Page 27 of How Freaking Romantic

Nathan doesn’t seem to care that Chaps is a gay bar.

He follows me inside, through the clusters of people standing under the rainbow streamers and disco ball, to the long oak bar.

There are two empty stools waiting for us, and I zero in on them immediately, sliding onto one and letting out a contented sigh.

Nathan stands next to the other and leans against the bar’s polished wood.

It isn’t busy yet—at least, not as busy as it probably will be in a couple hours. Still, there’s a good crowd milling around the dance floor, despite the empty stage and DJ booth, laughing and chatting and swaying to some synthesized pop music playing overhead.

I’m studying the drinks menu when the bartender appears and drops two coasters in front of us. He smiles at Nathan.

“Hello there. What can I get you?”

Nathan points in my direction, and the bartender turns to me. His smile falters and something that looks a lot like pity contorts his features as he gives me a once-over.

“I need a drink,” I say, putting my elbow on the bar and resting my cheek in my hand.

“Sweetie, it looks like you need the whole bottle.”

He’s not wrong. “What’s the strongest thing you can make?”

“A martini is just a fancy name for a glass full of vodka, so why don’t we start there.”

“Bless you,” I say solemnly, sure that this man in a pink mesh shirt has just achieved sainthood.

He turns back to Nathan. “And what about you? Are you looking for something strong, too?”

Nathan smiles and shakes his head. “Just a beer. Whatever you have on draft.”

The bartender gives him a playful frown and turns away, grabbing a bottle of vodka. I watch him go, then turn back to Nathan. He’s still leaning his weight against the bar, the long line of his body relaxed.

“You could totally get his number,” I say.

Nathan replies with a lazy shrug.

I roll my eyes. “Oh, that’s right. I’m sure you’re used to it.”

“Why would I be used to it?”

“Please, you know you’re gorgeous.” I don’t mean to make it sound like he has a terminal disease, but it still comes out that way. “You probably have people throwing themselves at you on a daily basis.”

“And you don’t?”

I scoff.

He shoots me a look. “I’m serious.”

“Nathan, I spend every waking minute in class and talking other law students off a ledge. When I’m not doing that, I’m sitting at the neighborhood laundromat dressed like this, studying for the bar. What do you think?”

A line appears between his eyebrows as he stares down at me. The disco ball spins lazily overhead, sending darts of light skimming across his face, illuminating the different shades of blue in his eyes.

“Do you really want to know what I think?”

My heart plummets. Thankfully, I’m saved from having to answer when the bartender returns and places our drinks in front of us. “A martini for the lady and a draft Harp for Paul Newman.”

My mouth falls open. “Oh my God! He does look like Paul Newman!”

The bartender bows his head as if I had paid him the compliment.

Nathan shakes his head and pulls out his wallet. “Keep a tab open.”

He takes Nathan’s credit card and gives him a wink. “No problem, Hud.”

I laugh and take a sip of my drink. When I set the glass back on the bar, I realize that Nathan’s gaze is on my lips.

It sends a hot rush across my skin and panic bubbling up in my chest. We’re already walking a thin line tonight, and I need to claw back control of the situation, so I do the only thing I can think of: go on the offensive.

“What’s going on here?” I ask, nodding to his clothes.

He blinks, and I feel a moment of pride at catching him off guard. “Excuse me?”

I motion my hand vaguely down his body. “This.”

He looks down, then back up at me from under his brow. “The sweatshirt?”

I nod.

“Do you have a problem with sweatshirts?”

“No. I’ve just only ever seen you in suits. This is like seeing you out of uniform.”

Nathan hides his smile behind the rim of his pint glass as he takes a sip. “Well, next time you call and need help, I’ll remember to change before leaving.”

I scoff. “I didn’t need help.”

“Bea, you told me your building had been condemned.”

I swat the words away as if this is a minor detail. “I was handling it.”

“Yes, it looked like it was all under control.”

“It was getting there,” I reply.

He takes another sip of his beer before answering. “Well, you did me a favor.”

“Oh, really?”

“I needed an excuse to put my laptop away, or I would have been up all night doing work.”

“The demand for mutually assured destruction never stops, huh?”

He tosses me a knowing look.

I laugh again, but the sound is lost in the growing cacophony of conversation and music around us. “I guess I don’t have room to talk. I was studying and doing laundry.”

“Yeah, I was wondering about that.”

“About what?”

“It’s Friday night. I thought you would be out with someone.”

“Like on a date?”

“No, like a bank heist,” he says dryly. “Of course a date.”

The comment throws me off-balance, and I open my mouth, trying to find my footing again.

“Well, yeah. I mean, I could have been on a date. But right now I’m busy with school and studying and the job search, so…

” I can feel my cheeks flush, and I dart my eyes away from his.

“It’s not like I’m not having sex. I’m having sex. Like, a lot of sex.”

My voice is so loud and full of such manufactured conviction that the man sitting beside me turns and cringes.

“Okay.” Nathan nods, working to tamp down his smile.

