After the first dance, the emcee of the reception announces over the speaker it’s time for the customary father-daughter dance. Immediately, my heart clutches, assuming the guy’s unaware of Katrina’s family situation, but as she leaves Lucca’s side and walks over to where I’m sitting, I’m speechless and fighting back a slew of tears. Reaching out to me with her small, delicate hands, she helps me to my feet and drags me to the dance floor. My clammy palms grab ahold of her narrow waist as her slender arms lazily loop around my neck, and we begin to rock leisurely to the melody. For these few brief minutes in time, the rest of the onlookers blur into an out-of-focus backdrop, and it’s only her, me, and the years of memories we’ve shared together. Memories are all I’ll be left with after tonight.
Never in her life has she looked more magnificent than she does right now. The traditional white wedding gown is stylish yet classy, hugging her curves perfectly. Her long blonde hair is tied back in a twist, but several rebellious strands cascade loosely around her face, and she’s only wearing enough makeup to accentuate the natural beauty she already holds. As I hear the song coming to an end, I press my thumbs further into her flesh and breathe her heavenly scent deep into my lungs, hoping to etch this moment permanently into my memory.
On her tiptoes, she tenderly kisses my cheek and repeats the last sentence of my goodbye letter to her in a whisper, “I loved you yesterday, I love you today, and I’ll love you tomorrow.” Then, spinning around with glassy eyes, appearing completely angelic with a halo of white lights radiating behind her, she floats over to her waiting husband.
I leave the dance floor, immediately walking straight to one of the two bars set up in the yard, in desperate need of a stiff drink. The music has resumed and the guests are now watching Lucca and his mom dance in similar fashion; thankfully, their eyes are no longer on me. Seeing Katrina on her wedding day was reason enough for me to come here, but being included in the ceremony and now the reception has truly brought me the closure my heart so desperately needed.
“Scotch, neat,” I request, leaning my elbow against the deep mahogany surface as I look out across the yard.
“Yes, sir. Any specific label?” a young, female voice asks in return.
I assumed there wasn’t much of a selection, seeing these are just makeshift structures, so I turn around to examine all they have to offer. However, instead of looking at bottles of liquor, I find my eyes locked on the face of a striking, young platinum blonde.
“What do you have?” I inquire, my gaze unwavering.
“Pretty much anything you like, sir. I’m sure I’ve got something that’ll satisfy your thirst,” she flirts back, unfazed by my stare. She’s a tiny thing, barely tall enough to rest her elbows up on the counter, and I’m instantly drawn to the vibrant self-assurance she carries herself with. A mischievous glimmer dances in her eyes, and the way her lips curve upwards into a wicked grin makes me want to kiss the corners of her mouth. I need a drink worse than I thought.
“So…you leaving it up to me?” her sassy voice interrupts my wandering thoughts, which were quickly turning in the wrong direction.
Blinking rapidly with a faint shake of my head, I force myself to redirect my focus. Laughing softly, I take her up on her offer. “Sure, I’ll let you pick my poison.”
Based on her youthful appearance, I doubt she’s ever even tasted the potent spirit, much less knows the difference between a good and bad one. Smirking, as if she can read my thoughts, she grabs a rocks glass and places it on the wooden structure between us. She then lifts a bottle of King’s Crest 25-year and fills the crystal a little more than halfway with the amber-colored liquid. Nudging the drink towards me, she tilts her head and her eyes silently search my face for approval.
Eager to continue the little game we’ve started, I bring the glass to my nose and inhale the spicy, oak-laced aromas released by the blended whiskey, my eyes never leaving hers. In one mouthful, I swallow the entire thing and slam the snifter down on the wood, allowing the burn to soothe as it slides down my throat and chest. Without even asking, she raises the bottle and pours another. I repeat the motion, this time nodding my head in appreciation as I set the glass back down.
“Nice choice,” I commend her, flashing a grin.
“You look too young to be the father of the bride.”
Her comment catches me off-guard; I haven’t thought about people thinking I was actually Katrina’s dad. Chuckling softly, I reply feistily, “You look too young to be a bartender.”
