Love the One You Hate

I have a hundred questions, but I settle for the most important one.

“Where are you guys?”

She gives me the name of the bar and I stub out my cigar.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Keep Barrett away from Maren.”

I sound menacing even to my own ears, but Tori doesn’t call me out on it. Instead, she laughs. “Easier said than done.”

I drive like a bat out of hell on the way to pick them up. This evening has been a disaster ever since I first arrived. I was jittery with nerves on my drive from the city. I was anxious to see Maren again after three weeks without her, but after our brief talk outside, she decided to skip dinner. When Patricia attempted to take up a tray of food to her, she returned moments later with it still in her hands, informing my grandmother and me that Maren wasn’t in her room. I had no clue where she went, but apparently it was out to a bar with Tori and Barrett.

With it being full-blown tourist season, parking outside the bar is insane, and Tori won’t answer her phone. Eventually, I find a spot a few blocks north and then head toward the crowded entrance.

Inside, I’m annoyed to find it’s packed from wall to wall. Rowdy college kids shout over the music, and out of respect for my hearing, I head out to search the back patio that overlooks the water, but when that proves fruitless, I snake back through the tables inside for a second time. I have my phone pressed to my ear as I call Tori yet again, and I’m about to give up when bodies shift and a clear path to the bar opens up, right to where Maren sits on a stool with Barrett’s arm wrapped around her waist. Her head rests on his shoulder.

An uncomfortable ache settles in my gut as I pocket my phone and head straight for them. I have half a mind to pry them apart myself like some overbearing ogre, but instead, I aim my sights on Tori. She glances up as she sips from a straw then does a double take when she realizes it’s me.

“Nicky!”

I drag a hand through my hair, nodding my head toward the entrance. “Hey, are you ready to go?”

Maren’s back stiffens at the sound of my voice. Then she looks over her shoulder and throws her hands up in the air.

“Look who’s here! The asshole himself!” She waves toward the bar. “Hey, bartender, can you give everyone free shots courtesy of my pal, Nicholas Hunt?”

The few people around her hoot and holler as if free shots are actually coming their way. I shake my head at the bartender and he grunts, moving along to another group of patrons at the other end of the bar.

Barrett cracks up.

Maren turns away from me, and Tori claps me on the shoulder.

“Thank god you’re here. Maren, let’s go. Nicky’s taking us home.”

Maren doesn’t turn around. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

“I can just take her later,” Barrett volunteers, smiling down at her like he can’t believe his good fortune.

“Nah, let’s go,” I say, reaching out to touch her arm.

She tries to pull away from me, but the momentum has her slipping off her stool. I leap to catch her before she tumbles to the ground and then instead of propping her back on the seat, I use my grip on her to help her stand, already directing her toward the door.

She tries to yank free, but it’s easy enough to keep ahold of her. I should feel bad, but I don’t.

“What the hell!” Barrett shouts behind me.

“I take it you can get home safely?” I ask him, not actually caring what his answer is. Then I turn to Tori, who’s still sitting dumbstruck on her stool. “You coming?”

“No, she’s not coming—and I’m not either!” Maren protests.

I push her toward the door, and when Tori catches up to us, Maren shoots daggers at her. “Is this your fault? Did you call him?”

“Yes. We needed a ride home.”

“I just spent two hours talking shit about him. You could have called someone else.”

Tori grins up at me. “It’s true. She really did have a lot to say about you.”

I push open the door of the bar and make sure to lead Maren out in front of me. “I have no doubt. I’m curious, though—what’s the root of her issue with me?”

“Her issue with you is that you’re an arrogant asshole with no regard for the feelings of others!” Maren replies passionately.

“I sound like a real prick,” I agree as we turn the corner. “My car’s a few blocks that way.”

More than ever, I wish I’d been able to secure a parking spot closer to the bar. Tori and Maren aren’t stumbling drunk, just tipsy enough that they’re prone to wander. Every shop we pass seems to catch Tori’s attention. “Oooh, I love the way they styled that bookshelf! Do you think they’d let me buy that lamp?”