Page 9 of Fun Together (Make Romance #1)

Faye

Another day, another regrettable beverage choice.

The tequila fights a path down my throat, into the pit of my empty stomach.I wonder how my capillary friends are faring in these conditions. I bet they’re hanging over the side of the raft, helmets askew, wondering why I thought it was a good idea to eat nothing but Cheez-Its for dinner.

“I’m going to hate myself for this later,” I say, willing myself not to gag. I hate myself for this now .

Rett slams her shot glass down on the bar with dramatic flourish. “It’s all part of the process.” Then, to the bartender, “Two more, please.”

“Oh no,” I grumble.

I’m a lightweight on a good day, and it’s been a very long time since I’ve had a night out drinking. At this rate, my head will be in the toilet in less than two hours. “Living on a Prayer” is blasting so loud I can’t even hear myself think. Poetic.

“I just smell it in the air. It’s going to be a great night for us.”

The only thing I smell in the air is professional-grade disinfectant with a faint hint of urine. The bartender sets the shots down in front of us and Rett raises her glass. “To Fun Faye!”

This shot goes down a little easier, meaning I don’t heave this time.

“How about Fatigued Faye?”

“This isn’t going to work if you resist. What’s wrong?”

I spread my arms wide to gesture at our surroundings. “There’s a man humping a pinball machine over there. Something is very wrong.”

“Nope. Talk to me.”

My instinct is to do anything but talk about the thoughts swirling around my brain. Thoughts that I’d much prefer to have alone in the comfort of my own home that I can easily push aside, because no one is sitting in front of me, bluntly asking the question: What’s wrong?

But when I look at Rett, sitting there so strong and sure of herself, despite the bit of swaying she’s doing on her stool, I think that maybe I do want to tell her what’s on my mind.

“I used the vibrator,” I blurt out.

“Good!” she says, excited. Then she must register that I don’t look excited. “I mean . . . bad?”

“No, it wasn’t bad. In fact, it was good. It was really good.”

“What’s the problem, then?”

“I sort of fantasized about someone . . . unexpected.”

She shrugs. “That’s totally normal. Was it an older man?”

I shake my head.

“Older woman?”

I shake my head.

“Was it an—” she mouths the word, “Alien?”

“It was Eli.”

“Who?”

“Andrew’s best friend. The new coworker?” I take a sip of water, and its gross and warm, not refreshing at all. “The hot new coworker,” I clarify.

“Ohhhh.” She looks thoughtful. “Maybe you should sleep with him, then.”

I shake my head vehemently.

“So, avoid him.”

I hiccup. “I might have invited him. Here.” I tap the top of the bar with my fingertip. “He might come here.” I’ve been surreptitiously looking around the bar ever since we arrived, seeing if I could spot him. But it’s so crowded and dark he could be any one of these undulating blobs of people.

“Sounds like you might want to do something with him, then.”

“No, I think he was just there, and he mentioned he hadn’t been out in a while and I asked before thinking about it.”

She looks like she wants to discuss this more, but decides not to push it. “Don’t worry about it.” She looks around the bar. “You can find someone else here.”

“I don’t want to have sex with someone in this bar tonight.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, obviously.” She swivels toward me on her stool. “But, like I said before, you need to expand that zone of comfort at least a little.”

I must be looking at her like I don’t know what she could mean because she adds, “Maybe you kiss someone?”

“There’s no one here—” I burp. “I want near my mouth.”

“Come on. Won’t know for sure until we scope out the entire place. At the very least you need to talk to someone.” She stands up from her stool, gripping the side of the bar to remain upright. “Let’s mingle.”

The bar is very narrow and so full that we have to elbow our way to the back.

This place is so old, I don’t think they’ve changed the décor in decades.

The lights hanging over the pool tables probably haven’t been dusted since the Reagan administration, and there’s decades of cigarette smoke baked into the green felt.

Rett suddenly grabs my arm in a tight grip. “I see potential. Those two.” She nods to a couple of guys leaned against the wood paneled walls. They look perfectly fine, I guess, but I don’t feel any kind of invisible tug drawing me to them.

I groan. “I don’t want to.” I’m drunk and sleepy and fighting the urge to stomp my feet like a toddler. “I want to go home.”

She grabs me by the shoulders. “You can do this. You can try.”

She’s right. I’m never going to move on if I don’t try. Hierarchy of Fun and all. “Fine. But I’m gonna go pee first.”

I navigate my way through the crowd and luckily the bathroom is available. As I wash my hands, I take a look at myself in the mirror.

