Welcome To Hawkins

7

I should've shut my mouth and let (y/n) make up an excuse for me. If I had, I wouldn't be sitting shotgun in Mr. (y/ln)'s Cadillac on the way to a fuckin' Country Club. Of course, the alternative would be holding (y/n)'s purse as I sat in uncomfortable chairs at a shopping mall. An equally domesticated nightmare.

"So, Eddie," Mr. (y/ln) doesn't look away from the road as he asks, "What do you do? Professionally."

"Oh--" I know (y/n)  would not  appreciate it if I told him I was focusing on music... "I'm a bartender." Not a lie; not entirely my full-time gig. And not exactly the answer a dad would want to hear.

Mr. (y/ln)'s knuckles whiten as he grips the steering wheel, "A bartender..."

The word bounces around the car.

"And that sort of job can provide for my daughter?" His tone indicates that he already has decided it,  in fact, can not.

Clearing my throat, I try to buy time to think up a better answer. Because, damn, I'm not letting this guy insinuate that I couldn't give (y/n) a good life if I wanted to. He's struck a damn cord, and I'm not going to let him get away with it.

"I make decent enough money. People get generous when tipping at one a.m."

Mr. (y/ln) nods, "But you don't plan on bartending your entire life, I would assume."

He's giving me a chance to impress him. A chance to say I actually plan on working a 9-to-5 at a respectable establishment and buying a house with a white picket fence down the street.

"No. I don't plan on bartending forever." It feels ridiculous to have to admit this. I'm twenty-four; who says I can't bartend for another ten years? Or if I really wanted to, for the rest of my life.

He seems satisfied with my answer, hand reaching towards the radio. "You like Bob Dylan, Eddie?" He asks as he presses the play button.  Is Your Love in Vain?  begins playing softly through the radio speakers.

Not particularly, but I wasn't going to tell him that.

***

"I've brought along (y/mn)'s clubs. I hope you don't mind."

I shrug, hauling the grey bag out of the car trunk.

A man's voice yells out, "(y/dn)! There you are, you lazy son of a bitch." The voice belongs to a tall man with salt-and-pepper colored hair.

"Ken," Mr. (y/ln) shakes the man's hand.

"I thought you had bailed on us."

"Me, bail on a perfect day for a round?"

Ken cackles loudly, smacking Mr. (y/ln) on the shoulder again.

"Well, how about we hop to it?" Mr. (y/ln) begins to close his trunk.

Ken glances behind himself, "Steve's grabbing his clubs."

Perking up at the mention of 'Steve', I notice a tall brunet walking towards us.

"(y/dn)!" Steve grins, shaking (y/n)'s father's hand.

"Steve. How have you been, son?" Mr. (y/ln) grins back, smacking his shoulder.

"Good. Living life," Steve laughs, looking down at his feet before glancing back up. He spots me, eyebrows coming together for a moment before relaxing again, "Who's this?"

(y/dn) looks back at me as if he's forgotten I was around, "Uh-- I'd like you to meet Eddie. (y/n)'s boyfriend."

Steve's demeanor lightens at the mention of (y/n)'s name, " Boyfriend ? You didn't tell me (y/n) was back in town."

"She and Eddie arrived in town about what? A day ago?"

I nod, feeling dumb standing here. So this is the guy (y/n) dated in High School. I didn't peg her for the type to date this.... type of guy. He was-- conventional in every way, a literal son-in-law in the making type. Clearly, the kind that her father  wanted  as a son-in-law.

Unwelcome jealousy creeps up through my chest. Pausing on the internal brooding, I question why I'm so upset over Steve's bond with (y/dn). It wasn't like we were real competition; this was fake! I don't have a good reason to be jealous or upset over (y/n)'s past. And I definitely don't have the right to want to smack that stupid nosy look off this former jock's face.

"You and Ken should come over to dinner tonight," (y/n)'s dad suggests.

"That would be great. My mom is out of town, and you know I love (y/mn)'s potato salad."

***

I'm even worse at this than I anticipated.

"If you square up your shoulders, it should be easier," Steve mentions from behind me as I continue slowing down the group.

Oh, I am so making (y/n)'s life a living hell for forcing me into this. Or at least demanding more than a jacket out of this deal.

Taking another swing, I miss the ball again. A chunk of grass goes flying instead.

" Motherfucker ," I curse under my breath, fighting the urge to throw the stupid club. I hated this.

"What was that Eddie?" (y/dn) asks.

"Oh, nothing," I play off the slip-up, returning to trying to hit the damn ball off the tee.

Who invented this stupid game?

***

The car ride home is quiet, Steve and Ken following behind as we drive. Which I don't mind. This entire experience was-- horrific. But, at least now (y/dn) won't ask me to do something athletic again.

The moment he parks the car in the driveway, I'm out, pulling the borrowed golf clubs into the garage before making my way into the house.

"Oh, Eddie," (y/mn) smiles from the couch, "Dinner's almost done. I think (y/n)'s around here somewhere."

"Oh, great--"

(y/n) walks into the room, distracting me from whatever I was going to say. She's wearing a light sundress, looking like a wet dream come to life. She pauses when she notices me in the living room, a small smile appearing on her face.

"Do you like it?" She does a little turn, the skirt flaring slightly with the movement.

"Uhm--" I feel like my brain's short-circuited as I try to find words, "Yeah. Yeah-- I like it a lot."

(y/n) smiles, whispering, "It's different though, isn't it? I guess I got my karma for buying you clothing outside your comfort zone." I know her mother's watching from the couch. I tug her closer, my hand at her waist as I admire her.

"Yeah, except you look amazing, and I look ridiculous," my voice comes out a lot more breathy than teasing.

(y/n) opens her mouth to say something back right as the doorbell rings. She turns right as (y/mn) opens the door.

"Oh, Steve! What a nice surprise." The bastard steps in holding a bouquet of flowers, embracing my fake girlfriend's mom in a hug.

"Steve--" (y/n)'s eyebrows pinch together, her lips parting slightly before she turns back to me.

"I'm gonna go shower," I give her a weak smile, the hand on her waist squeezing slightly before I retreat back towards the hallway.

Shutting the door behind me, I turn to face the mirror. The ceramic of the countertop feels cold as I lean over the sink to stare at myself. Familiar brown eyes stare back at me, but the emotion they hold is unusual.

Why was I so jealous over (y/n)'s affection towards Steve? It pisses me off to see them continue to embrace their daughter's ex while I've received the semi-cold shoulder. At least from (y/n)'s father.

Seeing (y/n)'s family react so...  positively  towards Steve pissed me off.

What was it the clean-cut guys had that I didn't? No, I didn't have the material things or the physical appearance, but I was a decent person.

If I were actually dating (y/n), they couldn't ask for someone better. It would be my mission to make sure she was happy and loved.

If we were actually together.