Page 46 of Unhitched

Chapter twenty-eight

Mya

I rap my fingers on Kace’s bedroom door, then press my ear against the wood, trying to get a clue to what he’s doing.

I managed to avoid more awkwardness after being rejected this morning, focusing all my effort on acting completely unbothered.

When we got back from the mountain this afternoon, he went to the gym, and I’m pretty sure he went on a run after that.

I was working on my weekly craft project when he got home.

He said hi, but I haven’t seen him since.

He didn’t even come out of his room for dinner.

“Come in,” his muffled voice seeps through the barrier.

I creak the door open and stick my head in. “Hi. Whatcha doing?”

“Working.” His eyes remained trained on the right of his three computer screens.

“But it’s Saturday.”

With his hand still on the mouse, he leans back in his ergonomic chair and glances at me. “Weren’t you working earlier? ”

“Yes. But it’s dark out now. Work is over. Let’s do something fun.” I’m tempted to leave on my own, but I’m desperate for things to not be awkward or distant between us.

“My work is fun.”

“Yeah. So is reading a phone book. Stop being annoying,” I sass, pushing the door open more so I can stand inside his room.

My eyes flick to the perfectly made bed, and my thoughts go rogue and dirty, wanting to mess it up.

I focus back on Kace, taking a step backward.

It’s already hard enough being in the room next door when he doesn’t want me back, so until further notice, his bedroom is a hot lava pit I refuse to step on for fear of losing the game.

His hands fall to his lap. “What do you want to do?”

“We could go to a bar?” I know exactly which one I want to go to, so I hope he says yes.

“Not really a bar kind of guy anymore.” I was afraid he’d say that.

“Okay, but hear me out. There’s this new bar–they modeled it off the concept of one in New York City.

It’s made for millennials. It opens at five and closes at ten.

There won’t even be babies at the bar begging them to play sucky music.

” I make my eyes look as hopeful as possible, praying I can guilt him into going with me.

“Come on, Kace! Evolve with the times,” I tack on as a last-ditch effort.

“I’m not a Pokémon.”

“If you were, you’d be Charmander. Sometimes you’re sad and lonely, and I'm worried about your flame going out.”

He smirks. “You don’t want to go with Chloe instead?

” I already asked Chloe, and she’s not available tonight.

It’s times like these that I wish my sister lived closer and we could do baby-raising things together, but that’s not reality.

And if I’m being honest with myself, the person I want to go with most is sitting in front of me.

I’ve just been working up the courage to ask him after already being rejected once today.

“No. It’s okay though. I can go alone. It’s within walking distance. ”

“Fine. I’ll go,” he says, and I can’t for the life of me tell if I’ve genuinely convinced him or if he feels obligated.

“Really?!” My grin widens, and he chuckles. “Yay!” I throw my hands up in victory. “First round is on me.” I leave his room to get ready but get the distinct feeling that he’s shaking his head behind me.

Twenty minutes later, Kace and I walk into the bar, and I’m already in love.

In the entryway is a giant circular mirror, made to look like the back of a CD with thin lines in repeating circles and a surface reflective enough to see my light, distressed jeans, white, thin-strapped crop top and sneakers.

I love the subtleness of my dangling pink heart belly button ring, but I bet the Playboy bunny one I had when I first got the piercing would be a hit here.

“Kace!” I exclaim, not even caring that I’m already an embarrassing level of hype for the nostalgia that I know is coming our way.

“Hmm?” He pulls his attention from where he’s already looking into the room.

“Take a picture with me please?” I give him puppy dog eyes, hoping we’ll skip the whole part where we bicker before he gives in.

“Sure.”

I want to scream, jump up and down and dance like Jenna Rink, but I don’t give Kace a single second to change his mind.

Pulling my hot pink digital camera from my fanny pack, I hold the silver on button until our reflection in the CD appears on the screen.

Kace smirks for only a second before he hides it away.

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket, and between that and his jeans, he looks so hot.

I smile wide, throwing up a peace sign before I snap the picture.

I don’t bother checking the photo before sliding my camera back into my bag.

I don’t plan on posting it anywhere–it’s just for me and the delusional version of myself that wants to pretend Kace is mine .