“Touché, sir. I apologize if I offended.” Her eyes travel south, looking down to the ground, and a flicker of insecurity flashes across her face.
I’m not sure why my gut tightens at her timid response, but it does, and immediately, I feel awful for making her feel uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that; I was just teasing you.”
She brings her eyes to meet mine through the thick lashes framing her arresting emerald-colored eyes, the impish smile returning to her mouth, and again, I want to cover her lips with mine. I need another drink. To keep myself from leaning across the twelve inches of wood separating us and following through with the lustful thoughts that keep toying with me, I keep talking. “My name is Leo, by the way, and I am not the father of the bride. She and I are old friends.”
Extending her hand, a genuine smile now spreads across her face. “Nice to meet you, Leo. I’m Trystan, and I am the bartender—one of legal age, at that.”
I take her small hand in mine and I want to kiss the top of it, but afraid of the douche-level of the move, I refrain. “Believe me, the pleasure is all mine.” By this point, the reception behind me has become an afterthought. All I want to do is stand here and talk to this girl, who for some reason has captivated me just with the way she twists her lips and the witty comments that pour out of them.
Unfortunately, about the time I make this realization and plan to get comfortable for the remainder of the night, Lucca strides over to me. “C’mon, Leo, I was wondering where you disappeared to,” he says cheerfully, slinging his arm around my shoulder. “It’s almost time to cut the cake and do the bouquet and garter toss. We need you.” He steers me away from the bar, back towards the festivities, but I can’t help looking over my shoulder as we walk away and winking at my new friend. She rolls her eyes playfully and shakes her head, but then, right before I turn back around, she brings her hand to her mouth and blows me a kiss. I lift my arm in the air, pretend to catch it, and then tuck it in my shirt pocket. Maybe I don’t need another drink.
Over the next hour, I’m consumed by wedding activities, one right after the other, and as happy as I am for the newlyweds, I find it impossible to keep from leering over at Trystan. The rational part of my brain continues to remind me even if she wasn’t way too young for me, I’m leaving to go back to Croatia in two days, and the last thing I need is to be involved in any sort of romantic interlude, especially a one-night stand. I’m just not that kind of a guy. However, the completely nonsensical, illogical side of me keeps forcing my eyes in her direction, and the more flutes of champagne that are shoved into my hands, the louder the irrational voice gets.
Finally, after what seems like forever, I’m able to escape the dancing and partying, and I quickly retreat back to the bar where Trystan is. Tipsy on champagne and scotch, and even more intoxicated by the hopeful yearning for love and affection weddings somehow magically infuse into the blood stream, I approach her with the full intention of getting her in my hotel bed tonight. I haven’t even looked at any other women in…longer than I’d care to admit, but this one… From the moment I noticed her sassy little self, I’ve needed to taste those plump, rosy lips, and I know damn well that once I start, I won’t be able to stop at just her mouth, even if it is just one time. I’ll deal with my own conscience later.
“Trystan, would you like to hang out after you get off?” I ask outright as soon as she turns her attention to me from the previous guest. No point in beating around the bush
; either she says yes and I know what I have to look forward to, or she says no and I retreat back to my room alone. I can’t continue to torture myself with the not knowing.
Taking her sweet time to respond to my question, she pours me another glass of hard liquor. My brain is screaming, “Answer me!” but I figure that’s probably not the route to take. It’s obvious she’s contemplating something, and I take it as a good sign that she didn’t reject me immediately. My stomach is tied in knots for the few minutes I wait, and I graciously gulp down the fresh drink she’s poured, if nothing else than to rehydrate my parched mouth. Unable to handle her silence any longer, I say, “Look, I’m from out of town. I’m going to be leaving in a couple of days. I’m not looking for anything more than enjoying some good company and a few drinks a little later—someone to share this insanely romantic, picture-perfect night with—and I’m unquestionably attracted to and intrigued by you.” I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I’m rambling like a fucking idiot.
