Fye had changed clothes three time before she had gone to the bar. It wasn't something she had done before; asking a guy to have a drink with her. Not that she lacked the abilities; her sister was the biggest slut she had ever seen. They shared the same blood, so somewhere deep inside she had to know how to hit on a man. She had never been very successful around men. Sure, there had been boyfriends, but they had always taken the initiative.
And now she had made herself pretty for a man whose name she hadn't even known three days ago. Someone she had asked out at the grave of his former lover. She must be nuts. It had never been her intention to ask him out; the question had just slipped her lips. And after he had agreed with modest enthusiasm, she couldn't get away from him fast enough, afraid for a new type of awkwardness.
And now she was sitting here, at a booth in Harvey's, feeling so nervous she was half an hour too early. Every time she glanced at the clock, the hand barely seemed to have moved. Of course she was focusing the attention on herself by sitting here all alone.
After fifteen minutes a man who was at least ten years older than she, felt bold enough to sit down next to her. "You want something to drink honey?" Although it was still early, the smell of alcohol was surrounding him.
"I'm waiting for someone," she answered, hoping he would leave. She kept staring persistently at the door.
"While waiting we can have some fun, right? You and me?"
She shivered when he placed his hand on her knee. Quickly she shook him off. "Leave me alone. I'm not interested."
Again she focused her attention at the door, by now she was mentally begging Juice to hurry up. All she wanted now, was him saving her from this creep as if he was some kind of knight in shining armor.
Luckily the man took his hand away, although he didn't leave the table.
. . .
Finally it was 8 PM. The man was sitting at the bar again, even though she could still feel his scorching gaze. It had been stupid to come so early, all alone. That she felt so nervous, wasn't making any sense either. They would just have a drink together, talk a bit. His fiance had just died, he wouldn't be in for a new romance anytime soon anyway.
The clock showed 8.15.
8.30
9.00
Juice didn't show up.
Again she rejected that nasty guy.
And she was still waiting – maybe he had mistaken the hour.
At 9.30 she stood up and left the bar. Tears were stinging in her eyes. It was ridiculous, crying because of a man she barely knew. But she had waited two hours in a bar for someone who hadn't shown up.
Maybe he had just forgotten. He was mourning; he wouldn't be the first one forgetting things.
But when she didn't see him at the graveyard in the weeks that followed, she understood it had been a conscious choice to stay away from the bar. The only reason he had probably agreed to meet her there, was to get rid of her. And with good reason. Who did that – sitting down next to strangers on a graveyard? He undoubtedly believed that she was strange; he had rescheduled his visits to make sure he wouldn't see her again.
She felt ashamed.
Still she couldn't get him out of her head. Again and again she saw him sitting there, all alone in the rain, cold and numb. It hadn't been some physical attraction that had convinced her to sit down next to him. She had believed there was some connection between them, a connection neither of them understood. Now she realized that it had only existed in her imagination.
It took a lot of effort to stay away from the graveyard at other days. She however knew she would really turn into a creepy stalker if she started to look for him. And so, she let him go, trying to forget him.
It worked – until she drove home after work one day and heard a rattling sound. Pulling up her car at the side of the road, she walked around the vehicle. The tailpipe was hanging down, scraping the asphalt. Sighing, she raked a hand through her hair. How late would the shop close? At five or six?
It was close to half pas five. She had no idea if it was dangerous, driving with a broken exhaustion pipe. The shop however was within a five minute drive, so she put on the direction indicator and headed to Teller-Morrow.
Of course she knew Juice was one of their mechanics. She just hoped he wouldn't call her a stalker, even though she had been here in the past, before she had known him. Still her hands felt clammy when she rolled up the lot.
"Are you already closed?" she asked after rolling down the window. Two men had been talking, their hands covered in grease.
A blonde man leaned towards the car so he could look through the window. "Hey. Uh, actually we are."
"Okay, I'll come back tomorrow. You think driving with a broken tailpipe is a bad idea?"
He glanced at his watch. "If you get me some food at the take away on the corner of the street, I'll fix that car for you."
Fye smiled. That was sweet. "Okay, deal." She got out of the car and handed him the key.
While turning away from him, she heard him say to some young boys that they weren't done yet and that they had to fix her car first.
In a calm pace she headed for the take away, ordering two portions of shawarma. She had no idea how long the reparation would take, so why not getting herself some food?