“Thanks.” I beam up at him. He gives me a small nod and holds his hand out for me to lead the way into the dark bar. It’s pure chaos and magic.

“Fucking hell, I already have a headache,” Kace complains as the server walks by with a plate of food that looks like something Shaggy and Scooby would eat.

I spin slowly on my heel, taking it all in. Instead of overhead lights, the high-top tables are bordered with rope lights, giving the room a neon-blue glow.

I clamp onto Kace’s arm, his hands shoved in his pockets, and drag him toward the bar.

Slipping into an empty space, I examine the bartop.

It’s hundreds of VHS tapes lined up and set in epoxy.

When I look up, the bartender slides a floppy disk coaster in front of each of us.

“What can I get you two?” he asks, looking casual in his jeans and tan T-shirt that says, “I’m tired of this, grandpa. ”

I peek at Kace to see if he’s finding amusement in this the way that I am. Instead of paying attention to the bartender, he’s scanning the VHS spines. I rest my chin on my palm. “Anything fun?”

He nods to the space behind him where the specials project onto the wall.

I look toward its source to see an overhead projector with the cocktail menu written on a transparent sheet.

“The Cool Runnings Cocktail is peach schnapps, white rum, blue curacao and pineapple juice, and the Cheaper by the Dozen is basically an Adios, Motherfucker.”

“Oooh.” I link my arm through Kace’s, not respecting his personal space. “Kace, what do you want?”

He looks over at me, letting me stay close to him, then directs his attention to the bartender. “We’ll take one of each, please.”

“Coming right up,” the guy says. “Are you hungry at all? They made a Bruce Bogtrotter chocolate cake that’s pretty fucking good.”

Cake with alcohol doesn’t sound good, but like…

“She’ll have a slice. Thank you,” Kace says .

I snap my gaze to him as the bartender walks away. Without permission, I snuggle against his arm. “You’re the best roommate. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“No,” he responds in all seriousness, and I remember that his ex has been his only roommate. I’m suddenly so sad for him if she never gave him that impression. He is the easiest person to live with.

“Well, you are.” I pull away from him, immediately missing his warmth. “Do you want to sit at the bar? Or find a table?”

“Here is fine.” He gestures in front of us, and we slide onto the barstools.

I swivel my head to take in the rest of the room.

At the end of the bar is another employee dressed in the 13 Going on 30 dress .

The woman next to her is in tight blue jeans and a USA-branded cropped shirt, and I immediately know what she’s going for when she climbs onto the bar and sprays something straight from the soda gun and into the Solo cups of a few customers.

In the far right corner, there’s a fenced area that looks like a boxing ring, except there are three people dressed in fake sumo wrestler outfits crashing into each other and falling over into giggle fits.

“Ever seen Blank Check ?” our bartender asks, setting our drinks on the floppy disk coasters in front of us.

“Yes,” Kace and I say simultaneously, which tickles me so much for some reason.

“That’s the idea over there. Games you thought would be epic as a kid but couldn’t afford.

” He’s giving us the scoop like it’s obvious we’ve never been here.

“And over there–” he points to the end of the room on our left, “is more handheld games.” Kace and I follow his gaze to the pull-down screen with 1080° Snowboarding projected on it.

There are a couple of guys on the floor sitting on bean bags really into their game.

“Video games. Bop it. Legos. Operation. Hungry Hungry Hippos. ”

“Basically that scene from The Santa Clause 2 where he makes all their childhood dream toys appear?” I respond in half-statement, half-question.

“Exactly. Let me know if you need anything,” he says.

As soon as he walks away, another guy in a “Vote for Pedro” shirt appears behind us with a metal platter covered in a giant slice of chocolate cake.

I meet his gaze. “Oh my gosh. Thank you.” He sets it on the bar top in front of us. When he disappears, I reach for the two forks and hand one to Kace. He takes it from me, but he doesn’t make a move to try it.

I, on the other hand, don’t mind if I do. I stab through the creamy chocolate frosting and into the fluffy cake for a bite. “ Oh my Lantaaaa ,” I practically moan as I chew. “Kace. This is so good.” I glance over at him, noticing he hasn’t moved. He’s just watching me. “Don’t you want some?”

His eyes snap to mine like he’s shaken from his trance.

Without a word, and still leaning back in his bar seat, he reaches his fork to break off a piece of cake.

