“Who was that?” Alana asks, her face is flushed, and her hands are still gripping my forearms.
“Spiro. He’s the manager.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Fine.” I reluctantly move one of my hands away from her face. “He was just letting me know when my first shift is.” I smile down at her, then slam the last shot.
Fuck.
* * *
The ceiling lights flash,brightening the room like daylight.
It’s last call.
“Alana! There you are.” Someone pulls on her arm. It’s her friend with the short blonde hair. “Time to go.” She stumbles a little, and I reach out to grab her. She’s obviously drunk.
“I don’t think I can drive,” she informs her friend, and it feels like the angels are singing.
“What do you mean, you can’t drive?”
Alana glances uncomfortably at me. “I sort of drank a little.”
Her friend’s eyes become intense, and her mouth twists up into a little smile. “Is he the cause?”
“More like the effect,” Alana replies, and my insides stir.
“I can drive you,” I interject.
“No way,” Alana immediately refuses. “You drank way more than me. We’ll get a cab.”
“I’m fine, really,” I urge.
“No,” she declines sternly. “There will be taxis outside.”
There seems to be no swaying her. “Fine. I’ll at least walk you out,” I huff. Alana shoots me a cautionary glare, and then starts heading toward the door, her friend right in front of us. I grab her hand as we walk, because I just need to feel her one last time. She looks up at me impartially, making it impossible to decode her thoughts.
I’m suddenly questioning myself. We had a good time, right? She’ll want to see me again? That wasn’t just a fly by the moment thing?
When we get outside, there are swarms of people and a long line of cars trying to exit the parking lot. It only takes a moment for Alana to find a cab. Her friend climbs in first, sprawling out in the backseat. I pull Alana back before she can follow. “Are you going to give me your number?”
“What for?” She giggles.
“Because I want to see you again.”
She pauses, silently measuring me up. “I don’t need to give you my number. I know where you work.” She smirks as she slides into the backseat.
What?She’s fucking with me. She has to be. And I don’t start until next week. That’s way too long to wait. “The Racetrack.” I dip my head down quickly. “I work there too. Tomorrow. Meet me tomorrow at six. There’s a beer bar, The Exacta Box. It’s by the picnic tables.”
Alana’s smirk gets bigger. “We’ll see, Ryan, we’ll see.” Then she shuts the door. All I can do is watch as the cab drives away with her and my heart inside it.