after
the filthy frat boys. Danny smartly avoided being home. It was still early, but
the bar was filling up nicely. Huskies was nothing much, a barely mediocre
restaurant during the day turned bar/dance club at night. It was pretty much on
campus, and catered to college kids. Very few "townies" came in, even
if the Natty Light beers were priced at $2 a plastic cup. Given my financial
straits, that was my beverage of choice tonight.
I licked up the booze dripping down my hand—waste not, want
not, after all—and caught the eye of a familiar looking dude entering the bar.
"Shit," I groaned, ducking low in the booth.
"What?" Amanda asked, doing the total opposite.
She stood up and craned her neck around, searching the bar.
"The Stevenson guy. He's here."
Her eyes widened. "That's the frat-hole that came to
the house?"
I nodded and took a huge swallow of liquid courage.
"What are the chances?" That was a rhetorical
question. "You think he's following you?" That one wasn't.
"I freaking hope not!" I said.
Amanda sat back down but turned to peer over the back of the
booth. He waited for the bartender to take his order. "He's kind of
cute."
"How would you know?" I retorted.
"Oh please, Iz! I know aesthetics, boy or girl. Now be
honest. If he didn't tell you that you owed him 25 large, wouldn't you think
he's cute?"
I pretended to stretch my back to give him a look. Amanda
had a point. Looking casual in jeans and a snug t-shirt, he wasn't terribly
muscular, but lean, like someone who played hoops with his pals on the weekend.
One of those stupid hipster trucker hats covered his short light brown hair.
That automatically made him a creep.
"Okay, cute in a Pike sort of way, I guess" I
said, referencing the fraternity house.
"That's more of a backhanded complement," Amanda
snorted before draining the beer from her cup. "Your turn to buy!"
I dug out my wallet from my bag and checked the cash
situation. Enough for a few more rounds, as long as we stuck to the $2 beers.
My bare legs made a sticky sound as I slid out of the booth,
and I cringed at the sting of vinyl burn on my thighs. Keeping my head low, I
tried to go unnoticed by Danny "Trucker Hat" Stevenson. I held up two
fingers and pushed a five-dollar bill at the bartender. Waiting for him to pour
the beer, I turned and surveyed the crowd.
The semester hadn't really started yet, but the bar was
surprisingly crowded. Every booth was taken—Amanda and I lucked out with the
last one—but there weren't people crowded into the nooks and crannies of the
place just yet. Without the elbow-to-elbow people, Huskies looked kind of sad
and run down. I scraped the edge of my Converse high top along the floor, the
grime embedded into the worn wood.
While I was admiring the filth-crusted floor, Danny must
have noticed me. When I looked up, I nearly hit my head on the brim of his
stupid hat.
"Imagine running into you here, of all places," he
said with a grin that kind of crinkled up the skin around his light blue eyes.
I blinked stupidly for a second. Maybe it was the booze, but
his teeth were blindingly white.
I guess he thought my silence meant that I didn't recognize
him. He yanked off the ridiculous hat. "Don't recognize me? Or are you
still mad about earlier?"
"Yeah, because I am always chummy with frat-holes that
say I own them money." I said flatly, turning my attention to the
bartender who finally returned with two more plastic cups of cheap beer.
"Right now, I'm not a—what did you call me—a frat-hole.
Or a lender of last resort. How about I be just Danny?" he asked, a good
natured grin spreading across his face as he stuck out his hand to shake mine.
I held up the cups to show both my hands were occupied.
"Well, Just Danny, does this mean that I no longer owe
the 25 large?"
The beer was going straight to my head. Did I eat tonight?
"I wish I could get you off the hook," he said.
"But it's a fair, binding contract. Did you have a chance to get a lawyer
to