A few curious eyes darted in Layla's direction as she walked in, but for the most part, they ignored her. As she slid onto a stool in front of the bar to wait to order the obligatory drink, she couldn't help but think her time would be better spent reviewing the score for her musical or planning the upcoming concert band schedule.
"Hey, Ed." Layla smiled at the elderly curmudgeon on the stool a few spaces over. "Where's the rest of the gang? Still at Chuck's?"
He shrugged and sipped his drink, grumbling something that sounded a lot like, "How the hell should I know?"
Layla gave a sympathetic nod and took his response to mean, "They're late. And how are you this evening?"
Ed's tone didn't offend her at all. He was her favorite of the group of grandpas who hung out together in various establishments around down like Maybe's very own, grumpy mafia. If the mafia were a bunch of stubborn, retired railroad workers who made a great show about how much they didn't care about being in each other's company when everyone really knew they were the closest friends the town had ever seen. And for some reason, Ed was her favorite precisely because he was the grouchiest.
Whenever he spoke, his words conveyed his unwaivering irritation with the world and all the idiots in it. He'd told her that exact thing once. "Young lady, this world is full of idiots so you'd better just get used to it."
But he only talked at all to people he really liked, and Layla knew she was right at the top of his list with his wife and the lady who ran the donut shop down the street.
One time, her lawn mower had stalled out in the middle of her yard, and somehow word had gotten to back to Ed. Within the half hour, he was at her house, toolbox in hand. Of course she had her own tools--her dad had left her his collection when he moved out because he said a woman couldn't live alone without the necessary tools to keep up her own house--but Ed wanted to use his own stuff. His wrenches had special mojo, she guessed. Either way, her lawn mower was up and running in no time.
In gratitude, she brought out a glass of cold lemonade, cold drinks being customary on hot, summer days and all. Ed had waved it away, asking for whiskey or coffee instead.
Layla didn't keep whiskey in the house, so hot coffee it was. He drank it in two gulps, grumbled something about how she was pretty enough to have any husband she wanted so she should pick one already so she didn't have shit like this happening, then left.
Layla rested her elbows on the counter and leaned in his direction. "I'd rather sit up here and drink with you. I can't stand all this fake socializing crap."
He huffed, which Layla knew was actually a laugh, then set his empty glass on the counter.
Just then Jace, aka Red, the surprisingly not red-haired bartender and son of the original Red who opened this place, came out from the kitchen. He was a year younger than Layla and had been in her same squad in marching band for three years. He'd known more raunchy jokes involving clarinets than any sixteen year old should.
He grinned when he saw her, his eyes drifting down to her bared shoulder before automatically refilling Ed's glass. Layla had always had the feeling that Jace--she'd always called him by his real name and he'd never stopped her--never lost interest in her even after she told him all those years ago that they shouldn't go out because they were friends.
"What on earth brings you in here? I feel like I haven't seen you in forever." He leaned on the counter, his eyes darting once more to her shoulder before meeting her gaze. "Damn Layla, you look prettier than ever."
Ed sipped his whiskey and watched the football game on the TV over the bar, pretending that neither of them existed.
Layla cleared her throat. Okay. Maybe the sweater wasn't the best idea. But dammit if she didn't deserve a compliment once in a while.
She tilted her head to the group at the other side of the room. "I promised I'd come..."
"Right. I forgot." He smiled again. "Not exactly a tradition you take part in, is it? Not that I object to you being here. At all. I'd be thrilled if you came here every day."
"Stop it." She slapped him on his arm, realizing too late that she was flirting.
It was flirting, wasn't it? She'd never been good at telling that sort of thing.
And why shouldn't she flirt? She needed to forget Derek, didn't she? Maybe a few more compliments from Jace might just do the trick.
Hell, maybe she'd ask him out on a date.
He was handsome and funny and owned his own business. His eyes were brown, not the fiery blue she'd begun to picture when she thought about the type of man she wanted to be with, and his hair was a dark blond, not that warm brown she thought she might prefer. But still...
"You seem different..." Jace tilted his head. Layla recognized a spark of possibility in his eyes.
Yeah. Different. Getting screwed senseless by the sexiest man she'd ever met after a three year drought would do that to a gal.
Layla's stomach lurched as she pasted on a smile for Jace. She had the terrible feeling she'd be imagining blue eyes for the rest of her life. She stretched her smile a little wider.
She shouldn't have slapped Jace on the arm. It was too much like a game, and she'd had enough games to last a lifetime.
"Nope. Same old me."
"Okay, then. What'll it be, same old you?"
"She'll have an Irish Slammer. Make it two." Amelia appeared behind Layla and draped an arm around her shoulders.
Layla aimed her pasted-on smile at her somewhat-friend, glad for the interruption. That moment with Jace had wandered into territory she wasn't prepared to explore. "I was thinking about that shot situation--"
Amelia held up a finger. "Uh-uh. You promised."
