Between Octobers Bk 1, Savor The Days Series (16 page)

“You’re just another face in the crowd.”

“Not my demographic.”

We decided to grab a few drinks before the
show. I felt his hand on the small of my back as he pulled out a
stool at the far end of the bar near the hall. It was darker there
and most people were still near the door and stage. Later, he
planned to take me upstairs to watch from one of the more
comfortably concealed tables he’d put on reserve. I almost remarked
about sitting in his lap, but decided to keep my mouth shut.

A fleeting look of recognition was all
the warning I got. Evan roared, demanding to see a manager and
banged a fist on the bar. His inflections reminded me of
Scorcese’s
Raging Bull
. The
clamor made me jump. When I looked at him, he was holding out a
hand, grinning. Instantly aware of my overreaction, I lowered my
head.

“Rhys!” A man leaned across the bar and
shook Evans hand. “Been a long time. How the hell are ya? Where’s
Marcus?” His voice was a loud, crackling bellow, rough like he had
a sore throat. I wondered if his piercing volume was intentional or
if hearing loss came with the job.

“He’s on a date of his own tonight. Dave,
I’d like to introduce you to Grace.” Again, he placed his hand on
the small of my back.

“Nice to meet you,” I held out my hand.

“Pretty name for a pretty lady.” He looked
with unabashed flirtation, taking my hand and kissing it. The glint
in his eye made me uncomfortable. I pulled my hand back and
discreetly wiped it on Evan’s jacket.

His nostrils flared and eyes shrank,
shooting a hard look at Dave.

“I’ll get your drinks.” Dave skittered
off.

Evan leaned in, “Sorry, he’s not used to
seeing me with nice girls.”

He was not looking at me, but over my head
and chuckling at something behind me. I had no interest in whatever
it was, captivated by his brilliant smile and the accompanying
sound. Evan had a great laugh. It was bold, given in successive
bursts.

“You don’t date nice girls?”

He moved closer, scratching at his lightly
stubbled jaw. “Well, some were probably nice. You’re the first I’ve
bothered getting to know. Definitely the first I’ve brought here.
Although, there are a lot of nights I can’t remember clearly.” He
pecked my forehead before moving to the stool nearest me and took
my hand. “Dave seems to fancy you.” The last was a seductive
whisper.

He wiggled his eyebrows as the subject
returned with drinks. Dave set two dirty martinis on the bar. Evan
slid both glasses in front of him. “A glass of red wine for the
lady?”

Something in the way he made the statement
irked me. Red wine was my usual and I wouldn’t have minded having a
glass, but I didn’t like the presumption. As I was about to correct
the order, his friend disappeared again. He returned a second later
with a tall glass of wine and set it in front of me.

“I’m wearing leather. I should be drinking
beer.” It was the only reason I could think up through the petty
irritation.

“A drink to go with the outfit?” One
boisterous, “Ha!” leapt from his lips. “I love that you’re
offended. Well, tell us what you’d like, Gracie?”

“Any beer is fine so long as it’s not too
dark.”

Evan ordered something I’d never heard of,
then started a whole discussion on the qualities of good lager and
stouts. The differences between them, the looks and various tastes
. . . he was a veritable spirit-connoisseur.

“That’s one thing I really miss about
London. The breweries. That and the light. So many different types
and tastes to enjoy in the misty sun.” His eyes sparkled when he
mentioned his home country, a place he obviously longed to go back
to—or he was simply passionate about beer. I suspected both.

His smile turned to a reprimanding scowl.
“I’m shocked at how unskilled your palate is. I’m going to educate
you.” He called for the bartender.

The moderate calm of the club was
interrupted by the first sound check.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
He made the request in a raised voice near my ear.

“Just ask me what you want to know. I have
no secrets.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Fire away.”

Dave returned again with six glasses. Each
filled to the brim with a golden liquid, some clear, some cloudy. I
chose one nearest to me with a slice of orange floating on top.

“Right. Let’s start with the big one: how
many?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

I took a dragging sip of beer.

He laughed. “Come on. I’m dying to know your
body count.”

