Burned(6)

“Can we change the subject? I don’t want to think about this right now. I just want to drown myself in cheap beer and hope I don’t run into anyone else I knew from my teenage years,” I tell Phina with a smile.
“Got it. No more talk about the king of the douchebags. How about we discuss how hot you’re looking tonight? Did you put extra effort into your appearance just for me?” Phina asks with a wag of her eyebrows.
I look down at myself and feel a twinge of embarrassment over the amount of time I spent making myself look good tonight. With a pair of tiny black shorts, killer black stilettos that bring my already tall five-foot seven frame up a few inches and a backless black and white tank top that ties around my neck, I feel good. My long, wavy chestnut hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, my bangs are swooped down over one eye and I added a little more make-up than normal, giving myself a smoky eye with black eye shadow and bold red lips. For the first time in a long time, I feel sexy. According to the courts, I’m officially separated, but I didn’t do this to attract male attention. I did this for me.
I’m not going to lie, though. Seeing a few men in the bar doing a double take when I walked in was great for the self-esteem.
“Come on, let’s head out to the patio and get some fresh air,” Phina tells me as she picks up both of our drinks from the bar and starts to head towards the front door that leads out to the wooden patio overlooking the parking lot.
When I told her that being here made me feel old, I wasn’t lying. We used to come to this place every Thursday night during college as soon as we were of drinking age. We live in a small town where everyone knows everyone else and you were guaranteed to run into a handful of people you knew every time you turned around. In college, it was wonderful. We got to see friends from high school who all went away to college and were home on break and people who moved to another state and came back for the holidays. I always came here with Jordan and it created a sense of pride to walk into this place with him and show everyone that we’d done it—we’d defied the odds and made a high school romance last. Now, walking through this bar that has the same green walls, the same old jukebox in the corner and the same rickety patio, I feel like a failure. Nothing here has changed and yet everything has changed for me. I’m embarrassed to run into someone we might recognize and have them look at me with that knowing look in their eyes that says ‘We knew it wouldn’t work. High school romances never do.’ The fact that I’m more worried about what people will think than I am about my marriage falling apart tells me that I did the right thing.
I follow Phina to the only table on the patio that isn’t currently occupied. The barstools have been taken by another table, so we make do with just standing next to it.
“Hottie at your six. Don’t turn around,” Phina whispers conspiratorially as she takes a sip of her drink and looks over my shoulder.
“How am I supposed to confirm his hotness if I can’t turn around?”
“Damn, he’s got a great ass. Come on, pretty boy, turn around so momma can see your face,” she mutters, completely ignoring me.
I shake my head at her and signal to the waitress at the next table that we need another round of drinks.
“Oh, shit. Oh, holy f*ck. Oh, my God there is no WAY that’s him,” Phina swears.
I look at her in confusion and start to turn around to see what’s got her so riled up when her hand clamps down on my arm. “NO! Don’t turn around. I repeat, do NOT turn around.”
“What the hell is your problem?”
Phina quickly ducks her head and hides her body in front of mine. “Shit. You are NOT going to believe who is at the table behind you.”