Lost Without You: Book 2 in the Chasing Olivia Series (12 page)

“Ohmigod!” Amanda squeals. “Those look fantastic!”

“Thank you, madam. If you need anything else, my name is Amani.” He places one massive drink in front of each of us.

“I hope we’re staying at the bar. I would need two hands to carry this and I’m not sure I would make it very far,” I mutter in annoyance.

“Thank you,” Miranda says, essentially dismissing me as she stirs the ice around with a straw. “Ladies, here is to an amazing evening and to Amanda’s wedding tomorrow.”

“Cheers,” we say before taking a sip.

I watch the girls sip their fishbowl, neither one making a face.

“Holy shit, this is fantastic!” Miranda exclaims. Amanda nods in agreement.

Deciding if you can’t beat them, join them, I take a daring sip. Making that just-ate-a-lemon face, my cheeks suck into my mouth. It’s citrusy and really, really strong. Closing my eyes, I shake my head, trying to get rid of the bitterness.
Damn you, Patron!

“You don’t like it, madam?” Amani asks, seeing my reaction.

“She’s fine. The drink’s are amazing,” Amanda answers while shooting me a stop-being-a-baby look. If I finish this drink as fast as they are, I’ll be flat on my ass before intermission. Maybe, if I take tiny sips, it’ll last until the show. “So, after the show, we need to find a club.”

“Yes, I want to dance, too,” Miranda says.

“Good. I’m glad we’re all in agreement,” Amanda says looking at me, daring me to disagree.

Forty five minutes later, both Miranda and Amanda are done with their drinks. I, on the other hand, have more than half left.

“We need another one of these,” Miranda shouts down the bar at Amani, waving her huge empty glass.

“Chase didn’t tell me you were such a lightweight,” Amanda jokes.

“I don’t really drink tequila. I’m more of a beer and wine girl.”

“Well, we need to loosen you up a bit, I think,” Amanda says. “Shots!”

“Yes, shots!” Miranda concurs. I inwardly cringe, although Amanda lifts her brow at my reaction.

Amani comes back to our end of the bar. “Ladies.”

“We need three shots,” Miranda says to Amani.

“Of?” he asks.

“She’s getting married tomorrow, so something good,” she says, motioning toward Amanda.

“Ahhh, let me see what I can do,” Amani says, his lips twitching into a smile. He thinks for a moment, then turns toward the back bar, picking up random bottles.

I watch as he pours four different kinds of rum into a mixing tin with random fruit juices. Adding ice, he shakes the tin, then pours the mixture into four shot glasses.

“What is that?” Amanda asks.

“Looks like a rum punch,” I answer.

“Very good, yes. My own special recipe,” Amani says, a giant grin covering his face. “Here is to your wedding.” He picks up his shot glass and toasts Amanda. Giggling, she toasts back. Clinking our glasses together, we throw back our shots.

The concoction was delicious. I could’ve had that as a drink and been happy. I nod my head toward Amani and smile. “Excellent,” I tell him.

Slamming her glass down on the bar, Amanda says, “We need two more margaritas. This one,” she says, motioning toward me, “is a lightweight.” Miranda laughs.

“Well, I will not be the one puking up my guts tomorrow morning,” I mutter under my breath.

Fifteen minutes until show time, I finally finish my margarita and the girls are just about finished with their second. Instead of ordering another drink, I ask Amani for a bottle of water. If we’re going dancing after this, I need to be slightly sober.

The hostess finally comes over to announce we can now be seated and I wave Amani over, asking for the check. “I’ve got this, no arguing. Consider it a wedding present,” I say, smiling as I fish the money out of my clutch. “Besides, it’s actually on Chase.” I wink and both girls nod their head.

“In that case, you can cover the drinks all night,” Amanda jokes, nudging me with her elbow before she and Miranda turn toward the hostess.

