“Remy, Remy,” he said as I reached into my pocket, pulling out my fake. My name, my face, my brother’s birthday, so I could quote it quick if I had to. “How’s it feel to be a high school graduate?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, smiling at him. “You know I’m a junior at the university.”
He hardly glanced at my ID but squeezed my hand, brushing it with his fingers as he stamped it. Disgusting. “What’s your major?”
“English lit,” I said. “But I’m minoring in business.”
“I got some business for you,” he said, taking Chloe’s ID and stamping her hand. She was quick though, pulling back fast, the ink smearing.
“You’re an asshole,” Jess told him, but he just shrugged, waving us in, his eyes on the next group of girls coming up the steps.
“I feel so dirty,” Chloe sighed as we walked in.
“You’ll feel better after you have a beer.”
Bendo was crowded already. The band hadn’t come on yet, but the bar was two deep and the air was full of smoke, thick and mixed with the smell of sweat.
“I’ll get a table,” Jess called out to me, and I nodded, heading for the bar with Chloe behind me. We pushed through the crowd, dodging people, until we got a decent spot by the beer taps.
I’d just hoisted myself up on my elbows, trying to wave down the bartender, when I felt someone brush up against me. I tried to pull away, but it was packed where I was standing, so I just drew myself in a bit, pulling my arms against my sides. Then, very quietly, I heard a voice in my ear.
It said, in a weird, cheesy, right-out-of-one-of-my-mother’s-novels way, “Ah. We meet again.”
I turned my head, just slightly, and right there, practically on top of me, was the guy from the car dealership. He was wearing a red Mountain Fresh Detergent T-shirt—NOT JUST FRESH: MOUNTAIN FRESH!—it proclaimed, and was smiling at me. “Oh, God,” I said.
“No, it’s Dexter,” he replied, offering me his hand, which I ignored. Instead I glanced around behind me for Chloe, but saw she had been waylaid by a guy in a plaid shirt I didn’t recognize.
“Two beers!” I shouted at the bartender, who’d finally seen me.
“Make that three!” this Dexter yelled.
“You are not with me,” I said.
“Well, not technically,” he replied, shrugging. “But that could change.”
“Look,” I said as the bartender dropped three plastic cups in front of me, “I’m not—”
“I see you still have my number,” he said, interrupting me and grabbing one of the beers. He also slapped a ten down, which redeemed him a bit but not much.
“I haven’t had a chance to wash it off.”
“Will you be impressed if I tell you I’m in a band?”
“No.”
“Not at all?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “God, I thought chicks loved guys in bands.”
“First off, I’m not a chick,” I said, grabbing my beer. “And second, I have a steadfast rule about musicians.”
“Which is?”
I turned my back to him and started to elbow my way through the crowd, back to Chloe. “No musicians.”
“I could write you a song,” he offered, following me. I was moving so fast the beers I was carrying kept sloshing, but damn if he didn’t keep right up.
“I don’t want a song.”
“Everybody wants a song!”
“Not me.” I tapped Chloe on the shoulder and she turned around. She had on her flirting face, all wide-eyed and flushed, and I handed her a beer and said, “I’m going to find Jess.”
“I’m right behind you,” she replied, waggling her fingers at the guy she’d been talking to. But crazy musician boy kept after me, still talking.
“I think you like me,” he decided as I stepped on somebody’s foot, prompting a yelp. I kept moving.
“I really do not,” I said, finally spying Jess in a corner booth, head propped on one elbow, looking bored. When she saw me she held up both hands, in a what-the-hell gesture, but I just shook my head.
“Who is this guy?” Chloe called out from behind me.
“Nobody,” I said.
“Dexter,” he replied, turning a bit to offer her his hand while still keeping step with me. “How are you?”
“Fine,” she said, a bit uneasily. “Remy?”
“Just keep walking,” I called behind me, stepping around two guys in dreadlocks. “He’ll lose interest eventually.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” he said cheerfully. “I’m just getting started.”
We arrived at the booth in a pack: me, Dexter the musician, and Chloe. I was out of breath, she looked confused, but he just slid in next to Jess, offering his hand. “Hi,” he said. “I’m with them.”
Jess looked at me, but I was too tired to do anything but plop into the booth and suck down a gulp of my beer. “Well,” she said, “I’m with them. But I’m not with you. How is that possible?”
“Well,” he said, “it’s actually an interesting story.”
No one said anything for a minute. Finally I groaned and said, “God, you guys, now he’s going to tell it.”
“See,” he began, leaning back into the booth, “I was at this car dealership today, and I saw this girl. It was an across-a-crowded-room kind of thing. A real moment, you know?”