Missed Connections

Missed Connections: Chapter 15

By Sunday, the sense of betrayal has faded and I'm looking forward to going out with Pete and dancing. The bar we're going to is new, which is always either great or a horror show—never a happy medium—but Jack is DJ'ing, so at least the music will be good. My outfit for the night is a pair of jeans so inky purple they're almost black and a silvery-gray T-shirt.

I slide on a pair of buckled, red, high-heeled boots and a belt the same color to go with my highlights. Maybe it's too matchy, but it makes me feel good.

I must have done all right, because Pete had no criticisms when he picked me up, other than "You should have worn a skirt to show off your legs." We get the cab driver to switch the radio to an indie station we love, so when we pull up to the bar, we're already bouncing.

"How's your weekend been?"

How much should I tell him? It's way early days to talk about Blake and me. Besides, I don't know where that's going yet. I could tell Pete about the stealing debacle, but I'm tired of feeling bogged down with negativity. "It's a whole lot better now."

"Awww." He squeezes my arm. "I feel like I never see you anymore."

"I know." I climb out of the cab. "But I bet your couch is happy to have seen the last of me."

"Yes. I do love you, but I'm glad to have my man cave back."

"You mean the cave of masculinity where you dance around in your thong?"

"Yup."

We've always been honest with each other, but reality presses close to me for a second. Pete would let me come back to his place in a second if I lost this job, but if the situation with Inner Space goes pear-shaped, I don't want to have to go back to Pete's. I'm going to have to try harder to fit in at work and gain a little security. And I've been letting Phyllis get to me too much. I refuse to let her chase me away from what's actually a decent-paying job. She's not a criminal mastermind, and I can out-Zen her every day of the week.

My resolve makes me strut a little harder, and Pete and I enter the club with flare, flash our IDs, and get stamped.

Specific parts of my body register Jack's presence before my eyes do. The T-shirt and low-slung jean combination was invented so he could own it. It says a lot about him that he hasn't changed much despite finding obvious financial success. He doesn't go around flashing cash to impress people. "Pete, Sarah, hey. I got us drinks." Jack hugs Pete and then me, and my hands itch to wander south instead of keeping in the friend zone. Why is it getting harder to keep my hands to myself around him? Because he's fuck-hot and a great guy.

But Pete is family. A part of me knows that if Jack and I dated and then broke up, I'd lose Pete too. That's a scenario that can never happen. Pete means too much to lose because of casual sex. Trouble is, the more I hang out with Jack, the more I want.

Looking everywhere but Jack's face is easier tonight since the club is one we've never been to before.

Honestly, I can't see us coming back very often. The club has a calculated roughness that screams "bar fight." Not to judge the clientele by their covers, but the body language is tense for an opening night when we're all supposed to be having a good time celebrating the owner's success. Or maybe I'm just projecting my tension onto everyone else.

Fortunately Jack leaves to play his set a few minutes later. Right away the music improves.

"I love this song." I tap Pete's arm. "Dance?"

"You go ahead. I'll watch the table and get a head start on the drinking."

"Do a shot for me."

"I will." He puffs out his stomach and pats it. "I'm drinking for two!"