Following Me (6 page)

GARRETT DROPPED DEVON at Jenn’s
Restaurant to wait for Hadley to get off work.  He was working the night shift
and needed to get ready, but he felt bad about leaving Devon alone in the
apartment on such a nice day.  He had given her his spare key in case she
decided to go to the apartment.  She didn’t intend to though.  Devon figured
she would wait until Hadley got off work, and then they could head back
together.  She didn’t feel comfortable being at their apartment all by
herself.  She was just a guest.

Her stomach grumbled, reminding
her that she had only eaten a piece of toast and a Popsicle all day.  She and
Garrett had walked for hours.  He was a great tour guide, giving her more
information about buildings and events than she likely ever needed to know. 
Garrett had lived in Chicago nearly his whole life, and he had only left for
the four years of college.  Devon hadn’t been surprised to find out he had gone
to George Washington in D.C.  Although he had money written all over him,
surprisingly, he seemed down-to-earth.  She wished that combination happened
more often.

Jenn’s wasn’t as busy as it had
been the last time Devon had walked inside.  Everyone must have still been
working at this early hour.  She suspected it would start to get crowded closer
to five o’clock.

Hadley had a pretty sweet set-up
at her job.  She always got off work early on Fridays.  Plus, she didn’t have
to go in at all on the weekends.  Hadley had said she would be happy to show
Devon around the parts of the city that Garrett had missed during the morning
shift.  Devon hadn’t decided what she wanted to do, but she knew she would
think of something in the meantime.

Sitting down in the same stool as
she had the day before, Devon leaned her elbows heavily on the countertop and
waited for someone to materialize.  She noticed a waitress helping a customer
in a booth against the wall.  The woman looked like she had been working there
since the place had opened forty years earlier.  Yet, she still wore the same
uniform as the younger waitresses—a short black skirt, a white top unbuttoned
to reveal cleavage, white tube socks, and tennis shoes. 
She couldn’t be the
only one working, right?

The woman scooped up the menus
from the other customers and then walked toward the back door.  Looking over at
Devon, she smiled with a sincerity she likely didn’t feel.  “Someone will be
right with you, hon.”

She walked through the swinging
door into the kitchen.  Devon wondered if she was now yelling at someone to do
his job.  It was what she probably would have done when she had worked at a
restaurant.  At least, she would have grumbled to herself about how she was the
only one working.

During the previous summers,
Devon had worked part-time as a waitress to earn a little extra cash.  She
always had something she wanted to spend her money on, and she felt bad asking
her parents for anything more than they had given her.  They were already
paying for her education and room and board, so she didn’t feel like she could
ask for more.

A minute later, a disgruntled man
walked out of the back room, yelling something at the waitress behind him. 
Devon had been right.  When he turned around, Devon smiled, realizing it was
Brennan.  She was happy to see a familiar face in a sea of the unfamiliar. 
Chicago was a huge step for her, and she had a lot of adjusting to do.

“You been helped?” Brennan moved
bottles around, barely glancing up at her.

“No, I haven’t,” Devon told him,
waiting for him to recognize her.

“What’ll you have?”  He ran a
towel under the faucet and then mopped under the drip mat.

“I don’t know.  I haven’t seen a
menu.”  She pulled out her pen from her back pocket and absentmindedly flipped
it between her fingers.

He grabbed a menu for her and
slapped it down on the counter.   He walked away without even asking her for
her drink order.  Hadley had been right; getting Brennan’s attention was hard
even when the restaurant was empty.

She watched him for a second,
knowing that he wasn’t paying any attention to her.  He was bobbing his head,
his dark hair moving effortlessly.  It wasn’t styled like it had been
yesterday.  Today, it looked more like he had just rolled out of bed, but in a
good way.  He was humming something to his own tune, but Devon couldn’t make
out the song.

She knew that she shouldn’t be
watching him like this.  It was rude, and surely he would notice, which would
be truly embarrassing.  She was just having a hard time pulling her eyes away.

