Emancipating Andie (17 page)

“Isn’t the bar patron supposed to be the one spilling her guts? It’s rarely the bartender pouring her heart out.”

Andie leaned over the bar and playfully rapped her friend on the head with the clipboard. “First of all, I’m not tending bar, I’m doing inventory. And second of all, you’re the one milking me for information.”

Tracey smirked. “Yes, and I’ve
clearly
been twisting your arm. It’s been like pulling teeth getting you to talk about this Chase guy.”

“Shh!” Andie said, her eyes flitting nervously around the bar before she put down her clipboard and buried her face in her hands. It had been two weeks since she’d returned from Florida, two weeks since she’d seen or spoken to Chase, and although she hoped that time would erase the feeling she got in the pit of her stomach every time she thought of him, if anything, it had only made it worse.

She knew part of the reason she felt the way she did was because she’d had no closure. And on top of that, she hadn’t spoken a word about it to anyone, keeping what had happened, what she was feeling, to herself out of confusion and guilt. But it wasn’t going anywhere. She knew that now. And she realized the longer she let it go, the more it would fester.

She needed to tell someone.

So she called Tracey as the restaurant was about to close and asked her to stop by. It wasn’t unusual for her friend to come hang out at the bar while Andie was working. But this time, as soon as Tracey sat down, Andie unloaded, spilling the entire story, starting with their initial meeting at Justin’s engagement party over a year ago and ending with the abrupt way they had said good-bye in Florida. If anyone would give it to her straight, it would be Tracey. She was sure of that much. And maybe that’s all she’d need to purge him from her system—a good, strong dose of tough love.

“Why can’t I stop thinking of him?” Andie mumbled into her hands.

“Because you’re a red-blooded woman,” Tracey said, placing her drink on the bar and leaning in toward Andie. “Fantasies are healthy. You’re only freaking out because you’re so straight-laced all the time.”

Andie dropped her hands from her face, but her eyes remained downcast.

“I know, Andie,” Tracey said, suddenly sympathetic. “I know why you’re like that, as much as I make jokes. But the thing is, you’ve been that way for so long, and along comes this guy who rattles your cage.” She shrugged casually. “Of course that’s going to stick with you.”

“I love Colin,” she said firmly, as if she had to defend the notion. “So why can’t I get Chase out of my head?”

“Because you feel like it’s wrong, and so your subconscious is screwing with you. Which is also normal. Everyone wants what they can’t have. It’s like, a human condition or something,” Tracey said, leaning forward to sip her drink.

“Human condition,” Andie repeated softly, nodding her head, clinging to any explanation that would absolve her of her guilt.

“Think of it this way,” Tracey said, folding her arms on the bar and leaning in toward Andie. “Your brain is like a teenager from some tight-ass, super-strict upbringing who’s going away to college for the first time. You’ve kept a tight rein on it for so long, and now that it’s broken loose, it’s running rampant like a little drunken whore.”

Andie burst out laughing, shaking her head as she picked the clipboard back up.

“Don’t get freaked,” Tracey consoled her, picking up her drink and sitting back in her chair. “Like I said, this is normal. Fantasies are healthy,” she added, her eyes following the guy who was walking past the bar to the men’s room, flashing him a sexy smile.

Andie followed her gaze and rolled her eyes; he was Tracey’s typical type. Good-looking, with enough of a “bad boy” edge to make him mysterious. She looked back to her friend sitting at the bar, twirling her straw in her drink as she smiled to herself, throwing little glances in the direction of the men’s room, no doubt waiting for his reappearance.

Andie would never understand it. Tracey had only one long-term relationship in her life: her college boyfriend, Nate. He was so amazing, in every way, that Andie often found herself feeling a bit jealous of their relationship. He was sweet and attentive, but masculine. He was well read and intelligent, but he was funny and sociable. And so adorable, but yet had this understated sex appeal. After they broke up, Tracey started going for guys who were Nate’s exact opposite. Andie understood what she was doing at first, because what girl would want to date a guy who was exactly like her ex? But it had been a couple of years now, and Tracey had never gone back. She continued to go after the wrong type of guy, time and time again, even though it clearly wasn’t working for her.

