Fake Dark Vows

5

The bartender has been lingering over the customer closest to us, following our interaction with a lopsided smile on his face. All around us, eager faces are turned our way, sensing the argument brewing.

“Hey, guys.” Mindy, looking utterly gorgeous, appears next to Jess. “What’s going on? What did I miss?”

“We’re leaving,” Jess says. “This bar is a little overcrowded.”

“But I just got here.” Mindy is still talking and glancing over her shoulder at Mr. Weiss as Jess leads her away.

I chance one final look at him before I follow them. Our eyes meet, only it isn’t anger I see in them, it’s something else. Pity perhaps? I walk away and I don’t look back.

CHAPTER 3

Brandon

“Courtesy of the lady at the other end of the bar.” The bartender slides a shot glass toward me and gestures with a nod at a young woman sitting alone on a bar stool, a small, beveled glass filled with the same amber liquid in front of her.

I raise my glass and down it in one. The alcohol burns as it goes down; I loosen my tie and unfasten the top couple of buttons of my shirt. My ruined jacket is tossed over the back of the stool. I don’t care about the suit—I’ve an entire walk-in closet full of them at home—it’s the mental images of the janitor’s daughter I can’t shake.

The city is filled with women like her, women who assume that their beauty will excuse their behavior and open doors for them. It wouldn’t surprise me if the whole meet-cute with the kid was planned from the outset. She probably saw me exit the elevator and whispered in the child’s ear to run over and grab my attention as a precursor to her own introduction.

Earlier, I’d compared her to Kelly because of the honey-blonde hair and the dazzling smile, but that’s where the resemblance ends. Kelly is more discreet for starters. She would never have caused a scene in a crowded bar to prove a point because she always hated attention.

That isn’t it though. The janitor’s daughter—two near-misses and I still don’t know her name—doesn’t strike me as someone who enjoys attention either. She’s not what I’d call striking. The woman hugging the shot glass at the other end of the bar is more striking, but instantly forgettable.

I accept a refill from the bartender and knock it back.

The table behind me erupts with laughter. Their conversation has meandered from a recent vacation in Mexico to an upcoming Knicks game to one of the women not being able to release the fuel cap on her car at a station outside of town.

“The guy looked at me like I shouldn’t have been in control of an Audi,” she says, her voice rising above the laughter.

The kind of banal topics Kelly would’ve followed with avid interest.

I stare at the bottom of the empty glass, at a smear of amber, attracting the spotlights behind the bar, and wait for their voices to fade.

It’s the way she didn’t back down. She knew who I was, and she still looked me in the eye and chose not to apologize, perhaps because she knew her friend would back her up.

“Bad day?”

The voice belongs to shot-glass woman who has taken advantage of the empty seat next to me.

“I’ve had better,” I say, appealing to her maternal instinct. Seems to work every time; women can’t get enough of a guy who’s not afraid to reveal some emotions.

I order two more shots with a nod at the bartender.

“My sister works for you.”

As chat-up lines go, it’s original. Not one I’ve heard before.

“Julia?” she says, waiting for me to connect the dots. “I’m Wren, J’s little sister.”

I study her face, the familiar smile and wide gray eyes.

It’s strange how in some people, features seem to meld together to create an attractive image, while in others, there appears to be something lacking. The features work on Wren. Her dark hair is loose, framing her face with perfect bangs, her makeup is smoky and in complete contrast to Julia’s natural, fresh-faced look that she wears to work.

“Wren.” I repeat the name, getting a feel for it on my tongue, and clink my glass against hers. “Are you here alone?”

“Julia isn’t with me if that’s what you’re asking.”

It’s good enough for me. “You want to get out of here?”

She smiles like she thought I would never ask, and I grab my jacket, slide off the stool and wait for my spinning brain cells to settle down. Wren’s smile widens when I offer her my hand. Julia has never mentioned her little sister—what we do outside of the office remains outside of the office. I don’t bring my personal life into the workplace, and I expect my colleagues to conduct themselves in the same manner. Yet it irks me now, although I don’t understand why.

We weave our way through the crowds and step out onto the street. The cool air hits me, and I sway a little, the buildings moving in and out of focus. I’m way drunker than I thought.

“My apartment is a couple of blocks away,” Wren says.

“Wren, pretty name.” My tongue feels thick inside my mouth, and I can’t be sure, but I think my words are slurring. “Did I just say that out loud?”

Wren shakes her head, a movement I’m struggling to follow with my cotton-candy brain, and giggles. It’s a nice sound, not irritating or nasal like some giggles … this is more like a gurgling brook, one I could dive straight into and come up smiling.

“You said that out loud too,” she says, her grin lighting up her face.

“I’ll be quiet now.”

“Can you walk and be quiet at the same time?”

She loops her arm through mine and leads the way, and I walk with her, concentrating on the feel of her left breast through her flimsy dress. She isn’t wearing a b*a. Her perfume is light and floral, not overpowering, more inviting. Come closer, it whispers in my ear.

“You smell good.”

“I bet you say that to every woman you meet, huh?”

She’s right.

“No.” I shake my head and regret it instantly. “Only the ones who smell good.”

She props me up against the exterior wall of an apartment building while she finds her key and opens the front door. I follow her inside. A sensor-activated light flickers on in the narrow hallway, but I’m too busy staring at the nape of Wren’s neck to pay attention to my surroundings. She has a tiny bird tattoo behind her left ear.

Tossing my jacket onto the floor, I reach out and stroke it with my finger. Her flesh is warm and smooth, and she tilts her neck, inviting me in. I don’t need to be asked a second time. My lips brush the ink behind her ear, and a soft groan escapes her lips.

The need to have her overtakes everything else.

I press her up against the wall, my body flat against hers, and find her mouth with my tongue. She tastes like whisky mixed with something sweeter. I suck her tongue, my fingers drifting towards her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her squirm. She obliges, and I smother her mouth with mine, breathe into her, combine her oxygen with mine until I feel her body relax.

My head is swimming and I ride it like the Bahamas surf. Make it part of the experience. I use my free hand to tug her dress up over her thighs. She’s n***d underneath.