My Life in Shambles(10)

“What?” Angie says, gesturing wildly. “Just because I’m a single mom doesn’t mean I can’t have fun. This is the first real vacation I’ve had since Tabby was even born and now Tabby is with Mom, so I just want to let loose tonight, preferably with someone else and someone Irish.”

“What are we, chopped liver?” Sandra asks.

“Look, before anyone gets carried away, I say we have the rule that no one brings anyone back to the room,” I tell them. Especially since Sandra and Angie are sharing the bed and I’m on the couch. “You want to go get laid, go out there and stay out there.”

Angie laughs. “I’m glad I have your permission. Though maybe you’re the one who needs it most of all.”

“What about me?” Sandra asks, perching on the edge of her stool.

Now Angie and I are exchanging looks and rolling our eyes. “Right,” Angie says. “Like you need a guy. Every week I see those stupid gossip accounts on Instagram talking about you and whatever hot actor or musician of the moment.”

“You should know better than to trust everything you read online,” she says, and then they start arguing back and forth about rumors and the tabloids and I know a lot of the digs are being thrown my way, considering reporting on that shit was my job, but I’ve stopped listening. My attention is back across the room and at the bar again.

That guy.

Now he’s looking up. Not in my direction though—his face is tilted toward a blonde, overly orange girl with batting eyes who is chatting excitedly with him. Or should I say, at him. He’s just occasionally nodding at her but I can tell his thoughts are a million miles away and steeped in pain. You can see it plainly in his eyes, these beautiful dark eyes as they search everywhere around the bar except at the girl, either lost in thought or looking for an escape.

How can that girl be so blind? Even though I’m socially awkward at times, I’m good at picking up social cues and moods. Maybe even a little too good—sometimes empathy is a switch you can’t turn off. Still, it’s quite obvious he isn’t interested in her.

“What are you looking at?” Sandra asks, her voice loud and right in my ear.

“Nothing,” I say, but when I glance at her, her eyes have zeroed in on the guy. She doesn’t miss much either. It’s probably why she’s such a great actress.

She lets out a low whistle. “Wow, how come I didn’t see him earlier?”

“He’s been keeping a low profile,” I tell her.

“It looks like he wants to go back to that,” she remarks. “That girl is barking up the wrong tree. He’s probably gay.”

“Sandra, you say that about every guy that isn’t falling for you,” Angie says.

“Hey, I’m not over there. I’m just saying that blondie is drunk and looking for a good time and he couldn’t be less interested.” She looks at me. “Are you thinking about going over there?”

I let out a sharp laugh. “Are you kidding me?”

She shrugs. “Why not? He’s hot. You’re hot.”

“So is that girl. And no. I can just look from afar.”

“But what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Uh, he could say no.”

“Val, that girl isn’t asking him a question, she’s just talking, and I’m sure you’d be quick to pick up on the signals.”

“Yeah, and I’d be picking up on signals that I shouldn’t be talking to him.”

“Sandra,” Angie warns. “Leave Val alone. You should be telling me to go talk to him.”

“Yeah right,” Sandra says through a snort. “Mr. Beard with that hair and I’m pretty sure he’s got tattoos and piercings. He couldn’t be more not your type.”

“And we all know how my type turned out to be.”

Luckily, Sandra drops it after that, and as the evening wears on and the bar gets even more crowded and we’ve had even more cider, I keep watching him. Eventually the blonde girl gives up and moves on to someone else, but then it’s just girl after girl coming up to him. After a while, as everyone inside gets more drunk and the band gets louder and things are really starting to party, guys are coming up to him too.

“How’s Mr. Unattainable doing?” Sandra asks as she looks over at him. “You know he’s someone.”

“Someone?”

“I know those looks, the way people are acting around him. He’s someone famous.”

“I don’t recognize him,” Angie says.

“You wouldn’t recognize Colin Farrell if he stood right here in front of you and gave you a beer and a copy of Total Recall.”

Angie frowns. “He was in Total Recall?”

“He’s probably a sports guy,” I say, my gaze coasting over the wide, broad planes of his shoulders, the strength in his large hands as they grasp his beer. I have to admit, I’m a sucker for a good-looking man but this guy is on another level. He’s handsome, even with a slightly crooked nose and a scar above his eyebrow, but it’s more than that. Maybe I’m just drawn to men who seem to have a lot going on deep inside. Maybe it’s rare that I see a man who looks like he could pick me up with just his pinky finger.

“Probably,” she says. “Considering the amount of men who are looking his way and not in a ‘get the fuck away from my woman’ kind of way. It’s almost as if they’re getting their girlfriends to go talk to him.” She pauses, taking a long swig of her cider. “So you should go talk to him.”