No Tomorrow

“That’s cool,” Phil says.

“And you?” I ask to be polite. I don’t mind Phil and his receding hairline, but I’m currently in a hopeful something with Evan and therefore, unavailable.

“I’m a landscaper.”

“We both are,” Mitch jumps in. “We’re partners and started the business last year.”

“That’s great.”

I’m bored.

Ditra runs her hand up and down Mitch’s muscular arm like it’s a genie’s lamp. “That’s why they’re so tan and muscular.”

Instead of getting dinners, we order one of every appetizer to share. I debate getting a fruity alcoholic drink like Ditra ordered, but I don’t want alcohol on my breath if I see Evan later. I have no idea if drinking is part of his substance abuse problem, but after the pill debacle, I want to be careful.

“I was thinking we could all go back to my place after dinner, have some drinks, and hang out,” Ditra suggests after the waitress brings the food to our table.

“I’m down for that,” Phil answers with his eyes on me.

I spoon small glops of ranch dressing and honey mustard sauce onto my plate from the large cups that came with the appetizers. I don’t want to dip my food into the same condiment everyone else is dipping theirs. That’s a germ farm I don’t want to be part of.

“I wish I could, but I have plans after this,” I reply.

“Plans?” Ditra repeats. “What plans? Sitting with your cat in bed and reading isn’t a plan.”

The guys laugh.

“Very funny, but no, not with my cat.”

She nudges my leg with her foot under the table. “Well, now you have to tell me. “

“No, I don’t.” I flash her a teasing smile, knowing it’s making her crazy I’m doing something she doesn’t know about, but I’m not about to get into my personal life here in a bar with two men I don’t even know at the table.

The guys divert the conversation to discussing a recent hockey game, leaving Ditra and me to chat about clothes and makeup while we share mozzarella sticks and crispy chicken fingers, but something in the back of my mind keeps distracting me. Then I realize it’s not something in the back of my mind at all, but something in the back of the room.

The band has started to play, and a woman’s sultry voice fills the bar. But that’s not it, either. It’s the very distinct sound of guitar echoing after her voice that’s pulling me in, making my heart race. Turning my head toward the stage, I think my eyes must be playing tricks on me at first, but there’s no denying the guy sitting on that stool, playing guitar on the left side of the stage under a blue light, is Evan. He looks different here, out of the park and surrounded by people. He looks sexier. More real. Somehow less of a fantasy.

True to form, he’s not looking at the people around him at all, leaving me wide open to gawk at him from our table here in the corner.

The female singer has mile-long legs in skin-tight leather pants and an equally tight red T-shirt stretched across her chest, cut to show off her pierced belly button. She’s gorgeous, strutting around on the tiny stage like a born rock star and shaking her waist-length white-blond hair. Skimming her hand up and down his arms and gyrating her hips against him as she belts out a popular Concrete Blonde song, she’s making a show of flirting with Evan, and it’s got me all in a jealous tizzy.

There’s a lot of arm touching going on in this room, and I wonder if that’s the universal I’m totally into you gesture.

“Piper? Are you listening to me?” Ditra grabs my hand, and I drop the French fry I was holding.

“Huh?” I tear my eyes away from the stage.

“You just completely spaced out on me.”

Phil leans into my shoulder and almost spills his beer in my lap. “She was overcome by how awesome I am. It happens a lot,” he jokes.

“Yeah, I’m sure that was it,” Ditra says, rolling her eyes.

“I was just checking out the band,” I say nonchalantly. “They’re really good.”

“They play here a lot,” Mitch informs us. “I’m friends with one of the bartenders who works weekends. He says that singer brings in a lot of customers. She’s hot as hell.”

Ditra glares daggers at him. “Not exactly the best thing to say right in front of me if you’re trying to get some of this.”

Shaking my head, I take a potato skin from the platter and place it on my plate. I can’t believe my best friend just referred to herself as some of this.

Mitch laughs and drapes his arm around her. “I can check her out and still have you, babe.”

She plays coy. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

It takes every ounce of will power I have, but I refuse to let myself look back at the stage for the next two hours. I had no idea Evan also played in local bars with a band. It’s quite possible he plays at a different bar every night of the week and in the park during the day. I’m ashamed of myself for knowing nothing about a man who had several inches of his body buried in mine and who also has been consuming my thoughts for weeks.