling in a silver-plated bucket.
No murmured phrases that glide off the tongue to entice and persuade.
It’s a scene of stolen moments and urgency. Their touching is quick and fraught with yearning. Afterward, they hardly speak because they have no need.
Their communication has been a wordless demand.
I type the final sentence of the scene and glance at the laptop clock. In half an hour, I’ve written more than I have for days. And it’s good. I know it is, because I was transported into the hotel room with them—an invited voyeur into my characters’ lives.
A noise sounds in the hallway and I glance at the clock. It’s 3:30 am and I’ve lost track of time. Since having my landlord install a lock on the exterior door, there’s only one person who has access.
I’m refreshed from the sheer joy of getting some words onto the screen. I could easily run a mile or lift weights. Adrenaline surges through my entire being. It’s a rush only another writer can understand.
I swing the door open so I can talk to Harper.
Navy—sans white pants getup—stands with her at the end of the hallway. They aren’t hand-in-hand, but she’s knocks into him when she takes a step.
I’m frozen. Do I go back inside and wish I’d never seen them coming in together? She’s not my sister or my tenant. I can’t tell her not to have a guest.
Still, my mind races, trying to come up with some excuse to kick his ass.
They walk together toward me and she’s looking at her feet. I have no doubt she’s been drinking. When she lifts her head, she sees me for the first time and there’s mascara under her red-rimmed eyes. Tear stains track down her cheeks.
“What the fuck?” I allow my door to slam shut behind me. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Harper turns toward her apartment. “Leo, it’s nothing. Go back inside.”
“What did you do, man?” There’s a sharpened edge to my voice.
“I didn’t—” he says in a softly accented voice, Italian maybe.
Harper whips around and glares at me. “Antonio didn’t do anything. He was only making sure I get inside my apartment.”
“I’ll bet he was.”
“I don’t know what your problem is.” Antonio the Navy stripper has balls to look me straight in the face. “I suggest you leave this situation to me.”
Right. “And I asked you what you did to her. She’s been crying.”
“That is none of your business. The lady told you I did nothing.” He raises one eyebrow at me and nods as if we are finished with the conversation. He turns away and stands waiting while Harper puts her key in the lock.