Do I want to kiss someone tonight?

I touch up my lipstick. Kissing might be nice. Kissing might be very nice. I look deeply into my dazed eyes. “If kissing is meant to happen, it will happen,” I say out loud to myself. The universe will send me a sign.

I come out of the bathroom to find the door has been barricaded by a couple making out in front of it.

There is my sign, I guess.

“Excuse me,” I say, trying to gently nudge them out of my way. But they just push toward me. I may die of suffocation via the mass of dark hair currently shoved in my face. Her hair smells good, though. Like coconut. I wonder what kind of shampoo she uses.

I give them another push, a little less gentle this time. But they seem to take this as invitation because the next thing I know the guy has raised his head from the woman’s face and he smiles at me.

The woman looks back at me and her face lights up. “Oh my god, you’re so pretty.” She says reaching out to touch my forearm. “I love your hair.” She twirls a lock of my hair around her finger.

“Thank you,” I say. “I like yours too. It’s smells amazing. What kind of sham?—”

“Faye?”

I look over to see Eli standing next to me with an amused grin on his face.

The couple realizes I won’t be joining in, so they get back to making out. I turn to Eli and I mean to give him a side hug, but it’s so crowded and I’m so wobbly that it ends up being what can best be described as a drunken pat down of his abdominal region. “Hey, you came!”

He nods to the interlocked couple. “You having a good time?”

“I think I was in the early stages of joining a threesome.”

He laughs. “Sorry to interrupt. Should I make myself scarce, then?”

“No, not sure I’m ready for that stage in my fun journey.” I gaze wistfully back at them. “Although I really wanted to know her haircare routine.”

I look around, wondering where Rett is. She’s probably worried I’ve made my escape.

I spot her talking to the two guys she pointed out, and she makes eye contact with me.

I give her a questioning look and we do a pantomime to each other in which I tell her I’m coming over there and she shakes her head and points to Eli.

That’s right, she doesn’t know who Eli is, thinking he’s some random guy I’ve met in line for the bathroom.

This gives me an idea. The sooner I complete this mission, the sooner I can go home.

And if he’s anything like he used to be, he’ll be game for the shenanigans and will probably think my idea is funny.

I turn to him. “I could use a favor.”

He looks down at the hand I didn’t even notice I’d placed on his forearm. “Sure, what’s up?”

His skin is warm and taut, covered in hair that I can feel beneath my fingertips.

I’m suddenly on the verge of throwing up, not from alcohol, but from a rush of nerves.

What am I thinking? I was just having a crisis about the very fact that I can’t do those kinds of things with him.

I remove my hand finger by finger. “Actually, never mind.”

“What is it? How can I help?”

His eyes are so kind, full of concern and a hint of curiosity.

It makes what I’m about to say all the sillier. I take a deep breath, and my words come out in a rush. “I need you to pretend to flirt with me so I can pretend to flirt with you so I can go home to my nest.”

I don’t mention the kissing part, hoping Rett will be satisfied with just the flirting.

He arches a brow. “Okay . . .”

I look over to where Rett is standing, and she gives me an encouraging nod.

“See that redhead over there?” I point to Rett’s direction and then move so that we’re turned away from her.

“She told me I can’t go home until I . .

. ki—flirt with someone. And I’m tired and don’t feel like having to talk to someone new. ”

He has an intrigued expression. “Alright. What specifically did you have in mind?”

“Just . . .” I look around. “Oh! I know.” I sway a little and catch my balance on the wall. I gesture to an empty pool table. “You can show me how to play pool. In a . . . flirty manner.”

He reaches a hand out, cupping my elbow to steady me. “A flirty manner?”

“Yeah, like in the movies where you stand behind me and teach me how to line up a shot. And say things like . . . ‘Wow, Heaven must be missing an angel tonight,’ or whatever.”

He brings his head down to my left ear so I can hear him better. “Is that how you like to be flirted with?”

The deep rasp of his voice sends sparks straight to my belly button, obliterating all feelings of drunkenness and replacing them with other feelings. Like, I haven’t had sex or even kissed someone in—I’m too drunk to do the actual math—way too long, feelings.

I brush the thought away. Flirting is one thing, but to kiss him would be crossing some kind of line I don’t have the brainpower to think about right now. It’s just the tequila talking.

I already forgot what he asked me. Oh yeah, do I like to be flirted with like that? “Um, I think so?”

“If memory serves, you already know how to play pool. I remember you kicking my ass once or twice.”