Sliding the amount for the tab plus a huge tip across the bar toward Amani, I mouth, “Thank you,” and turn toward the girls as the hostess escorts us inside the dark club.

As we enter the club, I can feel it’s authenticity. The way the club is designed, it evokes the intimate atmosphere of 1950’s Havana. High-back wicker arm chairs flank white-clothed tables, all grouped around a lit stage. Floor-to-ceiling windows are darkened by rattan shades, further adding to the Old World charm. I counted about fifty seats, all with great views of the stage. At least the club is air conditioned. Even though it’s evening, it’s still Africa hot outside.

We’re seated at a table right in front, slightly to the right of the aisle. This is the hot zone, and depending on the comedian, could go either way. Having been to my share of comedy shows, the comedian always picks on the front row, and Amanda is ripe for the picking. I know how to take a joke, but I’m not so sure about these two.

“Can we have a wine list?” Amanda asks as a waitress comes up to our table.

“Finally, something I can drink,” I tease. Nodding her head, she scurries away.

“What kind of wine do you drink, Olivia?” Miranda asks me.

“Any white, for the most part. Some chardonnays, as long as they aren’t oak barreled. I prefer steel barreled, so I usually drink pinot grigio or sauvignon blanc.”

“No reds?” Amanda asks.

“Not usually. Sometimes I’ll have a pinot noir with a steak.”

“Okay, white it is.” The waitress walks back up to the table and hands Amanda a wine list.

“What would you suggest?” Amanda asks, handing me the menu.

“What is a really good white wine?” I ask before the waitress can reply, skimming over the extensive list. There are a lot of French and California wines to choose from, but I’m not familiar with any of them .

“Our featured white wine is the Furst Pinot Blanc, a sumptuous white French wine from Alsace.” I turn to the girls and both have blank looks on their faces. It’s like looking at deer caught in headlights. Shaking my head, I turn back to the waitress.

“We’ll have a bottle of that, thank you.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have it right out for you,” the waitress says, picking up the wine menu and scurrying off as the lights in the room dim. A single blue light shines on a stool set center stage. I adjust my seat for a more comfortable view and place my attention on the stage.

An older man comes from behind the blue curtain and sits on the stool. Taking a sip of a water bottle, he looks into the audience. “It’s okay. I’ve never heard of me either,” he says flippantly. The crowd gives a chuckle and he smiles before continuing. “I was a little nervous before coming up here, so I prepared a few lines. Now that I’ve snorted them, I feel great!” I chuckle and look at the girls, both with half-smiles on their face and an arched eyebrow.

Scanning the crowd, he pins his gaze on Miranda. “I’m thirty-eight, single, unemployed, and have erectile dysfunction. If you want to come back stage and try to turn this dough into a baguette, I promise you might regret it.” Miranda lips twitch into a full smile and her chest shakes in silent laughter.

He uses our table for his entire act, focusing on Miranda at first, but once she tells him Amanda is getting married tomorrow, it’s all over. Toward the end of his set, I’m laughing so hard, I can’t breathe. Miranda laughs right alongside me, but Amanda bristles, clearly not thrilled with the attention.

“What’s the matter, Amanda?” Miranda goads.

“Ha, ha, ha,” Amanda snaps. “I’m glad you’re both so easily amused.”

“You have to admit, he was funny,” I say as we get up from our table.

“He was hysterical,” Miranda giggles.

“Okay, maybe,” Amanda concedes, smiling.

“So, ladies, where to now?” Miranda asks.

“Let’s ask where the best night spot is,” Amanda says as she walks toward the hostess stand. “Excuse me, where is the loudest bar on the island?”

“What she means,” Miranda clarifies, “is the busiest.”

“Ah. That would be Shark Bite in Turtle Cove. There is a Reggae band there tonight, and it’s right down the road.”

“Perfect!” Amanda exclaims. “Thank you,” she yells back at the hostess as she grabs our hands and yanks us out the door. Jumping into one of the many cabs waiting outside, Amanda tells the driver where we’re going. Our driver presses his foot on the gas and we speed away toward Turtle Cove.

