“Mm-hmm,”he groaned, and turned the blender on to buzz the fruit, juice, and ice down toa frosty liquid.
Aminute later, I had a gorgeous, bubblegum pink drink sitting in front of me,and the bartender walked away with just the right amount of swagger, to grab abasket of wings from the kitchen. I sipped the drink and listened to my seconddose of Lynyrd, just as the door chimed open behind me.
Glancingover my shoulder, I saw a tall, leggy blonde approaching the exact spot inwhich I sat. She was carrying a Louis Vuitton purse and wore Louboutin shoesthat left an expensive click-click-click sound along the dark, wooden floor. Iwasn't much for envy, especially when it comes to frivolous things like bagsand shoes, but as she settled against the strip of bar beside me, I took amoment to admire theprofessionally-madewaves in herhair and her immaculately applied makeup. For just a moment, without evenknowing who she was, I wished Iwasher. Because rightnow, I was foolishly convinced that it was better to be anybody but me.
“Hey,babe.”
Likean idiot, I looked up at the sound of the bartender's commanding voice. Why Ithought that he would be referring to me as babe, I have no idea, but I lookedup and smiled as if he were. That's when I realized he was referring to thebombshell beside me, and that's when I really did wish Iwasher.
Brendannever liked pet names, but I had always wished that he did.
Thebartender placed the basket of wings on the counter in front of me beforegiving her his full attention.
“Whatare you doing here?” he asked, grinning like she was life itself and foldinghis arms on the bar.
“Ithought I'd stop by before I headed over to the studio,” she replied, as shemade sliding onto a barstool look elegant.
Itook note of the precarious way she sat, with her back straight and her smooth,long legs crossed. She made the act of stool-sitting seem like an art form,while I, in my frumpy sweatshirt and leggings, resembled a fat toad on a mossylog in the swamps of Louisiana.
“Thestudio,” the bartender repeated, smiling broadly around the words. “It's stillcrazy to think about. Idunnoif I'll ever get usedto that.”
Shereturned the smile. “I know, right? I was just telling Andrea today that I'mmore nervous about reading a studio audience than I think I've ever been duringa live show.”
Iwas eavesdropping. It was wrong and I shouldn't have been, but I couldn't helpit when they were right there next to me, as I silently dove into the bestwings I'd ever eaten in my entire life. I groaned involuntarily to show myappreciation, and both bartender and leggy blonde turned to look at me.
“Sorry,”I said, mouth full and embarrassed.
Theblonde's expression was quick to change, as her smile faded, and her eyesreflected something like recollection. Like she had just found something shehad lost. But the look was fleeting as she pulled another grin and gave me herfull attention.
“They'regreat, right?”
Withfingers covered in barbecue sauce, I nodded as I plucked another wing from thebasket. “They seriously are. I could literally drink this sauce right now.Which is saying a lot‘causemy family is pretty biginto barbecue sauce.”
“That'sjust the baby talking,” the bartender chimed in with a wink, and just likethat, it hit me all over again. As if I’d only just now, in that moment, foundout.
Iwas having a baby.
Whatthe hell was I doing, having ababy?
Theblonde looked between me and the bartender, surely wondering how the hell itwas that her gorgeous bottle-slinging boyfriend knew about me and my recentdiscovery, and he said, “She came in here the other day after just findingout.”
“Ah,”she replied, nodding. Then, she turned to me and smiled. “Well,congratulations, then!”
“Thanks,”I said, trying to force a happiness I didn’t quite feel.
“Anyway,”she said, returning her attention to the bartender, “Igottaget going. I'll see you later?”
Helifted his hands in a questioning gesture. “Who else would you be seeing?”
Shesmiled easily at his playful attitude. They were cute together, and they wouldmake gorgeous babies. It made me feel sorry for my own baby, that he or she hadbeen given to a couple that was neither cute together nor drop dead gorgeous.
Theblonde leaned forward on the stool and puckered her lips for a kiss. Jealousywarred with maturity and reason as I turned my full attention to my drink,sucking it down to drown out the intimacy going on right beside me. I betthey'd sleep together that night, too, when he saw her after whatever she wasdoing at the previously mentioned studio. And that ridiculous, intrusivethought was rewarded with another surge of envy. Because where was my boyfriendand why wasn't he here, kissing his pregnant girlfriend and promising to callme as soon as he was on his way?
“Oh,and Goose?” she asked, sliding from her barstool.
“Yeah?”
Theblonde turned to me and smiled knowingly. “Get her another round of wings.” Shelaid a friendly hand on my arm, squeezing gently with her fingers, beforesettling her eyes on mine for a second. There was a message there, I felt it,but before I could focus and try to listen, she was click-click-clicking herway out of the bar.
