For You(24)
Author: Mimi Strong

Toward the end of my shift, Sawyer hadn’t shown, and I was regretting not letting him kiss me. I replayed the moment in my head, over and over, only with me crushing my lips to his, drinking him in as I wrapped my hands around him and up into his hair.

Lana was in a weird mood, mixing things in the blender again, but I only had a couple of small drinks. After my shift, I had the entire evening off, as Bell was staying with her grandmother overnight, in her new Princess-on-Vacation room. It just was my grandfather’s office, with the sofa made into a small bed, but they’d put up pink curtains over the brown ones, and flowered wall decals.

At the end of my shift, I was grabbing my purse to go when a tall young man with dark wavy hair walked in. I cursed this new doppelganger, but this time, it actually was Sawyer, and my heart sang at the sight of him.

“I was in the area,” he said. “Thought you might like a lift home.”

We stared at each other, neither one acknowledging the near-kiss the previous day.

“That’s nice of you to offer,” I said.

“That’s what friends do.”

“So it is.” And we were friends, except I was staring at his lips, thinking about kissing him.

Lana, who was still messing around at the blender, stopped and looked up at us both with big, hopeful eyes. “Don’t go home!” she said to Sawyer. “Aubrey’s got the night off. You two should go out dancing. Shake your tail feather.”

Sawyer smirked my way. “I don’t think Aubrey has a tail feather.”

“All the more reason to shake it,” Lana said.

“My band’s playing,” he said. “That band I play bass for sometimes. They’re playing not far from here.”

“What kind of music?”

“It’s hard to describe. They have a lot of influences, but the sound is unique, yet also familiar, in that way great music feels familiar.”

“Country?”

He laughed. “I said they’re playing not far from here. Not out in Langley.”

I shrugged, feeling stupid. A lot of the people I knew back home were into country music, but I always forgot it wasn’t so popular here. You had to go further east, away from the city, to find country bars.

“I should just go home. Can you give me a ride home?”

He grinned. “Sure. We can go to your place after we go hear some good, non-country music.”

My mind tripped over him saying “go to your place.” I imagined him in my apartment, kissing me at the front door, then coming in… and undressing me. His mouth on my skin. His hands on my body.

Lana latched onto me, her arm around my waist. “Fun! Don’t you think, Aubrey? Wow, I’d go if I were you.”

Sawyer said, “You can come too. All of us are friends, right?”

Lana pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “The big guy’s got me working ’til closing. You know how it is.” She mimed cracking a whip.

Bruce was behind the bar messing around with the draft taps as usual. He was barely taller than me, but she and some of the other waitresses called him big guy as a term of affection.

Sawyer nodded over at the pool table, where some college kids were laughing and playing a very sloppy game with no apparent rules. “Get any practice in today?”

“I’m comfortable enough over there,” I said.

“Good.” He turned back toward the door, glancing back once to make sure I was coming.

Outside, the night was like a blanket that was supposed to be black but had been washed many times. The lights of the city drifted up in a haze, so you could see the stars only if you looked straight up. I didn’t miss the complete, broad view of the stars that much, since they always made me feel lonely and reverent.

Riding the motorcycle at night felt different, in the way that everything feels more intimate in the dark. There was more distance between us and everyone else, and Sawyer and I felt closer, huddled together on the leather seat, his back my comfort.

He took me to a place that seemed like an alternate universe version of Bruce’s bar.

You wouldn’t know it from the plain-looking exterior, but inside, this bar had an Irish theme, with green-striped paper on the walls above dark woodwork. Framed prints of a rolling-hill countryside dotted with sheep graced the entrance.

A band was already playing, doing a slowed-down version of a song that sounded familiar. This pub was bigger on the inside than it seemed from outside, the opposite of Bruce’s place.

We found a seat and ordered drinks. I still couldn’t place the song, so I asked Sawyer.

He grinned. “Katy Perry.”

“Oh!” I made an exaggerated show of smacking my forehead. The song sounded so different slowed down and sung by a guy. Not bad.

“Wanna dance?” Sawyer nodded over to the tiny dance floor, not much more than a space between tables.

“Lemme warm up.”

“Come on, before our drinks get here.” He jumped up, not taking no for an answer, and wove his way over to the space before the stage. The singer, an otherwise-cute guy with stringy hair, grinned and leaned down to give him a fist-bump, then went back to singing the Katy Perry.

This was the band Sawyer played in sometimes. They were good, I thought, but what did I know?

I didn’t want to dance, but I didn’t feel any more comfortable at the table by myself, so I got up and joined him on the dance floor.

We swayed back and forth, me with my arms stiffly at my sides, him with an easy confidence. He faced the band and sang along with the chorus, then played the air drums for a moment as he made grinning eye contact with the drummer.

I got this strangely intense feeling about him not looking my way, like I was jealous of his love for the band. Which was ridiculous.

The song finished, and they started an eighties song, Summer of Sixty-Nine.

Sawyer gave them the thumbs up and then started clapping.

After a moment of swaying, I leaned in and said, “So, they’re a cover band? That doesn’t seem so hard to describe.”

“This is just the crowd-pleaser stuff. Gotta give the people what they love, make ’em feel smart, singing along with lyrics they know by heart.” He held his arms bent up in front of his chest, wiggling his fists side to side in a cute move as he sang along with the chorus of the Bryan Adams song.

I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to relax, let go. My feet weren’t moving much, I realized, and all my movement was in my hips. I shook one leg and then the other to get them going.

“Nice moves,” Sawyer said, making fun of me.

“At least I don’t dance like this.” I held my arms up at the same angle as his and made a goofy face as I wiggled my fists with the beat.