Taken aback by the new candor, I reminded
myself that he warned me. Too bad my response wasn’t going to be as
salacious as he seemed to hope. Our earlier conversations on this
topic should have given him the answer.

“Forget I asked.” He sipped at his own glass
of beer, a dark, frothy brew. “Or,” his face lit up, “I could tell
you mine first . . . if you care to know.”

“Okay, you go first.” I jumped on the offer.
“How many?”

He took a big gulp of beer and set it slowly
down. “Zero.” I scoffed. He’d already alluded to countless affairs.
“I’ve never been with a man before, I swear.”

I laughed, “Touché. How many women?” I
asked, closing the loophole.

“It would be ungentlemanly to count. Suffice
it to say, a great deal. I’m a very rare, promiscuous Brit.” He
winked and grinned, but I couldn’t tell if he was being serious.
“I’ve been around the world a few times.”

“So many women that you can’t count? How do
you have time for all that?”

The notion of casual sex, though not
uncommon, was such a foreign concept to me. I couldn’t imagine
being brave enough to wear a two-piece bathing suit in public, let
alone taking off my clothes in front of someone I was not fully
committed to. The fact that he seemed so cavalier about it was
fascinating.

“Give me a ballpark number.”

“I really can’t say.” He tugged at the
collar of his gray thermal.

“You’re the one who started this game.”

“Ballpark?” His brows shot up, making lines
across his forehead.

I nodded. His eyes dropped, calculating
while I waited. Patiently. Finishing my drink in the meantime. It
seemed he was determined to take as long as possible.

“Between eighty and three-hundred,” he
finally answered. “That’s the low and high.”

The numbers were so much smaller than I
anticipated. Girls were constantly throwing themselves at him. And
when I Googled him, the first article that came up was titled,
“Rhys Matthews: Serial Philanderer?” The three thousand that
followed were all about supposed insights into his personal life
from anonymous insiders. Apparently, he was known for having
affairs with just about every woman he worked with. But, he had
once said that none of that stuff was true.

“Is that everyone? Does that include all the
oral? You wouldn’t want anyone to feel neglected.” I took a very
serious sip of beer.

He threw his hands up, “What? Now I’ve got
to start all over!”

The sullied humor had me dangerously close
to spewing my drink. I had to swallow it down before cracking up.
“You’re a man-whore!”

He laughed, setting his drink on the bar.
“Okay, now your turn. What’s your number?” He pinched his thumb and
forefinger together and tugged at the air, as if to yank the answer
from my lips.

Pretending to think carefully, I ticked off
my fingers and mumbled. “Carry the one . . .”

“What’s that?” His forehead creased.

I ignored him and kept up the
façade.
Who’s no good at
pretense?

After another minute, I answered, “One.”

He scoffed. “Sure you didn’t leave anyone
out? No one-nighters or forgotten frolics?”

“Let me think . . . Uh, yeah, only one.”

He studied my expression.

“Evan, I met Sol when I was fourteen years
old and we were together until last year. You’re the first person
I’ve had any interest in.”

“Interested enough to engage in monkey
business?”

I was smiling when he asked, but as my brain
interpreted the silly expression, it faded.

He shook his head, as if to clear it.
“Sorry. I’ve had a lot to drink.”

“I know.” Two martinis and I don’t know how
many ales.

The lights lowered and the crowd cheered as
the first band took the stage. I stood up to watch. Evan pulled on
me until I was standing between his knees and looked over my head
to see. Wrapping his arms around my waist, he asked,
“Upstairs?”

I shook my head. “This is fine.” I turned
and pecked his cheek, an assurance that I was not offended.

He smiled, whispering sweetly, “Thank you,”
and smoothed away the goosebumps on my arms.

While the band played, Evan signaled for
more drinks and a bowl of nuts. He watched while I enjoyed the
thrashing music. Well, I wanted to enjoy it. And I tried to keep an
open mind when it came to music, but the sound was truly off. It
was as if they were playing for sheer volume.

“Do you like to travel?” Evan yelled into my
ear.

“Yes,” I answered, turning, “do you?”

