I'll Be Damned (Anna Wolfe Series) (6 page)

“I’m not trying to do anything! It won’t kill you to meet us for one drink. You might even have fun and maybe even get laid,” she states in her low, sexy voice. “Come on, you never come out anymore... just one drink?”

“Kristy!” I exclaim, rolling my eyes. “I’ll see what time I finish work. If it’s not too late, maybe I’ll meet you guys, but don’t count on it,” I say firmly. 

“I never do,” she replies cleverly, halfway out the door.

Ten o’clock came and went in the blink of an eye. Cleaning up didn’t take long - a few spills here, and a stack of magazines there. All in all, the patrons left it pretty clean. Thank goodness, because I don’t feel like staying here all night. Ever since seeing the handsome stranger, a persistent feeling of discomfort hasn’t left me. Why do I feel so unsettled? I don't know, but being here alone isn’t helping. Maybe I'll meet Kristy. It’s only eleven-fifteen, and not too late to grab a drink. I rummage through my purse, finally pulling my cell phone from it. I call Janie to see if she wants to join me, but her bed and TV already have her happily occupied. My next concern is my wardrobe options for tonight. Or should I say, lack thereof? Should I meet them in my work uniform? Or drive home, get changed, and then go back out? Ugh, not a chance... work uniform it is. If I slap foundation under my eyes, I might look halfway decent. I dial Kristy’s number, checking to make sure they’re still out. Part of me prays she doesn't answer. I regret calling her as soon as the second ring jingles in my ear. If it were just Kristy and Josh, I wouldn’t mind, but now the situation changes from pleasure to anticipation. I can see the night unfolding in my mind. After talking myself into meeting up with them, I'll sit and watch my best friend devour her adult playmate. The awkward stranger and I will, no doubt, be forced to engage in a long, drawn-out conversation that neither one of us cares to have. We’ll just look at each other, both trying to decide if it’s worth the time to develop a conversation interesting enough to distract us from the current situation. 

“Anna?” Kristy interrupts my monologue.  

I clear my throat. “Are you guys out?”

“Yes, ma’am, we’re at Wet Willies. Come for a drink! The daiquiris are super yummy tonight.”

Wet Willies is a daiquiri bar that serves alcohol on steroids. The drinks are incredibly strong, and make you feel like you got your money’s worth. “Okay, I'll see you guys in twenty.”

Hurrying into the bathroom, I take a look at myself in the mirror. I have my hands full. I smooth the static-stricken, rogue strands of hair to my scalp, and slide a hairbrush over them. With the constant humidity here, it’s almost impossible to look presentable at the end of a scorching day. It wreaks havoc on anything that isn’t preserved by hairspray. I consider cutting these annoying strands, but decide it’s a bad idea; just like when I cut my own hair before one of the high school dances. I curse myself again for not keeping hairspray in the cabinets. I settle for water as hairspray’s stand-in and continuously try to beat the unruly pieces down. Fly a ways are like crab grass, you get rid of one and two more pop up. I eventually finagle my hair into a wispy, messy, bun-like creation, tucking some loose hairs behind my ears. My complexion is a little washed out, but nothing a thin layer of rosy lip gloss won't fix. I adjust my collar as I head towards the front of the store, flicking off the lights as I leave.

I open the door and turn to lock it. A frigid breeze caresses my neck, triggering me to jump, making me drop my keys. What the hell! As I bend down to retrieve them, I survey my surroundings. I scan the barren sidewalks cautiously, scrutinizing every shadow. I curse under my breath, while vowing to invest in some form of protection after tonight. After locking up, I carefully head towards River Street. My body is on high alert, so every rustle and whoosh I hear rattles me.
Calm down, Anna
. I attempt to draw my attention to something else that is more relaxing. The night air is a tad too far on the sweltering side, which forces me to slow my pace. I pass a few live oaks, their grand statures evoking the proud soldiers of nature. Shadows playfully slide between their strong, twisted limbs, suggesting the illusion of elegance. At night, the moonlight glimmers through the dangling Spanish moss, and make it look like it was dipped in glitter. Nighttime uses amazing trickery. Its ability to display nature’s sheltered magnificence by gracefully hiding its imperfections is insurmountable. This phenomenon also allows people to hide in its shadowy recesses. The eerie sensation that I’m being watched creeps over me, even though no one’s around. I quicken my pace, fueled by my own paranoia this time.