A moment later the bathroom door opened, and Tracey’s person of interest for the evening reappeared, his eyes finding hers as he rounded the bar again. He smiled a cocky smile, lifting his chin in greeting as he walked past her. Tracey smiled and bit her lip, holding his gaze before she turned back toward Andie, quirking her brow.

She felt a slight sadness for her friend at that moment, and she wasn’t sure why. After all, who was she to pass judgment after spending the past hour ranting about a man who was not her boyfriend?

Andie continued taking inventory as Tracey finished her drink, the conversation taking on a much lighter tone as she watched her friend shoot “come hither” looks to the mystery man from the bathroom. About ten minutes later, Andie was able to fully devote her attention to the task at hand when said man sauntered up to the bar, flashing Tracey his arrogant smile and effectively ending their conversation.

Tracey and her new friend Dave were the last ones to leave the restaurant, and as Andie gave her friend a hug, she whispered the obligatory gentle warning in her ear, to which Tracey responded with the standard, “Of course I’ll be careful.” It was a dance they had mastered over the years.

One by one, her staff began to leave the restaurant, and Andie lingered, finding things to clean and organize. She didn’t want to go home yet, not while her mind was still spinning. Tracey had promised her that what she was feeling was normal. Just a run-of-the-mill human condition, the desire for something that was immoral. Happens to everyone.

So why didn’t she feel reassured?

About a half hour later, she looked around the bar with a sigh, realizing she had exhausted all reasons for staying. Andie draped the rag she had used to wipe down the bar over the side of the sink as she reached below it to grab her purse.

And then she froze, spying the bottle of Grey Goose.

Before she even consciously decided to do it, Andie was back behind the bar, fishing through the refrigerator compartment and coming out with a lemon wedge. She grabbed the container of sugar, dipping the wedge into the glittery granules until it was coated before placing it gently on a napkin. Then she reached above her and pulled a shot glass down from the shelf.

“What are you doing?” she asked herself quietly as she poured a shot of vodka. With a deep breath, Andie lifted it to her lips. “To the human condition,” she toasted, before tossing her head back and draining it. She flinched, reaching quickly for the lemon and popping it into her mouth, allowing the sugary lemon juice to take the bite out of the shot.

She blew out a slow breath as she tossed the lemon rind into the trash next to her before she closed her eyes, letting the warmth seep from her throat to her stomach and out through her extremities.

She remembered the last time she felt this way, the pleasant heat coursing through her, suddenly intensified by his words.

Will you dance with me?

She opened her eyes, reaching for the bottle again.

To her surprise, the second one went down much smoother, the sugared lemon chaser serving as a treat rather than a necessity.

Andie stood there for a moment, her hands on the bar and her eyes closed. Her body felt warm and loose, and she rolled her neck slowly, relishing the feeling. Her thoughts felt beautifully uncluttered, the guilt that had been on the forefront of her mind for two weeks now floating somewhere in the distance like background noise.

“What the hell,” she said, reaching for the bottle one more time. She hadn’t driven her car to the restaurant that night; it was only a ten-minute walk from her apartment, and finding parking there was usually a nightmare on weekend nights.

She took the third shot, this time not even bothering with the lemon chaser before she cleaned up after herself and placed the bottle back beneath the bar.

The walk home seemed to pass more quickly than it usually did, with the cool air on her skin and the streetlights peppering her path. Andie noticed that the edges of things took on a fuzzy quality, almost like she was walking in a dream, and she caught herself smiling like a fool at absolutely nothing more than once.

She climbed the stairs to her apartment, the dream-like fuzziness increasing somewhat as she reached her door, and she giggled to herself as she stumbled backward a bit when she looked down to get her keys out of her purse. She rummaged through it, gently at first, and then with a touch of panic.

