Maybe that’s the key, I think, grabbing my own cosmo and shooting it back. I need to relax and enjoy myself. I relish the burn and buzz of the alcohol but something is bothering me. I’m not sure if I’m fidgety because of the dress or because I feel like someone is watching me. I’ve had the feeling for a few weeks now, but lately it’s been constant. I can’t help but think my father has found me. I’ve done my best to hide my tracks using a few tricks I learned from the boys back home. I kept my first name but I thought it would be hard for people to track me with just that alone. I considered dyeing my hair to change my look when I first ran away. My red hair always seems to attract attention, but whenever I looked in the mirror it reminded me of my mother. She might have been a shit mom but it made me feel a little bit closer to her.
I always thought it was a matter of time until someone found me—either my father or someone looking to use me against him. That’s the reason my father says he kept me so tightly locked away. He did it because he has so many enemies who could use me as leverage against him. As the years have passed, nothing has happened and I’ve started to think he either gave up or he just didn’t care enough to find me. Maybe he even thought it was for the best I was gone.
“Sorry! I just feel like a slut,” I say, tugging my hem down my thigh once more.
“Hey bitchness, that’s my dress you’re wearing,” Jeanette responds, giving me a little smirk.
“Yeah, but it looks longer on your skinny ass whereas my size twelve sucks up some of the important ass-covering length.”
Jeanette snorts and sips at her drink. She’s the definition of beautiful. She’s the picture in your head when you hear the word ‘model’—long, flowing, perfectly tousled blonde hair, sun-kissed skin that makes her aquamarine eyes almost glow. She makes men take notice when she walks into a room. She looks wholesome and sweet when she’s dressed casually, but tonight she’s done up like she’s about to pound the runway. I’m not sure how she pulls off that tiny waist because the girl could out-eat me any day of the week. Some girls get all the luck.
“Nothing wrong with showing a little slut now and again, Lays. It’s good for you. What do you think Justin would say if he could see you right now?”
I know if Justin saw me like this he would probably give me a scolding about what is and isn’t appropriate attire. I hear it about my shoes on the regular from him. I could be covered from neck to ankle and he would say my shoes were too suggestive. No way was I giving up the shoes. This should have been a red flag months ago and nipped us in the ass. He and Jeanette never really got along either. She thinks there’s something slimy about him and always loves to give him a quick jab about something or other. It’s gotten so bad that I don’t ever invite them to the same events anymore. They’re like oil and water—it’s just never going to work.
“It doesn’t really matter what Justin thinks. I was planning on ending it today, but he couldn’t meet me for lunch to give me the chance.”
“Oh shit! So you’re a single bitch tonight! Just when I didn’t think this day could get any better. You and me, both single and heading to the Kat House. Lays, it’s going to be one kickass night,” she chirps giddily, a giant smile on her face.
“Hate to burst the bubble but didn’t you hear when I said I didn’t get to break up with him?”
Snatching my phone from the table, she fiddles with it for a moment before dropping it back down.
“Well now you have,” she says with a grin.
“No, you didn’t!” I exclaim and grab my phone. Yep. She did it. She sent a text to Justin: “Sorry, this isn’t working.” She even added a winky face at the end. I don’t know why I’m shocked.
“A winky face? Really?”
“Hey, just trying to soften the blow a little. I felt like a winky face could do that,” she says, nodding as if this is a known fact. “Lays, really, Justin being out of your life is a good thing. He wasn’t the right fit for you and I’m telling you something weird is up with him.”
“You’re just saying that because you don’t like him,” I reply.
“No, I’m saying that because the man has a stick up his ass, but can’t seem to get his own stick into you.”
I blush because the elderly couple sitting at the table next to us begins staring at us in shock. Jeanette gives them a wink.
“I’m just not ready yet,” I whisper, hoping not to draw more attention to us.
“Lays, come on now. You’re twenty-four years old. The problem is he isn’t working for you. You two have been together for over a year. A year. If you still haven’t given it up to him by now you’re not going to. So let it go.”
I know she’s right. It’s time to move on and try something different. Staying with him just because he can’t hurt me is actually hurting me. Sometimes not caring is just as bad as caring.
“I know. I wish I could be more like you.”
“Gotta look at men like I do, Lays. They’re only good for one thing, and 90% of the time I either have to tell them how to do it or finish the job myself.”
Rolling my eyes, I motion for the waiter to bring another round. I notice a man dressed in all black staring at us as he leans up against the bar and that uneasy feeling returns.
“Hey, let’s finish this round and head out,” I say, glancing back to see if the man is still staring. He is.