I watched his lips form the word as he gave
an exaggerated nod. “Yes.”

“They stink, don’t they?”

“Yes!” He shook his head vigorously and
leaned in again to yell another question. “If you could live
anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

“Seattle! It’s where I was born and it’s
beautiful there. You?” I yelled back.

His answer came in a whisper, so I couldn’t
be sure if what I heard was actually what was said. Shocked by the
possible response, I turned around to face him. He was looking at
the stage and didn’t meet my gaze. Rather than asking him to repeat
himself, I decided I was hearing things and turned back to watch
the band.

As we waited for the first set to finish, I
sipped at my beer and leaned on his shoulder. After several blaring
arrangements, the first act was over. The sudden ring of silence
made my ears buzz. Conversations around us picked up while the
instruments of audible torture were carted away to make room for
the hopefully better—at the very least, mediocre—second act. The
headlining band was who I wanted to see, anyway.

I sat back on my stool and sipped at another
cold, harsh beer. The color was a light gold but it tasted awful. I
slid it towards Evan.

He grabbed the glass and took a sip. “You
don’t like IPA. Hey, I didn’t know you had a tattoo.” He pointed at
my hip.

Just above the waist of my pants were the
four small rosebuds I’d gotten a few months prior. A small bouquet
representing each person I’d lost.

“You never asked.” I pulled my pants up to
cover it, before leaning forward to grab the bitter glass of beer
and began drinking.

“How did he do it?” When I looked, he was
staring with wide eyes.

“How did who do what?”

“How did your husband manage to only father
two children with you? It’d be a shame not to pass your eyes to a
daughter.”

The sentiment was sweet and heartbreaking.
Before I knew it, I was confessing. “I was pregnant when he
died.”

The corners of his eyes pulled down. “What
happened?” He looked around us in several directions and leaned in
to listen.

The fact that he didn’t automatically
apologize like anyone else would, ingratiated me. I disconnected
myself and talked like it happened to someone else. “Miscarriage.
The stress was too much.” I looked into the half empty glass on the
bar, thinking, twirling my hair behind my head. “That might have
been my girl.”

“Noah never told me.”

“
He doesn’t know. Lily’s the only one
I told.” The whole place seemed to quiet down with my
confession.

“I was adopted.” He sighed and shook his
head, mumbling. “Can’t believe I just said that.”

“Really? Your life could have been very
different, Evan.” I spoke the thought, then wished I hadn’t when
his face soured.

“I’ll never know.”

“Your birth mother must have been very
brave.”

“Since when is cowardice considered
bravery?”

A glint of the same strange anger I
witnessed that first day in the elevator, the one that screamed
‘red flag’ was back, darkening his eyes. I should’ve left it alone,
but was irked by his sudden callousness.

“Giving away your child is not
cowardice.”

The remark came out a little too loud. He
was a bear at the business end of my prodding stick. Growing angry
when he heard my response.

“It’s bullshit,” he turned his attention the
opposite direction and stayed, facing that dark hallway.

For some reason, I felt the need to defend
his biological mother, whoever she was, and no matter what her
circumstances were. He was there with me because of her and he had
no idea what it was like.

“You have to think about it from a woman’s
perspective.”

He turned back, his jaw clenched. “Go
on.”

“Take me for example; I loved Noah from the
minute I realized I was pregnant.” I recalled with perfect clarity
the fear and joy I felt. “Before you have kids, you can’t imagine
your life with them—how much it’ll change, how much they’ll mean to
you. It’s a kind of love you can’t understand until you experience
it. As terrifying as it is to imagine the responsibility of another
human dependent on you for their survival—but once they’re born,
you can’t imagine your life without them.” I sighed, “To experience
that bond, then, to give it someone else—it has to be the hardest
decision. I know I wouldn’t be able to. That’s why I say she’s
brave.”

“What about women who have abortions? Don’t
they form bonds?”

Ah, the ex-girlfriend finally got another
mention.

“I can’t speak for them. I can tell you that
when I got pregnant with Noah, I was so scared. But I never
considered it. Probably because of the way I was raised.”