It was strange to say the least. 
He was the kind of guy her sister, Dani, would fall all over herself for.  She
would flaunt herself in front of him until he noticed her, and in Dani’s case,
it didn’t take very much time for guys to notice her.  Her mother had joked
about Devon being the difficult one, but that was only because she had boycotted
cowboy boots and her Dixie nickname, but Dani was the one her mother needed to
worry about.  Dani still traipsed about in too short sundresses, and she had
earned the name Pearl from half the guys in school for good reason.  It was
slightly disturbing since she was only seventeen and a senior in high school. 
Devon was terrified of her going off to college, especially since she had
chosen a big state school.

Devon wasn’t the one to get
caught up in a guy’s appearance, especially with Reid back in St. Louis.  No,
she didn’t even want to think about St. Louis right now.  Brennan was nice to
look at, that was all.

Brennan turned around then and
looked right at her.  Her cheeks instantly colored when he caught her staring. 
He didn’t do anything more than smirk before she buried herself in the menu she
hadn’t yet touched.

Devon felt his eyes linger on
her, and the feeling wouldn’t leave.  She wasn’t used to being under scrutiny. 
She pondered whether he had felt her eyes staring so heavily, if it had been
that obvious.  She glanced back up when her cheeks weren’t flaming hot.

Brennan smiled at her, walked
back over, and leaned both of his elbows on the bar like he had done
yesterday.  “You want something to drink?”

“Just water, please,” Devon said,
averting her eyes.

Brennan poured her drink and
handed it over.  “Were you here yesterday?” he asked, returning to his
position.

“Yeah.”  Devon nodded.  She
folded her menu, removing her diversion.  “I was here with Hadley.”

“I knew you looked familiar. 
You’re the little Southern belle.”

“Devon,” she corrected.

“Right.  How’d you end up with a
friend like Hadley?” he asked.

“What does that mean?” 
Was he
insulting her roommate of two-and-a-half years?

“Don’t take this the wrong way,
but you’re a square, and she colors outside of the lines.”

Incredulously, Devon looked up at
him.  “How could I not take that the wrong way?”

“Because I told you in advance
not to,” Brennan said, shrugging.

“Telling me in advance implies
that I’m going to take it the wrong way.  It totally negates everything you say
after that,” she told him, narrowing her eyes.

“It’s too early to be negating
this and implying that.  I’m a bartender.  Order a shot,” Brennan said.

He didn’t back away as she glared
at him.

“I think you can imply and negate
with the rest of us.”  Devon flipped her pen between her fingers faster.

“Can and will are different
things,” he said, stepping back.  He walked over to the bar, pulled out two
shot glasses, and filled them with tequila.  After he passed one over to her,
he set a napkin on the countertop and placed two limes on it.  “You keep
flipping your pen like that, you’re going to cause a nervous breakdown.  Now,
drink up.”

Devon sighed.  This was a bad
idea, especially after last night.  But the shot didn’t feel like it came with
a choice.  Rather, it felt like a challenge.

“Salt?” she asked.  If she was
going to do it, she was going to do it right.

Brennan placed the salt on the
counter.  She licked the skin in between her thumb and forefinger and held her
hand out to him.  He smirked at her, and then without any further prompting, he
poured some salt onto the spot.  He did the same to himself.

“Are we toasting to anything?”
Devon asked because she couldn’t help herself.

“Nope,” Brennan said, picking up
his shot.

She did the same, clinked her
glass against his, and then tipped back the tequila.  Devon gagged as the
burning liquid rushed down her throat.  She reached for the lime and sucked on
it until the fire cooled.

Brennan chuckled softly as he
tossed his lime and cleaned up the shots.  “Now, what do you want to eat?”

Devon flipped her pen around. 
When she realized she was doing it again, she placed the pen on the counter. 
“I’m not picky.  Anything without mayo.  Whatever you like.”

“Huh,” he said, taking her menu.

“What?”  She licked her lips and
eyed him apprehensively.

“Nothing.”

“Okay.”

What was his angle?
  She
couldn’t figure it out.  That was the second time he had seemed to assess her
in some way that she couldn’t figure out.