In ten minutes, I walk through the door of Wet Willies, and feel instantly comforted. I scan the room, noticing the fresh crop of twenty-one-year-olds lining the orange walls like a fence. I smile, remembering how invincible I was at that age. Half of them will wake up to the worst hangovers of their lives tomorrow. The DJ's piercing bass rebounds off the walls, slamming my eardrums like a game of dodge ball. Why does music have to be so deafening? I shake my head. I must be getting old. Finally, I spot Kristy sitting at the bar, flanked by Josh and a good looking man whom I assume is Shane. I push my way through the clusters of celebrants, noticing some who are engaged in conversation with Martello - the owner of the bar and one of my very close friends. His mother named him after the Martello Castle in Louisiana. Just like his name, Martello is unique. He enjoys the reactions he gets during introductions, and considers himself the conversation starter. He remains extremely comfortable in the spotlight, evidenced by his fashion statements, which draw enormous amounts of attention. Tonight, a hot pink, fishnet top clings tightly to his round muscles, revealing his dark skin through its mini holes. A slim pair of black skinny jeans sit provocatively low on his hips, revealing deeply-cut abs. He’s the only man in the South who can dress this flashily and look ordinary. A soft sparkle glints off his frosty lips, contrasting with the dark pink eye shadow brushed on his eyelids. Most men assume he’s a pansy, since he’s openly gay, until he speaks. His strong voice matches his provocative demeanor and a mean right hook. I grin, remembering the first time I witnessed it firsthand. Kristy and I were visiting him one day when a bunch of rednecks came in, donned in flannel coats with ginger-colored hair. A man in red flannel flat-out asked Martello if he was a fag, because if so, he refused to be served by him. Martello reached across the bar, grabbed the man’s jacket lapel and punched him squarely in the face. He flew backwards, and landed hard on the concrete floor. Needless to say, that group never came back for round two.

I have to concentrate on planting one foot successfully in front of the other. Thanks to my overactive anxiety, my legs are rubbery. I approach the group, and notice Martello leaning over the bar suggestively, as he attempts to pick up the straightest man in the place. I can’t fault him for always trying to turn the straight ones. Apparently, straight people aren’t the only ones low in stock in the gorgeous department. Martello swears all the super fine men are straight. I counter that and claim all gorgeous men are gay. Either way, both groups are screwed and not in a satisfying way. Then again, how many screws are satisfying?

Martello smiles at me, finally detaching his hips off the bar. He saunters towards me wearing a wide grin. “Hey, girlfriend. Where have you been all my life?”

“Hey!” He slides his arms around my waist, and squeezes me into a bear hug. I hug him back, feeling comforted that I can actually touch a man without him expecting anything more. We engage in small talk, and I glance at Shane, noting how handsome he is… Charming too, if Kristy’s lit-up expression is any indication that he’s throwing down some serious flattery.

“So I see you've been talking to the hottie Kristy and Josh brought with them. Any luck?” I whisper in Martello’s ear.

“Girl, you thinks you funny. I was only trying to guess what type of drink the man wanted,” he counters with a wink.

Martello glides behind the bar, pouring me the only drink I’m permitted to have, the
Attitude Improvement
, with no pun intended. Ever since Stephen, Martello refuses to give me anything weaker. Needless to say, after one drink, I’m ready to fall on the floor. He slides the sweating Styrofoam cup in front of me. “So sweet thang, tell me what you plans on doin’ to that tall, fine-looking definition of a man?” he asks, pointing in Shane's direction.

“Nothing,” I cringe. "What would I do? “I’m not interested in dating right now,” I finish flatly. I grab the drink too fast and the liquid sloshes from the momentum. Puckering my lips, I slide the straw into my mouth, and eagerly suck down the icy cold refreshment.

