One More Time (Bremmy 1)

Chapterish 10

THE SANDBAR

10:07 PM

"Speaking of bitching about people..." Meg says, her eyes catching Trix's.

"Yes?" I ask, sensing a question.

We're stopped in the middle of the pavement out front of the bar, under a streetlamp. They both look at me, waiting.

"Well... What happened to bitching about Brooks?" Meg asks, smirking. "You were all hot and heavy on complaining two days ago."

"And we saw you two last night!" Trix squeals. "We all left and you two had wandered away. Tell us everything!"

"Oh please. There's nothing to tell. I went home." I can't help but smile.

"...Alone?" Meg raises her eyebrow.

"Of course alone, Meg!" I laugh.

"Em, c'mon. We know how you feel about him. It's Brooks!" Trix giggles.

"Exactly," I pause. "It's Brooks."

"So how do you feel about him?" Meg asks, taking off her cover up.

"I don't even know." I say truthfully.

They look at each other and roll their eyes.

"Well, we want updates." Trix says, matter-of-factly.

"Well, you'll be waiting for a while." I spin on my heels and walk into the bar.

The door slams behind me.

"Look at all of you out there getting drunk." The tall guy from the band is center stage. The crowd cheers. "Alright, alright. Y'all aren't drunk enough. This is summer!"

More cheering. More people trying to talk over the microphone.

"I wanna see y'all hammered. Smashed. Let's make some noise!" Crowd cheers. The guitar starts slow. His raspy voice fills the mic, "Please drink responsibly."

It's been 24 hours since the Talk. Since I basically gave in, well, decided to anyway. Trix, Meg and I had a girls' day at the beach. Same pier. Same bikini and cover up. Spent the entire day thinking about him. Same Em.

I hang on the side of the floor. I'm sure as shit not drunk enough to meet the dance floor yet. Tequila shots three and four are slowly talking me into it. Meg and Nate are ordering shot round five. No amount of shots is ever enough. Or something.

Alex grabs the corner table and places several beer bottles down on the high-top. Travis takes one and hands another to Brooks. I refuse when Travis offers one to me.

"Emmy doesn't drink beer." Brooks mocks my earlier statement. Why do I care that he remembers? When did I become this person?

"Emmy prefers shots. Finally!" I snag number five from the small tray Meg brings to the table.

Trix, Meg and I, the basic bitch trio, shoot the shots in typical tequila fashion. The salt. The shot. The lime. It burns, but in a good way. This one will do the trick.

It seems the band guy got his wish. The floor is almost packed now. People line the open walls and spill over onto the deck. Trix and Trav follow Meg and Nate into the dancing pit. Looks more like a demo for running with the bulls. But props.

Alex disappears somewhere with two guys I recognized but whose names I forgot. Or could probably still remember if I cared. Definitely don't. I blame number 5. 

The first few strings of a pseudo EDM/Country crossover song play. The crowd flips. I flip silently inside because I fucking love the song too. I'm tempted. I'm feeling brave enough to embrace my inner matador. But I can't bring myself to leave the corner high-top like some magnet is keeping me there.

Brooks leans against the table next to me. He positions his body to mirror mine. God what a body up close.  I mean he was fucking hot from a distance too; I practically drooled over that killer volleyball spike. No shame.  But this is another game. This is a one-on-one match.

I have a feeling I'm gonna be shit.

Somehow we are inches away now. His eyes kill me. His voice kills me. His face... Really just everything about him fucking kills me. This high-top still completely vacant apart from me, Brooks, our drinks, and the empty shot tray Meg left in the middle.

I walk to the other side of the table and sit in one of the stools. Brooks's eyes follow my every move, turning to line his body up with mine again. He puts me between him and the table; his arms pin the table on either side of me.

"So what have you been doing?" I scream into his ear. The music would drown out the conversation otherwise.

"I designed a lax line. You know for clothing and sticks and such. Started it at my college first and it sort of picked up." Fucking lax bro. Social media did get that right.

"So you like playing with guys' sticks?" I smirk.

"You know I've never heard that one before," Brooks laughs. "Take long to come up with it?"

"No. It just sort of came to me."

"I love it when things just sort of come." He talks into my ear so closely his lips graze my skin. My heart seems to flip the fuck out.

"You're the fucking worst," I squeeze through a smile.

You can't, I repeat this over and over. I can't get invested. This I what I tell myself when I'm staring up into his ocean eyes. Three seconds in and I'm already breaking my own promise.

OK, you can fuck him but you can't love him. My head might know that's a bunch of bullshit, but right now a very specific body part DGAF about my head. Just about his.

"And what is it you do out west?" Brooks moves in closer still.

"Be all zen and shit, remember?" I bite the tiny red sword, sliding a cherry off with my teeth.

"Oh that's right." He laughs at me. "Are you zen as a hobby or full time?"

"I run a studio."

"Run it? And you just left it for two weeks?" Brooks raises his eyebrow.

"A perk of being the owner." I smirk.

"You said you ran it! You didn't say you owned it." He picks up another beer from the tray that magically materialized on our table. 

"If I own it then of course I run it too. It's only for two weeks."

I dip my remaining cherry in the colada, take a long swig, and greet the brain freeze.

"Is it?" Brooks asks in my ear again.

"Is it what?"

"Only for two weeks?" He asks again.

"Yes. Like I told you just last night." I all but roll my eyes at him.

"Are you sure about that?" Brooks is so close I can see the concave of his clavicle twitching under his breaths.

"Certain." I nod.

Our eyes betray us both: Him his cool exterior and suave façade. Mine my determined resolve to not care.

We've established I care right? We've established the memory of my 18-year-old self is currently owning and outperforming my present 26-year-old self.

It's outbidding me for the night and Brooks is the prize.

Another country crossover song starts. The dance floor is even more packed than before. I can't even find where Trix and Travis went to hide. Wtf knows where Meg and Nate got to. I can still see Alex at the bar, leaning against the side and talking animatedly to some super hot blonde.

It's like there's no one else in the entire bar. We aren't paying attention to anyone and no one gives two shits about us. We came for the group but stayed to see each other.

That much is clear.