She said she’s here and found a table so I head inside and scan the room for her. It’s a nice place. A mixture of high top tables and booths resting on gleaming hardwood floors, and the soft, dim lighting invites a relaxed atmosphere, as a country song about riding something I’m fairly certain isn’t a horse, plays overhead.
Peyton spies me and waves and I make my way to where she’s sitting at one of the high top tables. She’s dressed in an off the shoulder long-sleeved shirt and skinny jeans and she’s sipping on a soda when I slide into the seat across from her.
“You look nice,” she chirps, and grins at me.
I just shake my head as someone stops at our table. A young man with dark hair and pale skin. The name tag on his shirt says Tommy, andmanager,underneath.
“Can I get you anything?” he asks, looking at me.
“Just a beer,” I say. “Whatever’s on tap.”
He nods and looks to Peyton. “And you?”
“Gin and tonic please,” she says with a smile, and he scurries away.
“Is that the guy?” I ask.
She sighs. “Alas, no. I haven’t actually seen him yet. I was here the other night with the book group, though, and oh my goodness.” She fans her face and I chuckle. Peyton has lived in Massachusetts longer than I have and she’s made friends through a queer book group and her former workplace. She’s introduced me to everyone and I enjoy them well enough, but Peyton is my ride or die, and I prefer just spending time with her. Plus, I don’t really read.
My best friend is a bit of a slut, and I don’t mean that in a bad way. She just enjoys sex a lot, with both men and women, and is on the prowl more often than not. She’sgorgeous, with long brunette waves and hazel eyes. Sparsely scattered freckles adorn her pale skin and she has a captivating smile. Most people who see us together assume we’re dating, or have at least hooked up, but we’ve only ever been friends. And we’ve both promised that if the person we’re dating can't handle our friendship and see it for what it is, they aren’t right for us because we are not going to lose each other over someone else’s insecurity.
Our drinks arrive shortly and we sip on them while we chat, after which she slides off of her chair and grips my hand, pulling me with her onto the dance floor. It’s not long after that a woman about our age taps Peyton’s shoulder and whispers in her ear. Peyton grins and turns to face her as the other woman’s hands grip her hips.
I excuse myself and return to our table, watching my friend and the rest of the couples, taking a few more sips of my drink.
“Hello,” I hear, and turn to see a beautiful blonde woman next to me, dressed in a very short dress that showcases her gorgeous legs and is also cut low enough that an ample amount of cleavage is visible. God, normally I would be getting hard just looking at her, but it’s not happening tonight. So when she runs her hand along my arm and asks if I want to dance, I politely tell her, no thank you. She frowns but moves on, and I sigh as Peyton returns to our table.
“What was that?” she asks. “You sent her away? She was practically undressing you with her eyes.”
“I know. I just don’t feel like it tonight,” I admit.
“Why not?”
I bite my lip, staring at my drink. “Do you think Stacy cheated on me because I was bad in bed?”
There’s silence, and when I look at Peyton she’s frowning and her eyes are narrowed, arms crossed over herchest. “I think she cheated on you just because she’s a selfish cunt. She never treated you right. She always took advantage of your kind nature. And you deserve so much better than that. If she wasn’t satisfied with your sex life there are a million things she could have done other than cheat.”
“I know, but it doesn't make me feel any better, wondering. I don’t want to get out there again and humiliate myself.”
Peyton sighs and gives my arm a squeeze. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, but if you aren’t comfortable with it, you aren’t comfortable with it. You don’t have to rush back out there. I just don’t want you sitting here convincing yourself that you’re the problem, because you aren’t.”
I nod. But before I can get another word out Peyton is gripping my arm so tightly I grimace, as she squeals like a fucking school girl. “He’s here!”
“What?” I yank my arm away from her vice-like grip and turn towards the bar where she’s staring with fucking heart eyes, only for my heart to drop into my stomach as the blood leeches from my face.
“Shit!” I gasp, sliding out of my chair and grabbing Peyton’s small frame, hauling her in front of me as the guy’s gaze flits around the room and I duck behind my best friend.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Peyton hisses, looking back at me. “Are you drunk already?”
“No, I’m not drunk,” I hiss back. “That’s him.”
She turns towards the bar again, and then back at me. “That’s him? The guy who Stacy cheated on you with?”
I nod. “Yes, and I can’t let him see me. It was fucking horrible enough the first time.”
“Oh, boy,” Peyton mutters. “Hon, if your goal is to not beseen, I think picking your five-foot-two friend to hide behind is a bad choice.”
“Shh, we have to go. Just move sideways towards the door so he doesn't see me.”