Martello rolls his eyes. “Girl, I’m not talkin’ about findin’ out his favorite color, or what he likes to do on Sundays. I’m talkin’ about gettin' yourself some real lovin’,” he replies, thrusting his hips in a grotesquely suggestive manner.

“Ugh, Martello,” I holler, trying to suppress my increasingly revolted expression. “I don’t want any part of that,” I say, pointing to his hips like an embarrassed school girl.

“Honey, you is such a prude sometimes,” he laughs, shaking his head.

“Yeah, yeah.” Prude or not, I’m not interested in a one-night-stand. What’s the point? “He’s all yours,” I beam.

“Oh Lordy,” he replies snapping his wrist. “You knows he has no interest in me, even though I’m lookin’ all types of fine tonight,” he says, gliding his arms up and down his body. “In fact, he’s been checkin’ out your cute self since you walked into this place,” he says, pointing his diva finger at me.

His compliment makes me smile even though it comes from a man with no desire to sleep with me. Kristy yells my name, triggering Martello’s eyes to roll. He hates when her voice gets loud and squeaky.

“Oh Jesus, here comes the loudest woman in Savannah,” he states, shaking his head. “I’ll be back. I had about all I can take o’ her for one night. Do you know she was here two hours before you?” he says with an exasperated face. “Good luck, girlfriend and remember, ain’t nothin’ skanky about sex with a stranger,” he roars, sashaying down the bar.

My cheeks turn bright red, hoping no one overheard his crude remark. Without further ado, Kristy rushes over to me, still capable of walking straight. She wraps me in her arms, in a drunken hug.

“Anna! I’m so glad you came! Now you can meet Shane,” she says with a clap of her hands.

“Me too,” I reply begrudgingly. “How many drinks have you had?”

“Um… I’m not sure,” she slurs, struggling to crumple her lips around her straw without any luck. She engages the help of her hand and guides it into her mouth, sucking out more frozen liquid. 

“You better watch out; they sneak up on you,” I say, tapping the frozen beverage glued in her hand.

“It already has!” she giggles hysterically. “Hey, come with me. I want to introduce you to him,” she winks, tugging my arm in the direction of Shane.

I look over my shoulder at Martello, who just waves. He recognizes Kristy’s agenda, but makes no attempt to rescue me. I shoot him a
thanks-a-lot
face; so much for my first-class wingman. A few drunken steps later, we’re standing in front of them. The first thing I pick up on is Shane’s demeanor. He has a sort of haughtiness about him, which makes the air around him seem troubled. I flash a smile at Josh and he shoots me a pitiful look, apologizing for Kristy’s matchmaking awkwardness.

“Shane, this is Anna,” Kristy says, her expectations dripping off her words.

“Anna, this is Shane." Kristy gives a sweep of her arm, displaying my prize. With a wide grin, she nods her head in his direction.

I look into his hollow, olive-green eyes and smile weakly. He's traditionally handsome and blessed with thick hair, the color of caramel, along with a slim, athletic build. I want to find him attractive, but I can’t… something about him is off.

“Nice to meet you, Anna. Kristy has told me a lot about you,” he replies, extending his hand towards me.

I reciprocate, placing my hand in his and shaking firmly. I try not to recoil at the touch of his clammy palm. “Nice to meet you as well,” I reply. We awkwardly stare at each other, unsure of what to say next. If this is any precursor to the remainder of the evening, I should abandon ship now.

“Anna, you and Shane should get to know each other,” Kristy interrupts, now obnoxiously overzealous. “Alone, over there,” she points to a dark corner.

I flash Kristy a displeased look. "I'm going to grab a drink," I reply, quickly walking in the direction of the bar. I need another drink, not caring how fast the first one went down. Stopping would be the responsible thing to do, but what’s the point? Tonight won’t be memorable, and on top of it, I have work at seven in the morning. I want to drown my negative thoughts, and tonight seems just as good as any other. “Martello, I’ll take another,” I say, sitting down on the cushy empty stool in front of him.