Hesitantly chewing on her bottom lip, she stares directly in my eyes. “Leo, I’m flattered by the offer, and I would love to spend some time with you, but I’ve got issues you want no part of…I promise.”
“Issues?” I ask, confused.
“Yeah, I guess you could call them daddy issues,” she retorts with a muffled snicker.
My thoughts immediately fly to Robert Green. “Daddy issues are my specialty.” I mean to say the satirical words in my head, but apparently, I verbalize my thoughts aloud.
She shakes her head, grinning slightly and taking a step back away from the high bar top she’s been hiding behind all evening. “No, you misunderstood.” She glances down at her small, but most-definitely-there baby bump, and then back up at me. “My daddy issues involve a baby on the way, and a daddy who doesn’t want to be a part of either of our lives.
I WATCH THE EXPRESSIONS on people’s faces—especially guys—once their gaze reaches my growing belly. It’s become my own little sociological experiment. I wish I would’ve started charting it as soon as I began to show, but I wasn’t aware of the strong reactions my pregnancy would elicit from the general public. The most common look I receive is that of pity and disappointment, sprinkled with a hint of compassion and empathy, but I’m no foreigner to the receiving end of stares filled with disgust and abhorrence as well. Because I look quite a bit younger than I am, and the fact I stand at five-foot-nothing, most assume I’m a stupid teenager who got knocked up, unplanned and unwedded. The unfortunate truth is they’re not very far off.
Despite earning a Master’s degree in Psychology last December, believing Brandt Howard loved me and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me was certifiably stupid, as was having unprotected sex with said asshole because of my foolish convictions I was living in a fairy tale. Getting pregnant was most definitely not planned, and I’m most definitely not married, which leaves the only incorrect assumption of the masses to be my age. I celebrated my twenty-fifth birthday last month, just two days after Brandt broke the news he wasn’t ready to ‘settle down’ and was leaving with two friends to go backpacking in Europe for the summer. Happy fucking birthday to me.
So, as the eyes of the tall, dark-haired stranger—who I now know to be named Leo—travel down my curvier-than-usual body, I brace myself for the shock, followed by one of the other typical expressions to flash across his exceptionally handsome face. Considering he basically just asked me to have a one-night stand with him before he travels back to wherever he came from, he’ll soon begin to stammer and stutter, trying desperately to retract his invitation without looking like a complete dick. Normally, this response wouldn’t bother me at all, as my protective outer-shell has hardened considerably over the past few months, but something about this guy has my stomach fluttering about, and it’s not my little sea monkey floating inside.
However, even after taking me all in, his gaze returns to mine with the same passionate intensity as before. “So if he’s not interested in being in your life, he won’t mind if you hang out with me tonight then?” He cocks his brow playfully.
“You can’t be serious,” I blurt out in disbelief, stepping towards the liquor well. “You must be drunk.”
He rests his elbow on the bar, leaning his large frame over the counter so his face is mere inches from mine. “I’m absolutely serious, and not even close to drunk,” he replies with a gorgeously crooked smile. “I’d love to spend some time with you when you get off. Obviously, we can’t have drinks like I originally proposed, but I’m up for whatever you want to do. You probably have a better idea of what to do and where to go around here. The only places I’ve been are my hotel and this backyard.”
I wipe my hands on the white dishtowel I’d previously thrown off to the side, partly to clean off the unwelcome sweat emerging on my palms, but mostly to buy myself a few moments to process the unfamiliar words tumbling from his mouth and concoct a suitable response. As much as I want to scream, “Yes! I’d love to!” at him, I don’t want to come off as desperate and weak. I refuse to be that girl, no matter what shit life throws in my face.
“I tell you what,” I say assertively. “You said you’re in town for another couple of days, so how about tomorrow I show you around the area—the best section of beach, the good restaurants, and anything else you want to see—if you’re still interested then.”
“You think I’m only asking you this because I’m drunk, and that I’ll change my mind in the morning?”
Yes, of course that’s what I think, but I don’t tell him that. “When I get off work, after standing on my feet several hours straight, I’m utterly exhausted and my bed is the only thing I want to spend time with. Please, don’t take it personally.”