“Yup. Sex with like… you know… people…”

I’m floundering. Totally and utterly lost in a sea of lies and embarrassment, and Nathan is watching, unwilling to even throw me a life preserver.

“What about you?” I finally ask, then take a long sip of my drink.

“What about me?”

“You must be out there,” I say, waving my hand indiscriminately around the room.

Nathan looks around, pursing his lips like he’s considering it. Then he turns back to me. “Not at the moment, no.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been busy with work. Like, a lot of work,” he says, mimicking my tone from a moment before. “So much work with… you know… people.”

I half-heartedly try to suppress my laugh and fail miserably. “Fuck you.”

He smiles back, the dimple appearing on his cheek.

I’m about to ask him why he isn’t out there sleeping with half of Manhattan when a dull ping pulls our attention to my phone. It’s lying face down on the bar, but the light from the screen seeps against the wood.

I want to ignore it, to stay in this pretend world where Nathan and I are friends who get drinks and laugh at each other’s stories, but I know we can’t. Maggie could be responding, so I reach for it and read the waiting text.

“Is that your friend?” Nathan asks.

I let out a long breath and drop my phone back down on the bar. “No. But New York City needs my help to get out the vote this November, so that’s nice.”

It almost looks like he’s relieved, and that sends a rush of excitement through my veins. But why? I want Maggie to get back to me. I want to go up to Cold Spring and have a comfortable place to sleep tonight. But I also don’t want to let him go. Not yet.

“Marcie’s office called me today,” I admit instead.

He cocks an eyebrow at me. “And?”

“She wants to have lunch next week.”

“Why are you making it sound like bad news?”

My eyes go back on the line of liquor bottles behind the bar as I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess it feels a little like cheating.”

“Cheating who?”

“I don’t know.” I sigh, scrunching up my nose. “Like I’m cheating the system .”

“Using personal connections isn’t cheating the system, Bea. That is the system.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s fair.”

“The world isn’t fair.” His voice has taken on that same patronizing edge from that night he drove me home from the bar event. He seems to remember, too, because his expression softens before he asks, “Do you want to work for her?”

“Of course I do.”

“And do you think you would be a good addition to her team?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then that’s all you need to worry about.”

I roll my eyes. “But won’t everyone know? No matter what I do, they’ll say, ‘Yeah, that Beatrice Nilsson is smart, but you know the only reason she got in here, right?’ There will always be an asterisk next to my name.”

“Pace yourself, Bea. You could still bomb this lunch.”

My eyes widen, and I let out a laugh so loud that the people sitting on either side of us turn to look. But I don’t care; I let the sound roll out of me, a cathartic release of all the anxiety trapped inside my body.

“Asshole,” I breathe.

He barely hides his smile as he takes a long sip from his beer.

One drink rolls into two, which rolls into three, and I have no idea how much time passes, but suddenly the music is loud, too loud to hear what we’re saying to each other.

It doesn’t stop us from trying, though, yelling and laughing over the pounding soundtrack.

Bodies crowd around us at the bar—even more undulate together on the dance floor nearby—but I barely notice. My attention is locked on Nathan.

He’s telling a story, leaning in as if it will help, but I still can’t hear a word.

I pretend to listen, though, because it means he will stay there, so close that I can smell the sharp bite of his cologne.

It’s making my mind swim. Or maybe that’s the vodka.

I have no idea, but I suddenly can’t remember the details surrounding why I need to hate him.

I can’t even remember hating him at all.

His story is reaching an intense conclusion when the music fades and a voice booms through the PA system.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome!”

A drag queen walks on the small stage behind us, her green sequined dress reflecting the spotlight and her red wig tall enough to almost touch the ceiling.

“It’s midnight, so you know what that means!” she announces into her microphone. “Trivia time!”

The bar erupts in cheers, and suddenly the bartender is back, passing out sheets of paper and pencils. He offers Nathan a wink when he drops them in front of us, then keeps moving down the bar.

“You know the rules,” the drag queen continues. “Best team name gets you a free round of drinks. Most right answers gets my respect. And also a round of drinks. Everyone got it?”

A collective sound of agreement comes up from around us as Nathan turns back to me. I already have the pencil ready and the paper under my splayed hand.

“Are we playing trivia?” he asks, brow furrowed.

I shoot him an incredulous expression. “Of course we’re playing trivia.”

“Okay,” he says, picking up his glass and taking a sip. “What’s our team name?”

I scrunch up my nose and think for a moment. “Oedipus and the Motherfuckers.”

It looks as if he’s about to spit a mouthful of beer across the bar, and he has to put his glass down. I watch him, biting back a smile. After he finally swallows, he cocks an eyebrow at me. “Where the hell did you come up with that?”

“It was always our trivia team name in college,” I say. He waits for more information but I just shrug. “Like I told you before, Josh was a classics major.”

We fill out the team name as the drag queen onstage announces that the game is beginning. Conversations dull around us, all eyes looking up at her.

“Okay, first question: What reality megastar grew up in Connecticut before moving to New York and marrying into royalty?”

I turn to Nathan slowly, a smug smile on my lips. “We’re totally going to win.”