Back at Teller-Morrow she headed for the workshop. The Son who had told her to get some food was instructing two others, so she walked towards him with the food, not knowing if he wanted to eat it here or somewhere else.
"Those two are getting it done without my help," he told her. Instead of taking the box from her, he nodded towards the door. "Let's sit down."
Fye followed him to the picknick table. After sitting down across from each other, they opened the Styrofoam boxes and started to eat.
"I'm Kip by the way."
"Fye."
They talked a bit about casual things while they were eating. Now and then she caught a glimpse of one of the others Sons in the doorway. Juice however stayed out of sight.
After Kip was done with his food, he returned to the workshop to keep an eye on the two student engineers. Fye gathered the packing material and dumped it in the dumpster close to the door. Once she was there, she couldn't keep herself from peeking inside.
There was a bar around which some men had gathered; furthermore she saw a sitting area and there were some stripper poles on a stage. Around some tables men were sitting, most of them accompanied by one or two half naked girls. One guy was sitting behind his laptop – it was Juice, she realized a moment later.
Not sure what to do, she kept standing in the doorway.
As if he could feel her glance, he looked up. Feeling a little caught, she waved at him.
For a few seconds he stared at her, then he focused on the screen again.
Fye gritted her teeth. That was really rude, and suddenly the indignation arose because he had let her down that night.
She however didn't dare to go inside – maybe their clubhouse was sacred and was she supposed to do some kind of erotic dance before she was allowed in their sanctuary. That would at least explain why all those girls were dressed up like whores.
"Can I help you?" a voice sounded next to her. A chubby guy gave her questioning look, although he didn't look unfriendly.
Her eyes shot back towards the clubhouse. "Could you ask Juice to go outside?"
The man shrugged his shoulders and entered the clubhouse.
Fye turned away from the entrance and sat down at the picknick table, her back towards the clubhouse. She felt crazy for waiting for him again.
"What are you doin' here?"
She looked over her shoulder. There he stood; he blew out a puff of smoke. His voice sounded cold, completely different than it had sounded at the graveyard. The vulnerability he had shown her there, was neither visible this time. It felt like she was looking at his evil twin.
"They're fixing my car." She nodded to the workshop. "But now you're here anyway: a few weeks ago I waited for you for one and a half hour. You could have turned me down when I asked you to get a drink, instead of letting me down."
He didn't answer and took a drag from his cigarette. The silence was getting on her nerves and made her angry, still she stayed seated and stared at him, waiting for his response.
In the end he heaved a deep sigh. "I wanted to go. But there was some club shit I needed to take care of."
Fye tried to read his face, but his expression was inscrutable. It was impossible to decide whether he was speaking the truth or not.
"I haven't seen you since. You've been avoiding me. Why don't you just tell me what you want and think? You're such a bad ass, right?" She nodded to the patches that were sewn to his cut. "You could have send me away all those times. It's not nice to keep a girl waiting at a bar."
He didn't answer. For a moment she thought he would just turn around and walk away. "If I'd had your number, I might have sent you a text."
His voice sounded a little warmer. She studied his face. "Is this some dumb attempt to get my number?"
He snorted. "Where the hell would I need your number for?" He nodded backwards. "Haven't you seen those chicks over there? Why would I need you?
His words hurt her. However, she didn't believe he meant what he said; it felt like he was keeping up appearances around his brothers.
"Maybe for the moments you're sick of having meaningless sex. I'm sure neither of us ever thought of sex, all those hours we were sitting next to each other." She took a pen from her purse and grabbed his arm.
He glared at her, but he didn't pull away.
She thought to feel sparks when she touched him, which made her feel nervous again. Still she pushed the pen against the skin of his forearm and wrote down her number.
Then she looked up to him. For a moment confusion seemed to shimmer in his eyes, as if he was conflicted, not sure which mask he wanted to wear this time.
"You can call me in case you have a bright moment on which you realize that you have some amends to make."
She let go of his wrist and walked towards the workshop to see if Kip was done with her car. She thought to feel his eyes upon her, but she forced herself to look forward. Her sister had explained her many times how she wouldn't get guys like him, and that was by begging for their attention.
Maybe he would use her number, maybe he wouldn't.
At least she had given him the chance to show her that he was more than the dickhead he was pretending to be now.