“Can’t say I ever really workout,” I reply, looking at my puny arm, “But thanks for the offer.”

“What is it you do, Tatum?”

I explain my job as a CNA, and add a few memorable stories to keep the conversation going.

“So we had these two clients last year.  One was mostly blind and had dementia, and the other rarely ever spoke and also had dementia.  So you can imagine, most of what they said was gibberish.  Some afternoons we sit at a picnic table outside and read the newspaper to the residents.  I had just finished reading a section about a young man who had set up a local basketball tournament to raise money for some charity, when the first lady shouts out, “Hey, what’s the score?”  I kid you not, the second lady was across the table, and she leans over and says, “Pimps 10, Hoes nothing!”

Both Jacoby and Trey erupt in a fit of roaring laughter, and I join them before taking a swallow of my drink.

“Sounds like a pretty entertaining job,” Trey adds while tipping the neck of his beer to his lips.

“It can be.  It has its low points, too.”  Suddenly Monica surfaces in my mind.  I haven’t really thought about her since Thursday morning when I left her with her family, and I feel guilty.  The thought puts a damper on my good mood, and I’m quick to swallow the rest of my drink.  The refreshing coolness slides down my throat perking me up a bit.

“Another?” Trey asks, and I nod, ignoring the way Jacoby tenses beside me.

When the bartender places the drink in front of me, I take a big gulp.

“Jacoby here says you’re staying with him a while.  What’s up with that?”

“Uh, water leak.  Yeah.  There’s a huge leak in my apartment ceiling, and I can’t live there while maintenance fixes it," I lie quickly.  “It destroyed my bed while I was at work the other day.”  Hopefully the lighting is dim enough he doesn’t see the bright red color now coating my cheeks.

“Ah, so good ‘ol Jacoby here decided to share his with you?” Trey wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and I blush even more.

“Man, she’s in the guest room,” Jacoby cuts in, quick to shut down that train wreck.

For some unknown reason, his response actually stings a little.  Maybe he really is seeing someone.  Why would he bring me with then?  Pity?  Fuck pity.

I down the rest of my vodka, starting to feel a little buzzed on the stool I’m perched on.  I shut out the conversation the two are having and get lost staring at the television next to the bar—staring but not seeing.

“Want to dance?” Trey inquires, breaking me from zoning out.

“Seriously, dude?  And what I’m I supposed to do?” asks Jacoby, an irritating look in his eye.

“Go pick someone else out,” Trey tells him.  “What do you say, Sweetheart, one dance?” he finishes to me.

“Sure,” I reply, feeling a bit reckless and even more annoyed.  If Jacoby just brought me here because he felt sorry for me, I’m going to make sure I have a good time without him.

Trey stands up, swiping his beer off the bar top and holds his hand out to me.  As I go to hop down from my stool, a pair of strong hands grasp my waist, holding me still.  A shock of electricity zings from those hands to the depths of my belly.

Jacoby puts his mouth to my ear.  “What are you doing?”

“Having fun,” I reply simply, trying to ignore the warmth spreading from his touch.

“Fuck, Tatum, don’t do this.  We can go if you want.”

I glance back over my shoulder once and almost regret it.  Jacoby’s face is within inches of my own, and I don’t miss the way his eyes drop to my lips.  My breath catches in my throat.

“I’m going to dance.  I’ll be back.”  Placing my hand within Trey’s, I allow him to pull me out in front of the band.

The beat is fast.  A rapid pounding of drums and Trey knows how to dance.  He wraps me in his arms, tightly but casually, and I can tell he’s only trying to have a good time, not get into my pants.  Maybe he sensed some of my tension earlier and is trying to help me loosen up.  Regardless, our dancing is platonic, and I feel comfortable with him.

Jacoby on the other hand looks pissed.

Every time I face the bar, I feel my eyes magnetically drawn to where he sits, nursing another whiskey.  And every time I face the bar, his eyes lock on mine.  Dark brown to hazel.  Angry to defiant.  I feel a surge of annoyance that he’s pouting when he could have asked me to dance.  Instead, I’m encased in the muscular arms of his good friend whom I just met.

Trey releases me, holding just my hand, and I close my eyes and feel the music coursing through me.  The drumming takes up residence within my body, and my hips rock to the beat.  I release my tension on the string of melody floating through the air, losing myself.  I couldn’t have imagined how good it would feel to just let go for a little bit.  I’m more tightly wound than I thought.

One song turns into two, turns into three, and before I know it, sweat is running down my back.  Trey is still dancing with me, although not too closely, as if he understands I’m not that type of girl and he’s giving me space.  I feel comfortable with this genuine guy, and I’m glad Jacoby brought me along tonight.

Thinking his name has me suddenly looking for him.  In my passionate desire to unwind, I sort of forgot he was here.  Turning my attention to the bar, I find him where we left him, looking forlorn and slightly angry.  What the hell is his problem?  At least Trey is nice enough to engage with me.  Jacoby wants to just sit around and act like a father figure.  I don’t need him to try to take care of me.  I need to have some fun.

The song changes and I need to take a break, but I don’t want to sit at the bar again.  Jacoby will probably try to talk me into leaving so I excuse myself to use the restroom.

Once inside, I pause at the sink, resting my hands against the porcelain basin.  I’ve never been much of a hopeful person, but after everything with my mom, this past week makes me wonder what’s really out there for me.  Why do I try so hard to make a good life for myself when shit like this happens?  Why do I deserve for everything to be so tough when people like Emerson seem to have it so easy?  When I look down, I realize my hands are gripping the ledge with white knuckled force, and I relax my hands, letting out a long, slow exhale.

Maybe it’s time I stop fighting reality.  Maybe I was never meant to have a happy life, and I should just settle with what’s around me.  Maybe I’m not so different than people like Wyatt, two squares cut from the same cloth.

Get a grip, Tatum.  I did not just compare myself to him.

I wash my hands violently at the sink until the skin is red and raw.  The sensitized skin takes my mind off the depressing path it was trailing down.  I better get back out there before those two guys wonder what happened to me.  Jacoby will probably be waiting with a lecture.

As I walk through the heavy wooden door, I’m startled.  Standing directly across from me is Jacoby.  His face is blank and impassive, yet he’s watching me with a strange intensity.

“You didn’t have to come looking for me.  I know how to use the bathroom by myself.”

He doesn’t reply.  Instead, he pushes himself off the wall and takes a measured step towards me.  I hold perfectly still, captivated by his suddenly strange demeanor.  What is he doing?  When I don’t move, Jacoby takes another step, and another, his eyes locked on mine the entire time.  Something stirs within my belly as I watch his unhurried approach, and I can’t help sweeping my eyes down his muscular frame.

Suddenly, he’s before me, but he doesn’t stop there.  Before I can react, Jacoby threads his large hand into the hair at the back of my neck and walks me backwards until I’m pressed against the door I just came through.  His eyes close seconds before he lowers his lips to mine, and something inside me breaks.  Whatever wall I had erected to protect myself is now lying in a crumbled heap around me.  I’m frozen by the feel of Jacoby’s warm mouth pressed against my own as he brushes his lips back and forth before pulling away.