I promised myself that there would be no outward or inward thoughts toward Cricket that weren’t entirely friendly and nothing more. Yeah, good luck with that. I awkwardly stationed myself at the back of the bed, my hands stuck in the front pockets of my jeans, bunching my coat around the tops of my hips. The cold seeped through to the bone there, but I didn’t care, whatever distracted me. I briefly pulled my cap down a bit to hide my eyes, then stuck my hands back in my pockets. I stared at the ground and toed the snow outlining my boots. They’d stuck down into six inches’ worth. I kicked the mound around my toes and shook the remaining from my boots. I did this for no other reason than I knew I didn’t want to look at Cricket.
I looked up quickly toward the passenger side and was forced to watch Jonah exit the back, then hold the door and offer his hand to Bridget to help her out. Much as I hated to admit it, I was going to be the fifth freaking wheel in that night’s scenario. Despite what Jonah and Bridget defined their “friendship” as, I knew what was blossoming and felt powerless to stop it. I just wanted to guard my sister from pain. Pain I knew was coming. Pain that would make an already burdensome life more difficult, but sometimes you have to let live.
I stared hard at the ground when everyone gathered around me, then followed them, my eyes trained on their tracks.
How you gonna pull this off, dude, huh? I asked myself as I stumbled toward the front of the pub. Eventually, you’re going to have to look at her. I decided it was best if I saw her in a controlled situation, one where, say, if I fell from my damn stool, no one else, particularly Ethan, would notice.
As soon as we got through the doors, I ripped off my jacket but left my cap on to shield me. “I’ll be at the bar,” I told everyone and left their questioning glances behind before anyone could object.
I was finally able to look up and sat at the back corner of the bar top, steadying my hands on the flat of the surface and trying hard to settle my breathing.
“What can I get ya?” the hot bartender asked. I say “hot” like that was unexpected, but aren’t they all hot?
I smiled. “I’ll take a Coke,” I told her.
“Careful, it’ll go straight to your head,” she teased, making me laugh.
I dangled my keys in front of me. “Driving.”
“Good boy,” she said, winking.
She poured me my soft drink and slid it over playfully before making her way to the other end of the bar to help someone else.
I took a small sip, wishing to everything it would’ve been something stronger. I drummed my fingers on the bar, mentally preparing myself. I took three deep breaths and decided I’d waited long enough. I picked up my head and deliberately scanned the bar. Surprisingly, something with an amazing beat rang through the air causing my blood pressure to rise in anticipation. I placed my palm over my rapidly beating heart. You’re just looking, I told myself. Just. Look. I took another deep breath and kept searching.
I spotted Bridge being goofy, looked like “the lawnmower,” I think, and Jonah laughing his ass off at her. I spotted Ethan sulking in the corner, nursing a beer. My heart sped to an uncomfortable pace as I searched but couldn’t find her. I half stood half sat and peered over the heads of the crowd but still no sign.
“Whatcha doin?” I heard over my shoulder, and I stilled.
My shoulders stiffened at the ringing bell that was Cricket’s voice, and I closed my eyes briefly. I was both apprehensive and expectant. I couldn’t torture myself anymore and opened my eyes. My breathing labored as I started to turn around.
Oh. My. God.
There she was. Gosh damn it! So gosh damn beautiful I didn’t think I’d ever recover from the sight of her. I sort of staggered back into a sitting position and raked her from head to toe. I barely recognized her, and that astonished me.
Her face.
I wondered why she had to be so unbelievably beautiful, torturing myself as I memorized every inch, every centimeter, every millimeter of her resplendent face. She sported her clever grin, but this time her lips were painted a bright red and I ached to kiss them, catch them between my teeth and claim the color on my tongue, smudges be damned. The fact that Cricket probably wouldn’t have cared less made her all the more enticing to me.
Her pitch-black hair was curled, reminiscent of a forties pin-up, including her short bangs, which she’d swept to the side and pinned up.
I would remember what she wore until the day I died, down to the miniature buttons on the ankle straps of her black heels. Underneath a thin, form-fitting cream floor-length cashmere sweater coat she’d buttoned just the center of, exposing her incredible legs, she wore a tailored black, shin-length spaghetti strapped dress with a sweetheart neckline. Countless pearls wrapped around her long, slender, alabaster neck and fell strategically down to her br**sts.
She was a comfortable mix of casual and dressy, looked incredibly French, and exuded an elegance that would rival any of my prep school girlfriends. She was everything I never imagined I could possibly want. She was...devastating.
She smiled sweetly at me, completely unaware she’d cemented me to my seat, shell shocked and itching to grasp her shoulders and pull her into my chest forever. I would have whispered into her ear that I couldn’t understand why I felt such an omnipotent and inexplicable need to take her with me everywhere I went for the rest of my life, even though I didn’t love her...yet. I’d beg her to let me do it, to put me out of my misery and just let me have her. I’d pray she’d accept my desperate, though seemingly baffling, request. I’d tell her I didn’t deserve her, that I knew I’d never be able to, but every day would be a monumental effort on my part to strive to.