She shakes her head. “Hmm. Possible on the asshole part. But not that into me? Nah. He wants me even if he doesn’t realize it yet. The main reason we’re here, though, is because you need to find a man.”
She hasn’t said it, but I get the feeling that Daisy thinks my zoned-out behavior this week is because I’m missing Remington. I mean, I am. I do. I miss my friend so much it hurts, and every time I think of the way I put myself out there and he turned me down, I’m gutted.
Still, meeting Chase James helped. I realize that it’s possible to feel a Remington-level crush on someone besides my pen pal. Sure, it’s with another unavailable male, this time a ridiculously hot celebrity, but it’s a start. Now, I just need to put myself out there with a non-famous, real-life guy.
Could that real-life guy be in this bar tonight? Doubtful.
“Hey.” Daisy gives me a concerned look. “Are you okay?”
I take a deep breath and say with more conviction than I feel, “I will be.”
“Exactly. We always will be. Eventually. And you know what helps?”
I tilt my head. “What?”
“Time,” she says.
I nod in agreement. I learned that when Nanna died. Time didn’t take away the pain, but it made it more bearable.
“Time and tequila,” Daisy says with a wicked grin.
“No tequila. Besides, I have a drink.” I look down at the glass in my hand and realize with surprise that it’s empty. I was thirstier than I thought.
“You were saying? Come on. Being good at tequila takes practice,” she wheedles.
In the end, she wears down my resolve by reminding me that Nanna would want me to take risks. And knowing Nanna, she would probably approve of tequila.
Daisy skips back to the bar for a few minutes, then appears with two tequila shots rimmed with salt and a wedge of lemon. I eye it warily. The truth is, I rarely do shots. I skipped over the whole turning twenty-one and drinking till I puked part of my youth. I’d had a drink here or there, but my birthday was the first time I’d ever been tipsy or drunk. My mother’s history with alcohol has made me wary of it.
But I screw up the courage to lick the salt, throw back the tequila that burns its way down my throat, and bite the lemon. My face puckers, though it isn’t terrible.
“Yasss, girl!” Daisy encourages. She finishes hers like the pro she is.
A Latin song with a strong beat comes on. Daisy grins, doing a twirl, her skirt flaring out. “And dancing! Dancing helps.”
In spite of my self-consciousness, I sway my hips to the intoxicating rhythm.
My shake and shimmy are hesitant, but they must be somewhat effective because a tall, dark-haired guy standing near me who’d been watching as we did our shots meets my eye and grins. He’s no Chase James, but he’s kind of cute.
I lean into Daisy. “And boys? Do they help?”
She nods. “They’re a very fun start.”
“To fun, fresh starts!” I yell above the music.
She grins. “To smoking-hot, fresh starts!” she screams back.
And then we throw ourselves into the music. The beat pounds through me. The lights swirl. Cute guy moves in, settling his hands around my waist and dancing close. At first, I’m nervous, not wanting him to feel my not-so-flat stomach.
But something unravels in me. Fuck it.
I feel wild and free. I want to let go of my worries and insecurities and live. Starting tonight.
Several hours, a few more tequilas, and many songs later, I’m knee-deep in a fountain in the middle of a long-since-deserted park. This wouldn’t be so alarming, except Daisy is swimming in the shallow fountain. In just her underwear.
Even more alarming? I’m also in the fountain in my bra and panties. I’m not sure how it all happened. One moment, we were giggling and walking arm in arm with a vague plan to hit up another bar, and the next moment, we were in the fountain sans clothes. I blame it on the tequila.
“This! Is! Awesome!” Daisy says, doing another shallow dive, and then drapes her dress over the nude male statue that’s standing watch over us. “You’re not allowed to look,” she scolds the naked statue.
I try to float as best as I can in the water, my long hair streaming around me like seaweed. I look up into the night sky. I revel in the magic of the faint stars and city lights.
Until the police siren breaks through my reverie.
Shit. Cops.
Drunk Olivia is going to ruin my life, one bad decision at a time.
I splash to sit up and cover my ample breasts, clad only in a strapless bra. My wild eyes search the area for my dress, which has somehow gone missing. Flashlights train first on Daisy and then on me.
“What seems to be the problem, Officers?” Daisy asks flirtatiously, looking as enticing as a Botticelli babe.
“Ever hear of trespassing?”
The officer, unlike most men, does not seem at all affected by Daisy’s brilliant smile and fit body. He looks irritated to be dealing with us. I don’t blame him. Dealing with drunk girls swimming in fountains is probably super annoying.
“Or indecency? Or public intoxication?”
My heart is racing now.
“Step out of the fountain,” the guy playing bad cop commands.
I look at the second officer with hope. Maybe he’ll be the good cop who lets us off on good behavior. But his glower causes that hope to crash and burn.
Daisy steps out of the fountain with grace, the water streaming down her shoulders and back, her pale-pink lace underwear nearly translucent. Bad cop tries to play it cool, but I see his eyes widen in admiration, which I imagine is Daisy’s plan. Dazzle and charm them into letting us go.
I stumble out with far less finesse, trying to hide all my body parts. Luckily, the Spanx and bra I’m wearing cover me more than any bikini. It’s still mortifying, though.
“I-I s-seem to have lost my dress,” I stutter.
It’s bad enough I’m about to be arrested. I have to add humiliation to the mix. I flash a pleading look to Daisy, who slips into her dress in one smooth motion.
She makes her eyes big and stares at me, while rummaging her hand into the purse she left on the edge of the fountain. I see her hand land on her phone. She tilts her head toward a nearby tree. I’m getting a little better at this subterfuge thing, and I think she’s trying to tell me to distract the cops so she can call someone.
“Can you help me find my clothes? Please?” I beg the cops and point to the fountain.
Good cop and bad cop seem resigned to their fate as they flash their lights into the fountain. I turn to see Daisy dive into the shadows of the trees while texting madly on her phone.
We find the dress floating on the other side of the fountain, and by the time the cops turn back to Daisy, her phone is stashed away once again. She’s looking calm for someone about to get arrested. Glad that makes one of us, I think as I hastily throw on the formerly beautiful dress, which has now shrunk to Barbie size.
Please, Daisy, I pray. Use some of your magic to get us out of this spot.
Hours later, I’m grumpy, exhausted, still wearing my doll-sized dress, and dead sober with the beginning of a pounding headache.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Daisy asks me.
“Sorry, I don’t consider spending the night in a police station and almost getting arrested to be an adventure,” I shoot back.
But when I turn to Daisy, my annoyance fizzles just a bit. Despite her bravado, she’s a flower wilting fast. Her small frame sags. Her normally sparkling eyes are dull, and even her curls droop under the harsh glare of the police station’s ugly fluorescent lights. I give her a hug, and she hugs me back.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, sounding contrite.
It’s my turn to feel guilty. It isn’t fair to blame her. There was no gun to my head when I took off my dress and jumped into the fountain. There was a lot of alcohol and the need to prove that I could take risks, but no gun. Damn tequila. It’s even worse than champagne.
“It’s not your fault. I went along with it willingly. And, until the police showed up, I had a great time. Plus, hanging out at the police station is good research for writing mysteries.”
“Really?” she asks, a small glimmer in her eyes returning.