“Ivy?” someone yelled from behind me.
I gave the bartender a desperate look for more water to which he shook his head, amused at me, and then turned around praying it wasn’t Ryder and Kenna.
Some prayers are answered with a “yes.”
Some prayers are answered with a “no.”
This was a “no” kind of situation.
“Hey!” I shouted over the music. “What are you doing here?” I forced myself to keep my eyes on Kenna and not look around for Ryder who seemed to have disappeared. He hated me that much he couldn’t even stand to have awkward small talk with me?
I seriously had to get to the bottom of this.
“My boyfriend is playing tonight,” Kenna shouted back. She was dressed for the girlfriend-of-the-band part in a fifties style red and black polka-dot wrap around dress. Her long, black hair floated around her shoulders in silky straightness that remained perfectly unfrizzed and untouched by the humid atmosphere of the bar. She was wearing a proud smile and bouncing in her vintage ivory pumps showing off her extreme excitement.
“Ryder?” I clarified.
Instead of trying to beat the volume contest she nodded, flashing a smile full of affectionate pride.
“Cool!” I offered back and then turned my own attention to the stage. I wasn’t sure if she wanted to hang out or not and it was way too loud to try to carry on a conversation. Plus, I didn’t really have anything to say…. so there was that.
We bobbed and swayed in the general vicinity of each other for twenty more minutes, rocking out to some grass-roots kind of blues sung by college aged boys with underdeveloped voices and wardrobes straight from the Kurt Cobain catalogue.
Perfection.
Kenna didn’t exactly engage with me, but she didn’t walk away either. I didn’t know what to do, or say, so I stayed near the bar and slammed another shooter of water. I didn’t have to look back at Kenna to know her eyes were on me and my tumbler full of ice and clear liquid. She would assume the worst.
I would let her.
The opening band finished up their set and the loud music was replaced by a quieter but none the less angsty speaker sound. I finally turned back to Kenna to force myself in to small talk. I was out of excuses and some irrational part of me wanted to prove to her that I was still lucid despite the three supposed shots of vodka she assumed I had taken. I sucked in a breath, prepped myself with a faux mental face slap full of cocky self-assurance and opened my mouth to make a comment about the last band but the menial opinion died in my throat because Ryder was standing next to her now.
With his gray eyes watching me intently, I lost the nerve to say anything and instead my attention fell to the toned arm he had wrapped around Kenna’s waist. I grunted when I noticed the green and black tattoo marks snaking up his forearm. Didn’t I just say I liked tattoos? But his… he was so cliché. I swear he had read some kind of bad-boy handbook and followed steps one through twelve to pull his dangerous rep together.
Plus a band? Seriously.
“You here for an AA meeting?” Ryder asked from the other side of Kenna.
“Obviously, those are anonymous,” I retorted, with attitude. Let the record show, I answered with attitude.
“Right,” he smirked. And for a moment, for like a moment and a half, I thought he was flirting with me, but then his hand squeezed Kenna’s side and she giggled happily before swatting his chest.
“Dedicate a song to me?” she asked in a cute pout I would never
I gave the bartender a desperate look for more water to which he shook his head, amused at me, and then turned around praying it wasn’t Ryder and Kenna.
Some prayers are answered with a “yes.”
Some prayers are answered with a “no.”
This was a “no” kind of situation.
“Hey!” I shouted over the music. “What are you doing here?” I forced myself to keep my eyes on Kenna and not look around for Ryder who seemed to have disappeared. He hated me that much he couldn’t even stand to have awkward small talk with me?
I seriously had to get to the bottom of this.
“My boyfriend is playing tonight,” Kenna shouted back. She was dressed for the girlfriend-of-the-band part in a fifties style red and black polka-dot wrap around dress. Her long, black hair floated around her shoulders in silky straightness that remained perfectly unfrizzed and untouched by the humid atmosphere of the bar. She was wearing a proud smile and bouncing in her vintage ivory pumps showing off her extreme excitement.
“Ryder?” I clarified.
Instead of trying to beat the volume contest she nodded, flashing a smile full of affectionate pride.
“Cool!” I offered back and then turned my own attention to the stage. I wasn’t sure if she wanted to hang out or not and it was way too loud to try to carry on a conversation. Plus, I didn’t really have anything to say…. so there was that.
We bobbed and swayed in the general vicinity of each other for twenty more minutes, rocking out to some grass-roots kind of blues sung by college aged boys with underdeveloped voices and wardrobes straight from the Kurt Cobain catalogue.
Perfection.
Kenna didn’t exactly engage with me, but she didn’t walk away either. I didn’t know what to do, or say, so I stayed near the bar and slammed another shooter of water. I didn’t have to look back at Kenna to know her eyes were on me and my tumbler full of ice and clear liquid. She would assume the worst.
I would let her.
The opening band finished up their set and the loud music was replaced by a quieter but none the less angsty speaker sound. I finally turned back to Kenna to force myself in to small talk. I was out of excuses and some irrational part of me wanted to prove to her that I was still lucid despite the three supposed shots of vodka she assumed I had taken. I sucked in a breath, prepped myself with a faux mental face slap full of cocky self-assurance and opened my mouth to make a comment about the last band but the menial opinion died in my throat because Ryder was standing next to her now.
With his gray eyes watching me intently, I lost the nerve to say anything and instead my attention fell to the toned arm he had wrapped around Kenna’s waist. I grunted when I noticed the green and black tattoo marks snaking up his forearm. Didn’t I just say I liked tattoos? But his… he was so cliché. I swear he had read some kind of bad-boy handbook and followed steps one through twelve to pull his dangerous rep together.
Plus a band? Seriously.
“You here for an AA meeting?” Ryder asked from the other side of Kenna.
“Obviously, those are anonymous,” I retorted, with attitude. Let the record show, I answered with attitude.
“Right,” he smirked. And for a moment, for like a moment and a half, I thought he was flirting with me, but then his hand squeezed Kenna’s side and she giggled happily before swatting his chest.
“Dedicate a song to me?” she asked in a cute pout I would never
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