“Are all the drivers on this island crazy?” I mutter under my breath.

“I love Reggae,” Miranda squeals, hopping up and down on the seat like a child, ignoring me.

“Me, too! This is going to be so much fun!” Amanda agrees.

“I hope it’s not too crowded,” I mumble, hating the mess of sweaty bodies grinding up against you and the rush of people trying to push through to get to the bar. It’s claustrophobic.

“Oh, stop being such a Debbie Downer. Loosen up and have fun,” Miranda says, giving me a shove.

”Sorry,” I mumble, realizing I have been a buzz kill all night. I’m just so used to Evan’s rules, I don’t know how to have a good time. He was so strict when it came to anything. I couldn’t drink, and I sure as hell couldn’t dance unless it was with him. I was essentially a prisoner, only . . . I didn’t know it at the time.

The driver makes a quick sharp turn, throwing us all to one side of the car and snapping me out of my thoughts.

“You’re right, I have been lame all night. I’ll try to be better.” I give Miranda and Amanda a tight-lipped smile.

“Hey, no problem. Let’s just have fun. I’m getting married tomorrow!” Amanda shouts as the driver makes another sharp turn, shoving us toward the window again.

“Ow! Elbow in my boob,” I gasp, rubbing at the soreness.

“Oh, sorry,” Miranda says, trying to shuffle back. As soon as we regain our bearings, he slams on the breaks, forcing our arms forward to brace for impact. I reach for the handle of the door and stumble out in front of a very busy Tiki Bar, needing out of the cab. Miranda and Amanda stagger out behind me and we make our way into the packed bar.

The view from the dock is spectacular. The bar overlooks the bay and a nice breeze is blowing off the water. Inside, there is an L-shaped bar and stone walls. Very cozy. The Reggae band is set up outside, so most of the people have gathered out there to dance. The three of us make our way to the bar, trying to find a spot to order.

“Please, allow me,” a guy sitting at the bar says to us, moving his chair slightly so one of us can lean in. He looks a little older than us, maybe early thirties. He’s cute in a surfer dude sort of way, with shaggy, bleach-blonde hair.

“Thanks,” Miranda says, jumping in between him and the wall. As she tries to wave down the bartender, Surfer Dude leans over to the guys next to him.

“Miranda, get me a shot!” Amanda yells over the crowd.

“Please, allow me,” the surfer dude says, smiling. “And what are you lovely ladies drinking?”

“I need a shot! I’m getting married tomorrow!” Amanda squeals.

“I can use a shot,” one of Surfer Dude’s friends chimes in.

The bartender makes his way over to our side of the bar. “What can I make for you?” he asks.

“Can we get . . .” he points his finger at each person, taking a head count, “eight shots of Jaeger over here.”

“Can I get a light beer?” I ask, adding, “Whatever you have.” He nods his head to show he heard me and walks away.

As the bartender rounds up shot glasses, Surfer Dude makes introductions. “I’m Russell, and these are my bros, Matt, Jake, Finn, and Brian.”

“I’m Miranda. The bride-to-be is Amanda, and this is Olivia.”

“Hi,” I say, keeping my focus on the bartender.

“So, what are three beautiful ladies doing this evening?” Matt asks.

“We’re celebrating!” Amanda cheers.

“Another one bites the dust,” Jake mutters.

“How about you two ladies. Married?” Brian asks, though his attention remains on Miranda.

“No,” she says, a flush creeping across her cheeks.

He turns to me. “You?”

“No, not married.”

That grabs Jake’s attention. If I were single, I might actually be attracted to him. He kind of reminds me of Jared Leto in the movie
Mr. Nobody
. His hair is the same straight length that covers part of his face, he has nice eyes, although it’s too dark to tell what color they are, and a dimple peeks out when he smiles.