“
Shit
,” she said, dropping her arms to her sides and letting her head fall back. Of course tonight would be the night she’d leave her keys at the restaurant. Just as she was about to turn back toward the stairwell, she froze, remembering that she had placed her keys on the small table in the entryway as she ran back to her bedroom to grab a hair clip before she left for work.

And she never picked them back up.

She turned back toward her door and fell forward, thumping her forehead on it three times before she finally just left it pressed up against the wood. This was so unlike her. She never did irresponsible things like this. Ever since she had returned from Florida though, it seemed to be a common occurrence; she was scatterbrained, she would daydream at inappropriate times, she couldn’t write a thing to save her life, and she was constantly finding things about Colin that irritated her.

And then, of course, there was the reappearance of the dream.

She opened her eyes and rolled to the side so that her back was pressed up against the door, and she slid down the front of it until she was sitting on the floor. Tracey had a spare key, she remembered, but no sooner than that idea popped into her head, she dismissed it. She knew her friend, and she knew what she was doing right now. There was no way Tracey would answer her call. Nor would Andie want her to.

She rummaged through her purse and pulled out her phone, sending Tracey a text message instead, explaining the situation and asking her to call as soon as she could.

She could call Colin and sleep at his place tonight, she thought. But if she were being honest with herself, she didn’t want to. All she wanted at that moment was to be alone with her thoughts, in
her
bed, in
her
house.

She stared down at her phone, her thumbs running over the keypad, and then suddenly, they were moving.

Stupid Lemon Drops got me locked out of my apartment.

She sent the text before her hazy mind could even condone or object to what she had just done, and she rested her head back against the door, a tiny laugh bubbling out of her throat. She felt amazingly indifferent.

She had almost fallen asleep against the door when the sound of her phone ringing jolted her from her daze.

She fumbled with it for a second before she brought it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Lemon Drops, huh?” he asked, and Andie thought her heart might beat out of her chest. She sat up straight, her vision blurring for a moment before it righted itself.

“I didn’t think you were a fan of those,” Chase added.

“I wasn’t. I’m not,” she said, her voice quavering slightly.

“Can I ask how they got you locked out of your apartment?”

“I forgot to take my keys with me when I left for work tonight.”

“Hmm,” Chase said. “Well, that could hardly have been the result of the shots you hadn’t taken yet, but it’s nice to have alcohol as a scapegoat for idiotic behavior, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” she sighed, leaning back against the door and reaching up to play with the doorknob.

“Doesn’t anyone else have the key to your apartment?”

“My friend Tracey.”

“Well, did you call her?” he asked.

“She’s…occupied,” Andie said with a roll of her eyes, absently twisting the locked doorknob above her.

“Hmm, okay,” Chase said, his voice taking on a throaty caliber that caused a fluttering in Andie’s stomach. “Are there any windows you can climb in?”

“I’m on the second floor, remember? And they’re locked anyway.”

“Of course they are,” he said. “I forgot who I was talking to.”

“Oh, right,” Andie retorted, her hand falling sloppily from the doorknob, “because only anal-retentive people lock their homes when they leave them. Normal people leave their doors and windows wide open. With little neon signs on them that say ‘Drifters and Robbers Welcome.’”

“Drifters?” he asked through a laugh. “Are they an ongoing problem in your complex?”

Andie pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. “I hate you,” she finally managed.

“Why don’t you just break in?”

“
Break in
?” she echoed incredulously. “What do you think I am?”

“It’s your own house!” he laughed. “Everyone’s done it at least once in their life. Use a credit card.”

“That only works in the movies,” she said, but she rolled awkwardly to the side and pulled herself up on her knees, examining the doorknob. Did she even have a credit card on her? At this point, she’d be willing to try anything. She just wanted her bed. She cocked her head to the side and held the phone with her shoulder, struggling to regain her balance before she started rummaging through her purse again. “Alright, I give,” she sighed. “How do you do this credit card thing?”

“Actually, I have a better idea,” she heard Chase say, although his voice sounded strange, almost like an echo. She went to switch her phone to the other ear, freezing when she saw something in her peripheral vision.

She slowly turned her head to the side, and her heart leapt into her throat.