Layla looked to Jace for help, but he just shrugged. "An Irish Slammer?"
"Yep." Amelia nodded, a borderline maniacal grin on her face. "The perfect thing for wiping out the memory of philandering ex-husbands. A pint of stout, drop in a shot of Irish Cream laced with just enough whiskey so you'll feel it, and down it goes."
"All at once?" Layla felt nauseous just thinking about it.
"Yup."
"Sounds horrible."
"It is. But give it five minutes and you'll love it." Amelia clapped her hands together. "This one's on me. Next one's on you."
Great. She was doing a next one.
Derek's voice floated through her mind. Promise me a next time.
Yeah right. She was sure a next time was the last thing either of them wanted.
Okay, so deep down, the sex-starved little part of her she tried to ignore in pursuit of loftier ambitions--the part that wanted to have her rock star and eat him, too--screamed at her that a "next time" was exactly what she wanted, but Layla was good at ignoring all the little parts of her that didn't go along with the main plan.
Why in the hell had she agreed to have sex without a condom? Even the main part of her, the part that was in control almost all of the time, had to admit that "agree" was the understatement of the year.
"Begged" was more accurate. All day long she'd been trying not to be embarrassed about what he must think about her…though he said he'd never had unprotected sex with anyone.
Well, neither had she. Even after he'd left, after she'd washed away all traces of what they'd done, she lay in her bed, her body thrumming with the rightness of it all. Having a man inside her, skin to skin, filling her in every way possible...
And just like that her body was awake, her long neglected vagina clenching at the memory of the man who'd slammed the door on her less than 24 hours ago.
Layla squeezed her thighs together and shifted on her stool, watching as Jace made their drinks. She shifted on her stool again when she realized Amelia was staring at her.
"How are you holding up?" Layla asked.
"I'm starting to think that my soon to be ex-husband sticking his dick in every woman in town is the best thing that ever happened to me."
"Oh...okay."
"I don't want to talk about me right now. I want to talk about something more fun. Tell me...what were you thinking about just now?" Her fellow teacher narrowed her eyes. "For a second there, you looked...less testy than usual."
"I have a stomach ache," Layla said.
"And that made you less testy?"
Jace slid a pint glass and a shot glass to each woman. "This will definitely help a stomach ache."
"Yeah...I don't know..." Layla eyed the drinks.
The stout, okay. The cauldron of Irish Cream and whiskey, not so much.
"Shut up and do it. What are you? A little girl?" Amelia rolled her eyes. "Do I need to yell at you through a megaphone to get you to hold up your end of the promise? Threaten to hit you with a clipboard, perhaps? Let me say it in a way you'll understand." Amelia put her hand on her hips and furrowed her brow. "Do you think this shot is going to drink itself? Do it now, or I'll make you run laps around the parking lot."
Layla blinked, not sure whether to laugh or be offended.
"That's right. We've all heard you." Amelia waved her hand, encompassing the group at the back of the bar. She fake shuddered. "You're terrifying."
Jace erupted into laughter. "She yelled at me the same way when I was in her squad."
Layla laughed, too. "Don't try to pretend like you didn't provoke me."
"I did, and I guess I can finally admit it...you look good when you're angry. Besides, how else was I supposed to get your attention. Can you tell me a more effective way?" He lifted one eyebrow.
Layla cleared her throat, grateful when Amelia kept talking.
"The kids adore her, though. The more she yells, the more they love her." Amelia spoke out of the side of her mouth in a mock whisper. "Even they know she doesn't mean it."
"Oh...I totally mean it." Layla smiled. "Tommy Morris ran so many laps last year, he decided to join the cross country team. Thanks me all the time for getting him in shape."
"Well sure, but you don't mean it, mean it. Come on. Let's do this." Amelia picked up her shot glass and held it over the top of her pint. "On the count of three, drop the shot glass in, then chug."
"Just drop it in?" Layla couldn't help but feel like she should know way more about this procedure than she did. That's why she mostly stuck to tea. This was way too complicated.
She glanced at Jace for help, but he just leaned against the counter, watching her as if she were the most interesting thing in the place.
"Come on. One. Two. Three." Amelia dropped in her shot glass and downed her pint like a pro.
Not wanting to look like a wimp and not wanting to violate the sanctity of "counting to three," Layla copied her friend. Yeah. Her friend.
She was starting to think she didn't have enough of those.
Layla couldn't help but think that Amelia and Gabi would be trouble if she got them together. It took Layla considerably longer than Amelia empty the glass and she had to fight the urge to cough, but she got it all down.
Amelia whooped and slapped her on the back. "You did it. Quit making that face. It's not that bad." She pointed her finger pistol-style at Jace. "Two more, bartender. Put 'em on Layla's tab."