“Okay, Miss Trystan, you’ve got yourself a date tomorrow. I hope you weren’t bluffing with that offer.” Smirking, he removes his cell phone from his pocket and extends it to me. “Program your number in, and then I’ll send you a text so you’ll have mine. I’ll be waiting for your message in the morning to tell me when and where to meet.”
I take the phone from him to do as he requests. I still don’t expect anything to come of this, but the guy talks a good game—I’ll give him that. As I return it to him, his fingers brush against mine, and a small jolt of electricity travels up my arm and a tingling sensation rapidly spreads throughout my body. I jerk my hand away from his, looking everywhere except his alluring eyes. Thankfully, before the awkwardness sets in, another guest walks up requesting several mixed drinks.
“See you tomorrow, Miss Trystan,” he calls over his shoulder as he swaggers away.
Shaking my head and laughing softly, I’m still unsure of what just transpired. As I finish pouring the beverages for the customer, a small line begins to form at my station. I retrain my focus on the job at hand, pushing Leo to the back of my mind, and fortunately, I stay steadily busy for the rest of the night. He never comes back to talk or for another drink, and even though I try to refrain from looking for him, I find myself scanning the yard on more than one occasion. Don’t be silly, Trys. He was just being nice. I’m sure that’s the last you’ll hear from him. I silently repeat those same three sentences on a loop in my mind as the reception comes to an end and I drive home to my small but cozy one-bedroom condo.
Once I’m safely inside, I kick my shoes off at the entry and strip out of my all-black work attire, leaving a trail of clothing from the front door to my bed. Collapsing on top of the zebra-print bedspread, I stare at the textured ceiling and do a quick assessment: my feet are cramping, my back is aching, and my boobs…I don’t even know the right words for the tender, throbbing monstrosities I lug around with me all day. I know in actuality they really aren’t all that big, but when you go from a barely-there B-cup to fully filling out a D-cup in a few months’ time, especially with my narrow build, it feels like a pair of watermelons have been permanently attached to my chest.
The image of Baby from Dirty Dancing flashes through my mind from the scene where she carries a
watermelon to the employee-only party at Kellerman’s resort, but before my thoughts wander too far into the romantic affair between the youngest Houseman daughter and Johnny Castle, my phone vibrates and brings me back to reality. Damn my mother for being obsessed with that movie while she was pregnant with me! I’m pretty sure I came out of the womb singing The Time of My Life and knowing the difference between a samba and the merengue. I still want to conquer that water lift one day though…
Grumbling, I force myself up to a sitting position in order to grab my phone off of the nightstand. The only person who would be texting me at this hour is my sister, whom I love dearly, but ever since she found out I’m pregnant, she’s become a mother hen. Having birthed two children of her own in the last five years, Madison believes she’s now a world-renowned authority on all things pregnancy-related. She means well, she really does, but I may kill her before the end of this gestational period.
I look at the screen, already prepared to type back ‘I’m home safe’, when I see the message from a number I don’t recognize.
12:02AM: It’s officially tomorrow now. Can we start the tour? -L
Giggly and giddy, I fall back into my fluffy pillows and ponder whether or not I should reply. I wait a few minutes before I shoot him a message back.
12:14AM: You’re ridiculous. Go to sleep! -T
12:16AM: Yes, ma’am, Miss Trystan. See you in a few hours. -L
12:17AM: Goodnight, Leo. Sweet dreams. -T
I reply immediately the second time; I’m unable to bridle my unexplained enthusiasm. It’s not like catching the eye of most members of the male population is a rarity to me. I’m no supermodel, but I’m an attractive girl with a functioning brain. Even if it’s been a bit different lately, I could still garner attention, both sexual and platonic, if I truly wanted it. However, other than Brandt, I’ve never really been interested in the whole dating-slash-relationship thing; I witnessed Madison deal with enough drama over guys for both of us. I’m well aware I’ll never see Leo again after tomorrow, which may be a part of the overall allure, but I feel exhilarated about spending time with him, something I haven’t felt in years.