Chaos and Control(24)

“Angela Louise, right? Nice rack.”

She looks down at her cleavage and back to me before tugging at the neck of her shirt.

“Thanks. It’s just Angela. Millie thinks it gives us that small-town feeling including our middle names on our name tags. I think we sound like damn hillbillies.”

I chuckle and tap the bar. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll take a Stella.”

“I’m not sure we even have that.”

“You do. Coach stocks it just for me.”

I grin and dig through the cooler before finding her beer. I pop the top off and set it on the napkin. “You must be a loyal customer.”

“Well, there sure aren’t any other bars fighting for my patronage.” Angela takes a sip of her beer and swivels around to eye the other side of the bar. “Same people, different day. I bet you could take a photograph and in ten years, nothing will have changed.”

“I won’t be here,” I say proudly.

She faces me again and tips her beer in my direction. “Now, that, I believe.”

“I found you in our senior yearbook.”

Angela drops her face into her hand. “Oh, God. The frizzy hair, the braces, the band uniform—what a horror show.”

I chuckle and tap the bar to get her attention. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Wren, my best friend in high school was Mr. Simmons, the janitor.”

“The janitor?” I ask. “No way.”

“Way,” Angela confirms before taking a long sip of beer.

“Well, look at it this way. I’d say you’re most improved.”

She gives me a bright grin and nods her head. “Yeah. Most improved. I’ll take it.”

The rest of my evening is uneventful. Sawyer keeps his distance all night, but it doesn’t stop him from looking. Twice I catch him doing that “staring at me while talking to someone else” thing. The look reminds me of younger days and steamy windows in Sawyer’s truck.

“Looks like you’re back on Logan Sawyer’s radar,” Angela points out when I deliver her third beer.

“I won’t be reliving my youth.”

“On to bigger fish, right?” She pauses, takes a sip and looks back at me. “Preston?”

I don’t answer her.

“Well, that’s a shame,” she says. “Every girl in this town, from eight to eighty, wants to land Sawyer.”

“Even you?” I ask.

“Only since third grade.” She picks at the label on her beer bottle while avoiding my gaze. My eyes widen and shift between her blushing face and Sawyer’s confident one.

“What is it about him that makes every woman go crazy?” I ask.

Angela turns and watches him as Sawyer leans over a pool table to take his shot.

“He’s sexy in that effortless way,” she says. “He’s nice to everyone, charming, and always sincere. He’s loyal to his friends.” Angela pauses and looks at me. “I also think he’s a bit of a secret nerd, which is so hot. He likes to have fun, but he works hard, too. Did I mention that body, and how good it looks in uniform?”

I watch her face go from confident to embarrassed, like she’s revealed too much. I’m impressed with her assessment of Sawyer. She’s right about absolutely everything.

“Wow. All that, huh?” I ask, grinning.

“I’d only kick him out of the bed to do it on the floor.”

I laugh. “Been there. Done that. Stole the John Deere T-shirt.”

Angela chuckles and raises her beer bottle in salute. “Ha. I didn’t know you were so funny, Wren Hart. I guess time away from this place has done you some good.”

I couldn’t agree with her more. Before I realize it, it’s midnight and my shift is over. Coach kicks the last few stragglers out and shows me how to clean up, pull the register till, and lock it in the office. I leave with thirty-two dollars in tips, not bad for a slow night.

“Don’t worry, kid. We’re busier on Fridays and Saturdays.”

“No complaints from me,” I answer. “Tonight was great.”

“Good, good. Well, I think you did just fine. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Six o’clock.”

“See you then,” I say, tucking the cash into my jeans pocket.

I push through the front door and point myself toward Bennie’s. Preston is leaning against the building, scribbling in his notebook beneath the parking lot lights. I let out a little yelp and slap my hand to my chest.

“Preston, you scared me. What are you doing here?”

Coach pokes his head out the door. He looks between Preston and me.

“Everything all right, Wren?” He scrutinizes Preston and waits for an answer.

“Yeah, Coach. It’s fine. My friend just scared me, that’s all. Do you know Preston?”

“Seen you around town,” he says to Preston. He steps outside and extends one hand. “Nice to meet you. Call me Coach.”

Preston stares at Coach’s hand and tucks his notebook into his back pocket. My eyes dart from Coach’s expectant expression to Preston’s panicked one. His hand lingers in his back pocket long enough for me to step in and squash this awkward moment.

“Well, we’ve got to get going. It’s late,” I say. I step between the two men and summon Preston with a wave. “Come on. You’re walking me home.”