Brennan walked back into the
kitchen.  When he didn’t reappear, she wondered what he was doing back there. 
Was
he goofing off with the waitress?
  It didn’t seem likely.  It wasn’t that
she expected him to stay out here and talk to her or anything.  She had hated
forced conversations with her customers, but she hadn’t thought their
conversation was forced.

Shrugging, she pulled out her
notebook and flipped it open to the page she had been working on when she’d
been at
The Bean
with Garrett.  It had flowed so easily then.  She
wished writing was always like that.  Sometimes, it felt like she was trying to
force her way out of quicksand.

As much as writing was a release,
she kind of hated it.  She felt like she relied on it to express herself.  When
she thought about it, she figured it kept her voice subdued.  She didn’t need
to yell or scream or cry out at anyone when she could do all that on paper. 
She could pour every emotion onto paper until she felt like she was bleeding. 
It wasn’t enough.  It was never enough, but it helped.  It helped keep her
walls up.

More than anything, she wished
she didn’t have the same skill as her parents.  Because when the words flowed
out of her, they weren’t a perfect flowing script, a well-crafted novel, or
even something as simple as a journal.  They were lyrics.  All of her writing
came out in the form of a song.  What made it even worse was that she could
never, would never sing.  She didn’t like other people to hear her voice
because she felt like it was just too personal, so she would never sing her own
stuff.

How could she sing between the
tears?

Mulling over the words in her
notebook, she rearranged the lines that formed the chorus.  She could imagine
someone great singing her songs with smooth perfect vocals that rose and fell
in time with the music, but she didn’t think she could ever follow through. 
Hearing her pain all over the radio wasn’t exactly her style.

A few minutes later, Brennan
walked out and placed her food in front of her.  It was just a burger.  She was
surprised.  She had thought he would have come out with something creative.

“Best thing on the menu,” he told
her, refilling her water.

She hadn’t even noticed that she
had drained it.  She guessed the hangover had dehydrated her more than she
knew.

“Thanks.”  Devon added ketchup to
the burger and then dug in.  “Wow!  This is great!”  She had never been a
burger fan, but this was outstanding.

Brennan nodded his head, like he
knew she would like it, as he leaned back against the bar.  “How long are you
in town for?”

“Just the week,” she said before
taking another bite of her burger.

“Gonna be hanging out at my bar
while you’re here?”

Devon looked up at him, trying to
figure him out. 
Did he want her there or was he hoping she wouldn’t be
there?  Or was he simply making conversation?
  “Probably,” she answered.

“Alright.”

“Why?” she asked curiously.

“Didn’t know how much tequila I
should keep in stock,” he said without even cracking a smile.

Devon, however, laughed at him. 
She preferred his humor to him assessing her.  “I’d keep it handy.”

“I’m thinking I’m going to have
to.”

“You think you’re going to have
to do what?”  Hadley walked up behind them, intercepting the end of the
conversation.

“Hadley!” Devon turned around to
greet her friend with a smile.

“Hey, good to see Brennan is
taking care of you for me.  I see he’s feeding you the burger,” she said with a
shake of her head.  “He thinks it’s the best thing on the menu.  He’s wrong. 
It’s the chicken.”

“Hadley, always so opinionated,”
Brennan said, straightening as she approached.  He started pouring her a drink.

“Is it really opinion when it’s
obviously fact?” Hadley asked, taking the seat next to Devon.

“She thinks all of her opinions
are facts,” Brennan told Devon, pushing the drink toward Hadley.

“Aren’t they?” Devon asked with a
smirk.

“Oh, so you’re on her side then?”

“Was there ever a doubt?” Hadley
asked.

“I tend to doubt everything.”

“And I tend to disagree with
everything you doubt,” Hadley told him with a shrug.

“Just drink up and stop
disagreeing with me,” he said with a smile.

Hadley shrugged again, sipped on
her drink, and turned to face Devon.  “So, how was your day?  Did Garrett show
you around the city?”

“Yeah.  We had a great time
before he had to go to work.  The city is beautiful.  Why haven’t I been here
before?” Devon asked.