I watch him bring it to his mouth, chew and swallow.

Even in the faint lighting, I can see the way his throat works when he swallows, and his tongue peeks out to lick some rogue frosting off his lip, and right then and there, I realize that he’s the person I want to do everything or absolutely nothing with.

I could sit here in this bar, partaking in nothing except enjoying his company, and I’d be the happiest girl in the room.

“What?” he asks, even though he’s watching me watch him, and I’m pretty confident it's apparent I want him.

The song changes, and I tip my head as if it’ll help me listen to the music coming from the speakers. “Holy nostalgia.” I grin. “Here (In Your Arms)” by Hellogoodbye. “This song smells like Hollister.”

Kace chuckles, and we reach our forks for another bite so in sync that the tines clink.

Two of my prongs get stuck around one of his, and the split second it takes to pull them apart sends tension racing through me.

We’re so close, yet so far all at once, and being around him is the easiest and hardest thing I’ve ever done. Without a word, we maneuver our bites.

I chew and swallow, glancing around the room. “I forgot about our drinks!” I reach for both of them, one in each hand. I bop them up and down as I sing, “I got two drinks. I got two drinks. I got two drinks. Hey Hey!”

“Would you like me to get you a pickle?” He tries to hide his smirk behind another bite of cake, but my smile widens, so satisfied he caught my reference. “Which one do you want?”

He sets his fork down. “Whichever one you don’t.”

I ping-pong my gaze between the two, deciding I’ll try both.

They’re both blue from Curacao, so I’m not sure which is which, but I try the one in my left hand first. My eyes widen, and I choke a bit.

This must be the AMF because it's straight liquor. “That’ll make you give back something you didn’t steal,” I say, blinking away the moisture in my eyes.

Kace smirks as I taste the other one. “Oooohhh.” The pineapple and peach flavors flood my taste buds.

“Yum.” I hold out both drinks for him. “Could this place get any better?”

He reaches for the glasses, and our fingers brush during the exchange. The touch sends butterflies fluttering across my skin. As if on cue, a multi-colored disco ball lights from above, the colored beams streaming from the ball like Carrigan from Casper crossing over.

“Change my address.” I throw my hands up. “I live here now.”

“Finally I get my space back,” Kace teases, setting the drinks on the bar top.

“Hey, rude.” I lean in to poke his arm, but the second I move closer, I immediately regret it because all I want to do is kiss him. “Umm. I have to pee. I’ll be right back.” I barely catch his furrowed brows before I slide off the barstool and find my way to the bathroom.

Since I’m already there, I might as well pee, so I slip into one of the stalls. After I finish, I reach for the lock but freeze.

“Did you see that guy at the bar?” A high-pitched squeal comes from in front of the sink.

“He’s so hot. Do you think he’s single? God, finding good men at thirty is harder than finding Waldo,” another woman adds.

I lean forward slowly, just enough to spy.

Through the crack, I can barely make out the giant pink neon light sign on the wall that says, “You’re Beauty and You’re Grace.

” My stomach flips. Normally I’d be all over the decor and filing it away in my mental Pinterest board, but only being able to think about Kace is preventing compartmentalization.

Plus, I’m pretty sure these three women are talking about the guy I’m sick over.

“I don’t know. There was some girl with him a few minutes ago. But it didn’t necessarily look like they were in a relationship.”

“Maybe they aren’t into PDA, but did you see the way he was looking at her? They’re definitely together.” Oh. I guess they aren’t talking about Kace. I’m losing my mind making assumptions over here.

“We should find out. DIBS!” One of the girls screams. “I saw him first.”

“No way! You know men in bomber jackets are my weakness. And did you see his hair? It’s flawless. His perfectly trimmed facial hair too? God, what I’d do to feel that between my thighs.”

The three girls giggle, and I feel like I might be sick. Pressing my forehead against the back of the stall door, I close my eyes and take a breath.

“Fine, but if you strike out and it turns out blonde is his type, I get him.”

“Deal.”

I peek through the crack again, watching them simultaneously turn to the mirror to reapply their lip gloss. They leave the bathroom with a walk that says they think they’re cooler than Paris Hilton in a Juicy tracksuit, and it’s not until the door clicks behind them that I come out of the stall.